Prose
Viola's Purple Veil. Top Story - August 2025. Content Warning.
This was created by Vicki, me. I am no longer producing a paranormal channel with my friend. It is all about Trusselli Art, music, art, film, and progressive politics. I like to create art reflecting truth, fantasy, metaphors, innuendos and manifestations of art and dreams. I bring my dreams to life through my art. I want to share, be cool, creative, paranormal, and be in a paint bucket of life.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 6 months ago in Poets
i'm waiting for You
Make me slam every door I have left ajar. Suck the ache from my organs. Hold my hands. Dip them in gold. Make blood pacts with me in the backyard. Come to me, tender and teary. Pull my eyes, make them twitch. Plant meaning in the corners of my mouth. Part the sea. Bring me home. Take me out. Let me in. Brush my hair. Dissolve every thought I have had of another. Find God, prove it to me. Bring me flowers. Teach me. Wait for me. Meet my Father. Know me, love me anyway.
By Dorothea Blythe6 months ago in Poets
They Told me Truth was a Casualty
I was going through old photos and thought about when I worked at Universal Studios Hollywood, which was years ago in the 90s. Now It is 2025 and I am 75. I don’t like to talk about myself, but I remember a lot of good times. We laughed, cried, danced, and worked our booties off. It is pleasant. I turned off the news. We all need to laugh a little, think about the good times for a bit, but VOTE BLUE.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 6 months ago in Poets
My Document of Quantum Hearts
I stand at the new smartboard, smartpen in hand, no training, but nonetheless stood there as someone being told to be grateful for the new contract we got with whatever firm made this smartboard. I stand there with a torn gaze, scribbling equations of hope and despair. In Dublin light, particles of electronic dust drift through the lecture hall, lazy as the years that keep slipping by. In my mind I hear Baudrillard whispering that we live in a world of signs: hearts sold as symbols, memories traded like stocks. Foucault nodding that even our love letters are policed by power. But at this red-faced hour of morning, I swear I can feel something real in the commotion of my pulse: raw human pulse entwined with Marx’s ghost, fingering a rifle of compassion.
By Abigail Goldwater6 months ago in Poets
Blink in Time. Content Warning.
This was created today after working on another video that went south for a while. I thought about my tooth pain and the wealthy and their sadistic grins as they stomped on the ants, and all I gain is tooth pain. It is commentary written from my tooth pain brain of dreams of extreme pain and extreme society pain of grief, power, greed, destruction, and fucking rainbows. We will rise. Ants build colonies to the top of the highest building in Manhattan throwing over the few elite white small, tooled patriarchy men.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 6 months ago in Poets
