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13 Dec

It starts with making calls that take days to get returned, if…..

And then when calls or texts are returned, it is at a convenience to them, their wants, their needs and desires, and then… nothing for weeks, even months until that call or text or email comes, usually a text asking to do something with them of their want, their needs and desire…..

The signs were there- promises of things that would be done, showing up on your door step at late hours ONE cup of whatever in hand, not two, one for them, one for you… ONE

There was dropping the blunt hint of wanting a specific pitch-in benefiting their life, their convenience, an inconvenience to the askee. The talk centers around their problems with their spouse, their teen, their out laws and bosses. And then there is that use of the ‘word’- the J word, the K word, the M word, the T word and the N word, non of which are used in your home or vocabulary.

Nothing is said. Women are women, timid to speak up, moreso when the offensive one is a Beztie to do things with, maybe, hopefully, for life, or almost as long, until one day, damn if it doesnt smack of Booty Call Of A Female Kind.

Women do make Booty Calls on friendships. Just like in dating men (or women), women do come in to a friend relationship making promises that dont get kept with intentions that came off great out of the chute but, over time, petered (or paul’d) out. It is dating without the sex. It still doesnt feel good to note they werent there because of you.

Know this. It isnt you. It is them. They dont have what it takes for going the long haul. When the proverbial sh*t hits the fan, they will leave you S.O.L., hangin out there on your own where you figure you are better to be, until the next potential Beztie comes along and you try again.

Booty Call Bezties chase when you pull back.

The once in a while text turns in to e-stalking. The “I dont think so” response to their texted suggestion turns into eight more texts each one a cell phone screen longer than the prior text.

Saying nothing doesnt work. Saying something isnt listened to. Late night texts after nine, their talking about their ex or other girlfriends or moms, kids and husbands, learning their week was filled with other women friends….

Don’t take it personal. It’s not you. It’s a Booty Call of a female kind. Women with testosterone. Count to ten, wait 8 weeks and keep on keeping on.633pca



10 Aug

The Tricycle Theatre threw down a political gauntlet when refusing the Jewish Film Festival to hold its annual event at this venue. Sometimes, blessings come disguised. And as the saying goes, you never really know who your friends are until you need them.

Well, the Tricycle Theatre picked a battle that is coming back to bite them.


Sites like list Tricycle Theater under “Arts, Cultural, Humanities.” There is nothing Humane nor anything Cohesive about dictating how someone should pay. There is a God in the Jewish Film Festival learning, publicly albeit, The Tricycle Theatre determines, good and bad, by Color, the color of money.

The Tricycle Theater has taken to posting to its blog, buried back pages on its site, comments from multiple people defending why the Theatre’s offer is not racist. The Theatre offered to give the Jewish Film Festival the donation equivalent the Festival received from the Israeli government. says the Tricycle Theatre, Cinema and Art Gallery specialize in “Afro-Caribbean, Irish, Asian, Jewish and Children’s works.” Beware Children, Asians, Irish and Afro-Caribbean, your handwriting of treatment is on the Tricycle Theatre’s wall, and website ( As long as you do what the theatre wants you to do and assemble and circulate with people, business and other the Tricycle Theatre approves of then you are good to affiliate with their Community.

Their Community? It’s in black and white and can be read all over the Internet. The Tricycle Theatre filed their quarterly, late, 45 days, to be exact. Their Accounts were filed 33 days late. The Tricycle Theater Company Limited alleges to the Charity Commission that its annual income is 3,333,068 pounds, spending 3,334,983.

Now, the interesting thing about Boards and people, is the average person believes their being on a Board indemnifies the Board member from Bad Behaviour of the Charity. I would hazard that clause be read carefully. FYI, in America Tricycle Theatre? That is not the case. Everyone on the board is accountable and liable.

There is an Art to Apology, Indhu Rubasingham. Rubashingham is the Tricycle Theatre’s Artistic Director. Rubasingham writes above his signature on the Theatre’s page seeking support. He wrote, “Be part of our journey. Help us to continue to take risks, challenge perceptions and inspire young people through our work on stage and in the community.” Further writing, “The Tricycle Theatre is a local venue with an international vision and our ambitions can only be achieved with your support.”

