We RE-AWAKEN in the crisp cool kingdom of Zena, Warrior Pimpstress - once again.  We will refrain from commenting on Testicle Blue, Passion Red, and all the Imminent Psychology of the Tibetan Color Wheel.

We will only remark how cool, calm and collected this Woman looks amid all the turmoil of crumbling civilizations.

Her looks could kill, so why the spear, oh cross-gendered ones?

OK, try this: a woman's "Nature-bestowed Role" might be suckling a child at her breast.  No?  YES!  Or placing her cool collected hand over some distressed youth's crinkled forehead in a gesture of pure energetic and emotional healing.  No?  YES!  Now, imagine that in a Mural.

Funny how things fly.  Our cultures encourage us to portray women as voluptuous objects of desire, yet we'd be stomped upon, both by our testosterone-charged peers, and by our Keepers of High Morals, if we showed a woman in her ultimate act of kindness: breast-feeding a child.

So, instead of the natural, we show women as the OPPOSITE: "Warrior Princess".  That keeps our tenuous male egos inflated, and it also keeps the Delusion that women are cutesy little dashboard ornaments alive.  

Ornaments that keep the reality and the pure beauty of conception at bay and promote objectification of EVERYTHING; especially the "gift-wrap" sensation of being attracted to a delusion, and one day discovering that your delusion is pregnant.

Funny how things fly.

WE NOW DISEMBARK from Swedish Sex Speculation to organic Coca-Cola atoms, slowly chewing the shit out of your tooth enamel.  Don't worry, nothing a little automobile primer won't fix.

OGER and ROBR and ACE send their "Birds Of A Feather Song" to you on your 30th Birthday.  Greetings to all the women who work out at Fitness Farms  and - get this - "Boot Camps" (!) to polish up their six-packs, just so they can look like "Zena, Warrior Pimpstress" ... and hopefully find a faggoty little man who will cling to any woman sporting a sword. I mean, what woman in her firm rippling obliques would settle for a man who was big enough to crush her?

Bubblegum, it's all vapor in the swamps of "mind".

But Bleu Life Speaks to us once again, with a less formidable, and Truer Female Format: the posed Nude.  It's very anatomically-correct, mind you, and doesn't feed the Zena-Mixed-Message-Center of your Frontal Love.  I vote for it.  And more like.  Only the begriming of what we could explore, in acknowledging the true essential Male and Female energies that we're all bestowed with, rather than the "Hollywood-Inflated-Stereotypes" that the Boys At The Sports Bar foist upon one another.

Click Blue Susan for another fine dose of SEZ PANORMIX MILD EROTIC STIMULATION!  Wow. Pablo Picasso and I are trying to keep both hands on the typewriter.  I can smell the Berlin Wall tumbling down!

The End is In Sight. More Sexual Innuendo; it beats the shit out of Nintendo!  Listen boys, you may have grown up with a video game hanging out of your ass, but your understanding of the Male and Female Principles is severely crippled.

Later, things will reveal themselves, after you've messed up many lives.  Too bad they don't teach "reality 101" in schools instead of idiotic crap like "calculus" and "social studies".  Study the names of the Rivers in Michigan, but you don't understand the nature of your very own hormones and the attractive and distractive power of the naked senses. The Deluded senses.

So it goes.

Bob67 is a Male member.  Bob67, like all males, is portrayed as "stupid".  Both fathers and sons have inherited "stupidity" as their trademarks in life.  In the days of Cave Drawings, the elder males were the artists and men were portrayed as noble, spiritual, beautiful. 

Now, the sons are the spokesmen and men are portrayed as ugly, angry and stupid.

The Women are portrayed as Warriors and Curious Benign Onlookers.  What a funny mirror to look in.

What a funny world to live in.

It's almost Dark.

Satan is calling me, along with Dismembered voices of Singing Broccoli in the 'fridge.  We have a ways to go before dawn.

The Electrical and compelling artwork of ____?  and _____? is worthy of one more SEZ PANAMERICAN PETROVISION indulgence.  I tell ya, the sigs on this Arabian Racehorse are more complex than the Piece Itself.  This is Flair.  This is "Doctor's Handwriting" for the Prescription On The Wall.

 

Well, Kiddies, it's been a treat.  WE leave the gaping Toothless Storefront on Pender and promise you more from the downtown Kingdom Of Alleyways in the Not-Too-Distant. 

The amazing things about these alleyways is not the "established bombers stuff" like we have featured on Pender 1 thru 4, but more like the "Moron Picasso's" that wander inflamed and lame-brained through the gutters of DES, writing poetry, faces, and other Deep Thought Items on the walls for only other Morons (like me) to pontificate on. 

But we have some for you, Stray Cat Visitor, too!

Don't' feel left out!