Eulogy For A Murdered Artist
Recently, an article entitled Eulogy For A Fairy Princess appeared here and on a few other sites. This so-called “eulogy” seemed to jerk a tear from most who read it and then commented.
The author Lisa Williams, a somewhat scholarly, artistic writer and member of the LGBT community, laid claim to experiencing the tragic and imminent death of her girl friend Heather- a death that left Ms. Williams quoting scripture whilst simultaneously slinging profanity and hate toward God.
Ms. Williams also voiced equally profane and caustic remarks to any skilled reader who questioned her motive, as her layers of artistic duplicity, disguised throughout the writing process, began to re-emerge. Williams then quickly closed commenting privileges, leading one forensic reader to surmise that this “eulogy” may have been a ruse; one that would be better entitled “Eulogy of a murdered Princess.”
White folk do have a prolific history of use when it comes to premeditated murder. And truthfully, some White folk use murder more than a Master Chef uses a kitchen knife. It just becomes more sophisticated. It’s in their DNA.
I think Heather would agree with me…if she could speak from her grave.
Maybe she can. Because I, along with others, think Heather was murdered.
Then I had a dream while sleeping. It was never like any dream I had experienced.
In this dream someone was reading. It was a living Spirit. Beside her sat a young crying lady with an easel, brushes, and paint. Her name was Heather. On her easel was a painting of a woman appearing as layers. The living Spirit asked me to come and to look at each layer.
The first layer showed a smiling, bright faced woman who looked happy but perplexed. When the second layer was added the hair of the woman became a glowing brown, as the brightness of her smile diminished. As the living Spirit added layer by layer, the appearance of the woman transitioned into a fearful dissymmetry of challenged incongruity.
When the last layer was added, I was beset with a feeling of undefined horror. The living Spirit spoke, “Fear Not! I control this realm!” Immediately I calmed.
Then I watched as a still crying Heather brush stroked the letters L-I-S-A across the portrait of this hideous monster.
Another living Spirit entered and began to read from a scroll dripping in blood, arsenic, antifreeze, poisons, fat, and red syphilis. The Spirit stated to all present, “This is Heather’s Story.”
Then The Spirit said:
“Heather Adels was a fun loving, focused, fastidious White girl. Heather’s love for Art and people, by all accounts, was expressed in her abstract paintings. Gifted and talented, Heather owned her gift with grace, cherishing it as much as she…cherished life.
Heather’s paintings saw all of reality- past, present and future- as interconnected . And her artistic method of tying the past to the now was to show its evolution through the layering of paint, emphasizing each layer ever so slightly more than the one preceding it.
The last layer of all her painted works never fully reflected a completion of the piece, for Heather knew that no such painting could ever be complete unless time, at that very moment, became finite . “The evolving beauty of molecular entanglement” might be how a Quantum Chemist would describe Heather’s works.
Heather’s story took a tragic turn, one that began with a brief pause in a “close” friendship, in the months preceding Christmas of 2015.
Over the next year or so, Heather was plagued by what can only be described as a strange, inoculate pulse of distal fear and puzzling uncertainty.
And while she had family, close and intimate friendships, along with many a sun centered day basking in the frolic, fun, and freedom of living in the reality of her dreams, something was amiss. It’s place among the living seemingly unjustified.
Like an uninvited guest from some parabolic time, its entrance into Heather’s earthy space seemed devoid of gratuities granted by God. Barren of proper explanation and credential, it lurked unchallenged –anchored as “groom” in some self-promoting misogamy with what we term as life. It lurked…even as the improper thing that it is.
Some call it Death; claiming it is fettered to us as an incongruous, inoculating presence- from the moment of our seminal introduction to planet living– to its finding of a secular exit when our boxed up decomposition manifest itself in some earth vectored grave.
Others, who have also called it Death; base their lives upon gifting it to others. Such is the decrepit, sinister, creature laden world of LGBT whiteness.”
I forcefully asked myself, “ Am I really dreaming?”
The living Spirit then turned to me and said, “ Yes you are.”
Then the living Spirit stated:
“Death had attached itself, in cloak and concealment, to one of Heather’s so- called friends.
Lisa was her name.
Cloaked in layers of life and reflected only in moments of uncertainty- not unlike those inexplicable sightings sometimes seen in her paintings, Heather glimpsed its presence, even though she was not sure of what it was .
So Heather still tried to dismiss her premonition in the usual way: by burying it continually in the layers of a new painting. She had done this times before, when the negative spirits of plundered lives, tossed from foe to friend as if part of some demon game of hot potato, sought root inside her soul.