Sir, the last time I looked, co-existence was taught with an embrace. And mentoring kids, well, sure, I guess intolerance, racism and bias is mentoring too. I wonder how the High Court will rule on teaching Anti-semitism. Yes, like it or not, Jews and Israel are entertwined.

So, YO, to the High Road the Jewish Film festival took. And Tricycle Theatre, I wish you success in court in that I guess someone is going to start looking in to you magical 1000 pounds off charitable balance sheet and start asking questions of all your benefactors, doing diligence checking their check books and your receipts to assure all monies detailed in checks stayed and reconcile. Oh yah, and then there is the SLIGHT matter that with the Tricycle Theatre being a UK Charity, the Tricycle Theatre is receiving funds from another participant in the Middle East.

The UK. It’s a tax thing. It’s called Tax Consideration due to being a charity.

Rewind. British Mandate. League of Nations.(

Just an FYI, sir, the League of Nations? The United Nations? Nothing more than business leagues formed of members which are countries. Just tossing that in.

You seem to be of the age of Wikipedia. Once upon a time there was something called a Dictionary where words written on pages were not rewritten and edited to reflect agendas, political and otherwise.

The Middle East architect was Britain, the same source your Charity designation is received Tax/financial benefit from. It is always interesting to sit back and watch chickens come home to roost. Looking forward to seeing the investigation for intolerance and possibly abuse of Charitable status and/or funds play out in the news. Never know what one finds once they start digging ( If I know one thing about British media, on a slow day even charity reconciliations can make a good story. Hmmm, who is the Trike’s Benefactors, Board members… start there….Trustees, the Charity Commission lists ” JONATHAN LEVY, BAZ BAMIGBOYE, LADY SIMONE WARNER, BARBARA HARRISON, JENNY JULESPAM JORDAN, JUDY LEVER, KAY ELLEN CONSOLVER, FIONA CALNAN, PHILIPPE SANDS, JEREMY RODNEY PINES LEWISON, MRS ANNEKE RACHEL MENDELSOHN, MR Philip Himberg (

The Charity online summary filed with the Commission states, “The Tricycle views the world through a variety of lenses, bringing unheard
voices into the mainstream. It presents high quality, innovative work,
which provokes debate and emotionally engages. Located in Brent, the
most diverse borough in London, the Tricycle is a local theatre with an
international vision,” benefiting “Children/Young People/Students,Elderly people, People with access requirements, A diverse demographic, aimed to appeal to all ethnic or racial origins, People at risk of social exclusion
Other defined groups, Emerging artists, The general public.” I guess exclusion doesnt include Israel (

I am guessing the Tricycle Theatre has some quick Charity Commission Amendments to do…Question 4 – The charity’s objectives and achievements What were your charity’s main annual objectives and were they achieved?” The Trike wrote, “19 screenings per week. Attendance 41998. The cinema hosted or was part of various festivals including UK Jewish Film Festival, Images of Black Women. Also a no. of Q+A performances.” Not this year.

The Trike was asked “Question 6 – The charity’s financial health
How would you describe your charity’s financial health at the end of the period?” The Trike answered, “The operating surplus for the year for 12/13 was £25,291. Accumulated
surplus to date is £161,853.” The Trike answered Question 7 – The next year
How will the overall performance last year affect your charity’s medium to long term strategy” by filling in “The Tricycle will continue with its strong financial management, continue
to improve its good system of identifying, managing and mitigating any
major risks to the charity. We will contain activity and overhead costs to
minimse the risk of a deficit.” And then MRS Bridget Kalloushi, nailed the Board Members by certifying online that “the information provided was correct,
it had been or would be brought to the attention of all the trustees,” and that those who give answers that they know are untrue or misleading may be committing an

Mrs. Kalloushi, you may be about to learn, like the UK Jewish Film Festival who your friends are…(

Good move, Jewish Film Festival. Your Yiddish rooted boots were made for walking, taking the High Road…OY!

LURE OF THE DRAGON LADY (c) Carrie Devorah :

7 Feb

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LURE OF THE DRAGON LADY (c) Carrie Devorah :

Anagrams happen.

So do myths. So do….. dragons. So do dragons leathered in blacks of heart.

So do illusions. As it turned out, it was nothing more than that. Bitch. An elegant one. Or so it seemed until the Dragon Lady sat before the Tribunal of her peers. Her leather? Gone. Her hair askew as if to suggest the night prior was filled with debauchery and lawlessness. The perfection of her cream white skin was replaced with puffery. The red of her dress could not cover the black of her heart.

Beauty they say beauty is skin deep. It is. Evil eats away at perfection from the inside out.

The Dragon Lady’s victim watched as illusion was chipped away one lie at a time. Tribunals answer to their Lord, Greed, Master over his own fiefdom with disdain for the very people the Dragon Lady plucks life from.

She is one of theirs.

Even before the Dragon Lady entered the Tribunal’s court, she was victor. She knew that. They knew that. The flaunting of her sagged aging breasts was, well, unnecessary other than for to tease the Tribunal, aged men fearing death. Angered at life they cannot control, the Tribunal take wrath out on victims unsuspecting of the Dragon Lady’s stealth. She leaned in, knowing what she chose to believe were supple breasts of her youth long gone, were still a tease to the Tribunals. Sly, she watched as the Chairman looked then away looked then away looked then cleared his throat. The Dragon Lady knew, as middle aged as her teats were, the Tribunal coveted them. Tragic when old whores play tart.

It was a display of sloth.

The Dragon Lady’s victim sat. In the first instant, she knew all was lost. The next four days were to be nothing more than charade, a performance of protocol.

Another day. Another victim deceit lured to the lair of the Dragon Lady.

It was night.

It was dawn.

It was mourning.

She stood at the edge. Blackness swirled below. It was in the hands of the Gods. Eyes closed her face turned upwards. Thoughts gone. There were no goodbyes. There was no one. The warriors she had turned to in the past themselves turned out to be false gods. She knew they knew she was a force. Once they tasted of her honey, they were gone on to lower vibrations that made them feel to be the men they knew inside they weren’t. Her potency scared them. It did not scare her. She did not see it until now that is. Looking in to the mirror the girl inside did not recognize the elder woman looking back, sad eyes not quite soulless. There had been nothing more to lose. She knew that in sending out winged messages of hope disguised as cries for help, without tears, without pain, without words. Boxed.

She was worn.

Embracing the spirit of warriors before, the women, she cloaked her innocence. And stood. Her insides calling up the Great Ones for guidance, there, on the edge. The warriors before her were faceless, nameless, breathless. Long gone. But their history wrote the path that pulled her to the edge. She had no lasting memories of how she arrived here. None.

Sweet peace, she stepped off. Free falling, all was gone.

Silence. The pure coolness of wind against her face was delicious. In this moment. In others, it stung as whipping as the wind in a tempest. Eyes tight. Chin tilted up. The flame of her hair whipped and tossed. Letting go, letting God, she felt the distance between her and the sworling darkness magnify. Off the edge, granted her greatness she never knew her of before.

The lure of the Dragon Lady was the mother’s milk of evil- desperation in a time of need. She was not in the Dragon Lady’s lair by accident. It was be design. She learned this after, much much after. Once upon a time their world was a world of blessing where things were what they appeared to be. That was gone. Each day was a battle unseen until it was too late. Others had come to the edge, plummeting in to the darkness below. How it was that she soared, she had no answer. That said, she never had answers just inimitable survival engrained. In her heart rung hollow words she lifted others with telling them ‘let the decision make itself. Decisions that make themselves, from your inside of heart, not from the head, are the decisions that make the moving forward, afterward, easier…’ These words worked for her in moving forward after the murder of her brother.

That is why she soared. She was in peace. The others hearts were heavy with regret even hate. They plummeted. The Angels would come. She knew. She looked left. She looked right. She was not alone. She was carried. Blue Angels lifted her higher. A smile began to cross her face. The grip tightening her eyes loosened as the sky she transversed lightened. From darkness to light. The Gods beckoned.

She did not recognize the sound she was hearing. It was coming from insider of her. It was laughter. The absence of joy had been that long. Like crystal bells being rung.

8 weeks she was told to embrace with patience had begun. 8 weeks. She soared. The beginning of the end was begun.