Heather’s technique of trapping negative entities in her paintings resulted in her art work being constantly compared to Monet. Her paintings glowed with the positive lightness of her time, redefining any negativity that entered her space.
But Death had another hiding place- one that neither art nor this artist, could bury into her layers of paint.
That hiding place was Lisa.
Lisa Williams was an enigma. Also fastidious, Lisa prided herself on “getting the job done…with spirit,” even if that “spirit” was not of her own. Lisa thrived on recognition while seemingly remaining humble. Anything Lisa started, she finished, no matter what the cost.
But Lisa was an enigma. An LGBT enigma. Some saw her as the composite of spiritual trash and deceit, prepackaged with whatever demons come with such a compounding. A deal maker and…a deal/dough…breaker, a commitment with Lisa was seen as a “ commitment or else.”
Prone to fits of anger and profanity, when things did not go Lisa’s way a spirit from the depths of articulated evil found sanctuary in her soul. Anger sometimes works that way, and whenever and wherever it erupts, a climate of genocide becomes an inescapable concern.
Angered by Heather’s independence and her refusal to commit to LGBT finality, that old demonic curse of anger, “if I can’t have you…then nobody can,” found root and nourishment in Lisa- allowing her to become a vector of Death in the shadows.
So for every aspect of Heather’s relationship with Lisa, death lurked in Lisa’s every move- waiting patiently and silently to move from vector to victim.
The Bible illustrates that whenever a spiritual vacuum exist in the body of a living person, if s/he does not fill this vacuum with the power and presence of God, then that person becomes open to Satanic Deception.
For Lisa, this came in the form of four demons: jealously, envy, hate, and rejection. And no matter what good Lisa did, it served only as a placeholder for the spirit of murder yet to come.”
As the living Spirit read these things from this filthy scroll of life, I wondered again if I was really dreaming. The living Spirit looked directly at me and said, “Be not worried, when you awaken you will be able to write what you are now dreaming- word for word.” So I continued to listen and the living Spirit read on:
“In March 2017, days before her death, Heather decided to see a movie.
It wasn’t just any movie.
This movie, with its unusual portrait of horror, was taking the country by storm.
The name of the movie: “GET OUT.”
Heather went to see “GET OUT” with a “close” friend. Afterwards, Heather left traumatized by what she saw.
Heather tried to keep this to herself- burying it into layers of laughter, girly talk, and madly fun discussions of the way some moviegoers side-eyed others as they exited the theater, noting to this “close” friend that one interracial couple seemed visibly perturbed.
Still, no one was more bothered by the revelation of a hidden horror than Heather.
Heather’s mind reflected back to an off- tasting drink. Lately, when ever she was around this “close” friend, it seemed some of her drinks had tasted slightly different. The “special friendship” meals eaten over the last 5 or 6 months now haunted her. Heather realized she was in imminent trouble. “GET OUT” had allowed her to confirm her earlier premonition.
Everything began to make sense. Fearful sense. She had been poisoned.
The periods of her not remembering simple things, the blackouts she never discussed with anyone, the unusual symptoms of pain- sometimes sharp, sometimes sporadic, sometimes dull but persistent, sometimes ambiguous- all coming on shortly after spending time with this same “close” friend. None of this ever happened prior to 20 months ago. It only started after she began seriously re-thinking her relationship with this same “close” friend.
Lisa saw Heather’s fear… she saw through every layer of laughter, jest, and uncertainty. Heather had taught Lisa how to ‘look through the layers’. Heather had taught Lisa well. Too well.
Lisa hid the inner workings of her mind from Heather because she knew Heather could ‘layer’ away her(Lisa’s) jealously, layer away her hate, layer away all that resided as negative in Lisa’s spirit. And without those traits, Lisa knew evil could not be summoned from her soul. And without help from the evil side of life, Lisa knew Heather would leave her. Lisa had sold her own soul.
Her plan wasn’t to kill Heather. Lisa’s plan was just to make Heather sick- sick enough to where Heather would need Lisa to take care of her. But the Devil had another idea. And just as Lisa hid her plan for months from Heather, Satan likewise hid the cost of his services from Lisa.
Heather knew she had to see a Doctor quickly and alone!”
As I sat there listening to the living Spirit, I began to wonder if I had died also. Maybe death in itself is just a dream.
I watched as maggots began to slowly consume the layers of the portrait of Lisa. I watched as a crying Heather refused to look as maggots took to the art work with vengeance. The portrait began to scream as each maggot devoured Lisa’s presence.