She had drifted with difficulty away from temptations. Joba was a deacon of the Tribunal. She had shaken her sensibilities seeing the image of his spawn standing, father’s message in hand. The child was thin. Tall. Sullen. She could only guess it was Joba’s journeys that left a child without a childhood. She understood why Joba saw no culpability in her journey to the edge. She was not his child. She was grown and she could not comprehend. How could a child understand there are those who live off pieces of hate and pieces of love but never the whole pie in one place.

As she rose buoyed by the winds, the tethers that tied her felt unleashed. She knew her journey. She knew her path. She knew for the first time that being led throughout her life had been into a maze beset with challenges, though she survived, barely. Her devotion to her man cubs was cut. For the first time, she was she. She knew her journey. From inside.

She felt the quiet. She knew there was motion. It, everything, was a leap of faith the steps taken set a ball in motion that would reach the Dragon Lady. In time. There is something to be said for silence, for moving beneath the height of the grass in the meadows below. Stealth. It trumps avarice. It trumps fraud.

It made no sense
It made no sense how the forces pulled her to doors in to portals
where she had not known before but that said as she entered things
happened. Others called it magic. Some said it was her way, a child
chosen. For what escaped her, her days were always dark w adventure she did not want. It found her.

It came to her. She was the star child the last of a miracle and her challenger was Pythia self professed priestess, she declared, who held court with the Oracles at Temple of Apollo at Delphi. Pythia took the name comes from Python, the dragon was slain by Apollo.

Pythia declared self to be the channel for Apollo’s will to those on earth, taking the question and sacrifice believers would make to the male priest then taken by Pythia, astride her bronze triped in the inner chamber of Apollo’s Temple. Pythia’s word that in the adytum, she was overcome in to her trance, imbued with the spirit of Apollo, was believed by those needing prophecy to inspire. Some Pythia’s trance was from chewing laurel leaves or from vapors rising from below Apollo’s Temple. Or not real at all but intended to decieve believers in to parting with their treasure. Pythia craved treasure. Others. Believers were unsuspecting of the male priest. After all, how could a priest appointed by the Gods be anything less than a priest appointed by the Gods. If only they knew. False gods. False gods come wrapped in the skin of snakes as was the tripod Pythia sat upon, herself like a snake, charming, cold with ice waters running through her veins, unlike her challenger, true of heart, warm blood coursing throughout.

This battle was chosen. She, the young one, had not volunteered. Life, destiny, had conscripted her. Again, as before, her journey had been written in her future, before she was born. The writing had been stopped from her but what it said was real.Icon 8. In a world of water. Gold.

Reset. She was chosen. If you are one of us, she was told, there is not worry if you might fail. She could never fail. She kept tokens. Along the way, she captured parts of her enemies that were indefensable to deny. She did worry, if the question was who to believe, her or them, men whose promises seduced her to succumb into being their guilty pleasure, except for them, she learned they had no guilt. They did have their pleasure. Her. So she kept tokens- their voice, their scribd, bits of pieces that would rally to the world, these men were not Oracles as they alleged. They were men, weak to the flesh, liquid to hers. She knew. She was smart enough to know where sense ruled, it was the common part of it that pushed her forward. There was no going back to friends. They never were friends to begin with. They just…, well, were.

She was alone. She could admit it now. Words captured in the Cloud were her challenge. She did not falter. She knew she did not conform. She knew she was different. She knew how to pass, as a simple one, passing through town and village, seen but not noticed. She wasnt brave. She had never been. She gave everyone her fear. Her exact words were…. release. Breathe. One minute became 60 seconds. Six seconds, actually, if one paused then counted aloud.

There was no going back to friends that never were to begin with. Arms raised she culled in to death pulling her to soar, so high, so far.

It wasnt time. It was a holding. A treading. A place to sort. When they were ready, she would know. She would be pushed, pulled, resisting the dangers. It was a lifetime of lessons. She knew that without being told. It always had been a curve she learned on.

He appeared. A hologram from her past. He was dead until she woke their past together. It was never consumated. Something in her soul told her he was a weak one. Money did not make power. A man’s ability to stand alone as a woman is want to do makes power. Few men can and do, weak, they travel female to female, even believing the stories they conjure to lure a woman’s leggings to the floor are stories a woman has never heard before. What fed their hunger was greed, sometimes called, mistakenly-desire. If one survived the mistaken seduction of the Oracles, then as she had been allowed, they make it to the Orientation of the Onsets

She was marked. Since she was a child she knew she was different. She had no fear once the threshold would be crossed. She would become fearless. In doing so, she would be feared. In being feared, intention was to isolate then destroy her. She knew that was their secret, too.

It wasnt as if following orders was something she resisted. It wasnt something she understood, being silent. Humans were terrible. Too often they lacked defiance, leaving their name on a place and words like “she died otya.Letters

Everyday as a target, she stood on the edge of the cliff. Eyes closed, sweetly, peace filled in trust as the earth came up to greet her.

TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE “TWEAK” How Not To Settle To Be A “CHOOSE TO FAIL” Persons Sounding Board:

4 Aug

I hear you, Friend said, I hear you, I didn’t think of it that way before. No. Most don’t until I do what I call tweaking- an adjective describing a nudge of a windup mechanical toy away from hitting a floor board ONE MORE time letting it move off into a new direction to infinity & beyond, quoting Buzz Lightyear, Disney’s plastic hero who moved the megalith off into a new corporate direction.

Friend & I were catching up on life ‘in between’, since we saw each other last until a chance bump outside the elevators.

8:30, Friend asked. 8:30 it was, a meetup in the social room, neutral ground keeping home life private while making a new acquaintance public. We cornered our square of chairs. It was “they’re off” at the races. We didn’t quit jawing until it was time to go back to our lairs.

It was what Friend & I hit together, the mutual agreement on there is NO excuse any more in a technological world for a person to excuse color, gender, disability as personal choice to reason for not succeeding in a technological world where Anonymous is embraced impacting millions of lives around the world WITHOUT outing who they are and why. Does it matter whether Anonymous is 1 person or 1000. What matters in this Mentor Moment is Anonymous made a Social Impact without being seen- without complaints about not being hired because they are male, female, gay, disabled, Christian, Jewish or naught. AND making clear, this is not an approval of Anonymous’ tactics or TORS, point being made the good of the Internet is it allows people to accomplish without bitching that everyone hated them and nobody liked them and the world isnt fair.

Friend & I juiced up the conversation when talk of salt & pepper, spiced with laughter at self plus a gaggle at celebrity. The real real moment came when Friend said, I didn’t think of it that way before, you are right.

I had expressed quite strongly that the African American community nor the Latino, the Asian or other can any longer use race as a defense why their youth are disadvantaged when it comes to learning or opportunity in the working world- jobs.

Friend got it.

Jobs are where we lose our independence to others, where we lose motivation, where we lose creativity. It is a guaranteed paycheck rather than Free Falling as Tom Petty sang or College, as JC Watts father said (paraphrased) is what dumbs people down.

Friend & I talked about my explanation to Congress’ Judiciary on the risk an entrepreneur takes by believing in themselves with no guarantee of weighed monetary success or payoff a job promises to give, like a secure future and working ones way up the ladder of corporate success versus being a Steve Jobs or a Bill Gates, Tom Carvel or Colonel Sanders. And I relayed experiences I have all the time with youth of all color, who need that REAL social working that will win an election some are looking hard at. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me will continue to work until one voter at a time says to person looking for direction and says…. Here, let me tweak you. 

In these days and times, college is what adds to debt with no promise of anything more than a day deeper in debt. It is IP, Intellectual Property that will keep Man free, ruler of his own domain and architect of his own Future. Think back to being little. Was there a paycheck for learning to crawl or to walk. Was there a paycheck for learning to run. There are payoffs for doing well, like Personal Best or Head of the Class. Being valedicatorian never guaranteed success or payouts when one left the Social Network of college. There are failures because of lack of esteem or never meeting that person who TWEAKS.

I have tweaked people my whole life. Even I, patient as I may seem to be, have my limit to hearing bitching. One lady who was psychotic New Years eve decades ago…. I asked her if she was open for a thought. She was. I spoke. The silence on the end of her phone was deafening then click. Never heard from her again but I heard of her. She ran with my Tweak to create a newsletter then fame as an Internet Travel Guru.

The List of Tweaks goes on…. As does my hitting my Free Rent bitch’ quota then saying, May I Offer You A Thought…..

There are oh too many people looking for others to bitch to without making a personal difference in their own lives, yet making a difference in yours. Each moment you give them to rant is one moment of yours never to be replaced in a lifetime FINITE in days.