The only thing I was capable of saying was “Damn!” Then suddenly, everything remaining in the portrait went black.
“Where did the maggots go?” I asked. The Spirit did not answer. No one did, as the putrid smell of burning flesh became obnoxious. Minutes later, the maggots emerge unscathed, and the easel was crystal white.
“Damn,” I said again, “ that ugly bitch just burned up!”
I knew I was dreaming now because the living Spirit said nothing to me. Still, I wanted to confirm it, so I shouted really loud:
“LISA WILLIAMS AIN’T SHIT!!!”
Immediately I heard laughter echo throughout the Universe, followed by a booming AMEN!!
Even crying Heather snickered just a little, though she somewhat continued her crying.
I was on roll now. So I started making jokes, “Who’s the Blackest now: Lisa Williams or Rachel Dolezal ?”
When I made that joke, the living Spirit looked sternly at me, then She and the universe shook with laughter!
Lastly I offered this: “I know why the portrait screamed!!…. it was the Moaning Lisa!!” By then I was cracking up in laughter at my own joke, until I noticed everyone was staring at me. Suddenly 10,000 Angels appeared, all staring at me.
The living Spirit then said to me, “ Son, you just brought down the house with that one!!” Then everyone laughed hard for ten minutes, with one Angel saying, “this reminded me of Showtime At The Apollo!!”
Another Angel then introduced himself to me saying, “ Hello son!! My name is Pigmeat Markham!!”
I was truly amazed to know that Pigmeat Markham made it to Heaven!
The living Spirit then stated that we must continue in seriousness.
Then the living Spirit said: “Sometimes we share our most sacred gifts with those who are not worthy. Our pearls go to swines, food for our children goes to dogs, the very secrets of our strength goes to the trickery of evil men and women, blinding us…not unlike Sampson and Delilah, where death hid as a vector in the spirit of a evil, but later remorseful woman.” Then the living Spirit said, “We love Heather, because she wanted out, and tried to “GET OUT”. Heather did not look back like the wife of Lot.” Then the living Spirit began to read from the filthy scroll again:
“Crying Heather realized her danger too late.
Crying Heather trusted Lisa- even after Lisa showed to be otherwise months earlier. Heather reluctantly gave Lisa a second chance of friendship against her better judgement, one that proved fatal.
Crying Heather wanted to avoid the world of Lisa. Lisa was not for Heather. That’s why the offer of houses and Ipecas never came to fruition. Rejection can lead to murder… where evil replaces love.
Crying Heather saw Lisa as a snake, but Crying Heather wrongfully surmised that she( Lisa) was just the garden variety…not some poisonous Viper of Death…until after she saw “GET OUT.”
A snake will eat a snake, and will also eat you to, if you wrongfully place your trust in it.
Now crying Heather is physically dead. The layers of her paintings finalized. Her earthy pain gone.
Her Obituary is on Legacy. It never mentioned Lisa. Period. We know why.
And what about Lisa and her kindred spirits of Jealousy, Envy, Hate, And Rejection ??
You can find them at www. by r slf.co… crying crocodile tears while claiming this was an LGBT relationship.”
Then I said to the living Spirit:
“If this had been a LGBT relationship, then why didn’t Lisa just drop the first letter in Heather’s name…and proceed from there. Surely Death did not taste more pleasant.”
The living Spirit looked at me sternly once again…then all the Spiritual Universe, along with Heather and me, erupted again in laughter.
The living Spirit looked at me and said, “You Funny!!””
“Heather now paints the layers of the universe with stars, fractals, and things she freely creates, her tears lifted with every stroke. Heather smiles again,” said The Spirit.
“Give Heather a box of them there maggots too,” I said, “ just in case that “bitch Lisa” shows back up… looking for something to eat!”
The living Spirit laughed and said, “She can’t come here, but you are welcome to take some maggots with you in case you need them after you finish this dream.”
“Come on now Mr. Spirit,” I said, “I don’t want to wake up to some crawling maggots in a box, I would rather wake up to some $MONEY$… or maybe you can help me win one of those lotteries.”
Then the living Spirit said, “OK, but I’m going to still keep a box of maggots nearby you, just in case you need them.”
I said, “Cool, but yucky!”
As the Spirits begin their departure, I remarked, “I guess White folk needed “GET OUT” too.” As before, my remarks were met not without laughter.
Then the living Spirit said to me, “Wake up and write every word. Let your last written word be Amen.” So, that is what I did. Amen.