Being a friend means identifying your space and hanging the BITCH TIME IS UP sign outside your door when you realize their lives go on person to person who gives them Free Rent without charging for the psychiatrist couch. Oh, yes. Often, they go there too. Psychiatrists get paid to listen week after week, year after year, cases of course will vary according to psychosis. I am not a doctor nor do I play one on TV. I am a nice person who realized too late, I listen and think of their issue long after they have moved on to yet another Free Rent nice person’s door.

So this is it, wanna be a  sounding board to a person too afraid or unsure how to move forward from their comfort zone of pain? Knock yourself out. Wanna  make a difference, do yourself a favor, be the difference, value your time….


PRINCE WILLIAM and his New Parents- Princess Diana and Charles:

23 Jul

Offical photo-royal-baby

I knew the Prince when he was a teen, sort of. I was photographing International horseracing in Europe- Group 1/Group 2. That meant I spent time around the finest warmbloods in the world- 2 legged and 4. Royals, Sheiks, Sheikas and the continuing replacements for sheikahs, it was quite a lark.

I was there with an asset having come off the Southern California circuit. I knew the American trainers and riders and owners and horses. I was more than a “heads and tails” girl. It was always fun to surprise my friends from Stateside at some meet or another.

I was the last friendly face they expected seeing amidst a sea of Brits and Irishmen and Arabs. Yes, Arabs. Few here in America understand about the centuries old battle for turf, real turf, not just political. Three strains of Thoroughbred come together in European race meets- Arab, English, French. I saw it all. I tell people routinely by the time I hit DC, I had learned through lessons about international horseracing, through politics. And boxing. Two of the finest sports being obliterated in our PC techie world.

And that is where I met “the boys.” Oh, I had met HRH a bit back. I was termed “the American Lady.” With all America’s fluffery about presidents and Camelots of Kennedys and Bushs and Clintons, true Royalty is watching the Queen walk amidst her people, and that she does at the Royal Ascot and at races in memory of here Mum, the Queen Mum, where she presents the winning bowl to first to cross the finish line.

The boys? I met them long after Diana died. She remains a moment people ask… where were you when you heard the news. Me? San Diego?

The paparrazi I would at times shoot alongside in Europe talked woefully of her death. She was a cash queen for them. I knew the boys for two years, every moment golden- princes, horseback, princes on horseback. I do love to dish Wills driving lesson from the Duke. One day I will tell it, until then I have my precious princes’ balls- polo, that is, a gift I cant bear to part with.

My Royals were the Queen, Prince Philip, Princess Ann and the boys. I was all about everything horse and then some. Then some included Red Carpets and politics. My most bizarrest photo? Arnold Schwarzenegger at the Leicester Square T3 Red carpet with his fingers deeply sandwiched between Maria’s cheeks, THOSE ONES. Protocol is- celebs first go to fans, second to one side of the penned media and then to the other. WELL, CLICK. Ewwwwww, to this day but I got it along with the starlet who swirled showing her bits. Nibbles were covered. Mick, my editor still cant believe it got it. But, hey. When you shoot racehorses and hurling, the key is to anticipate and get to where they are going first. Snap. BITS, no undies. Then there is the Bill Clinton photo in which he is picking his toes through his socks on a stage at the hotel nearest the M I5 flyover near Edgeware. Yep. Shook hands after putting his shoe back on. Almost as bad as Tiger Woods exiting a porto-potty in Ireland and then shaking hands. These were the days before the sani-soap few use anyways.

The boys I would see at polo. Its a family thing over there. One day, I was so enchanted with Wills schooling Harry on how to hand awards out to the winning team, I almost forgot to take pictures. As a mom of sons, I know the difficulty of raising sons alone. What shall I do without my palace staff… grin…. she done good. He done better. When I watched Kate the girl he married, I felt a moment of kvelling (swollen with pride) too in his choice. And now he’s a dad? England has shown the world that sometimes Class can come back

Creme always rises to the top. This boy? Genuine to the core….. someday if enough ask I’ll dig for some of my shots from this day. Well done, Diana. Well done, Wills. HRH? Be so proud of a Grand Son….

so let me ask you, do you remember what you were doing the day Wills was born?