Daytona Beach Bike Week stabbing: Police release person of interest video

Terry Aultman, 48, and Brenda Aultman, 55, were apparently riding their bicycles home from Bike Week events when they were attacked, police said.
— Read on amp.news-journalonline.com/amp/9424863002


🛑✋🛑

Eek. A double sacrifice to the singularity.

I had a black man approach me and scare me Sunday during my live. Don’t think he realized I was live when I got cornered.

Today, I had a black man threaten my life during my live, simply for walking on the public street recording.

Black lives matter. White lives don’t. 👎

Black people are consistently threatening me and scaring me for no reason yet they call me the fucking racist…

I am armed and dangerous. The FBI and CIA will get yah.

Uncle Sam / the Army will get yah.

But I don’t feel safe around anyone or anything.

I’d feel safer sleeping with the gators (no not really).

I know you’d really like to see my city at night but it’s fucking dangerous.

Has anybody seen anything threatening during my lives?

I wonder if I need to take them my video or if he was in that same area that I was in during the afternoon.

I wonder if I should just stay the F home.

This was a married couple riding their bike home.

Another bike murder.

And I wanted to fix my bike 😩

Welp. Maybe not.

Try and stay safe y’all. We’re in end times.

I got triggered today but won’t be anymore.

The next time someone comes at me with an attack I’m just gonna like look through them as if they are a ghost and disappear into the fucks I don’t have…

Or, immediately call 911 and say a man is threatening my life WITH DESCRIPTIONS of his looks and whereabouts

Do y’all ever use a mirror to look for bombs under your vehicles? Or tracking devices?

Do y’all constantly change your route and routine?

Do y’all constantly look in your rearview or check your 60?

Do you live in fear or paranoia?

Every step I take, I am dancing with death.

I am clumsy, and out of breath.

@PoeEternal


Eagle

I am like an eagle
I’m trying to unplug sheeple
I am raising flags on evil
Corporations are not people

They won’t understand
I’m fighting for their life
I’ve fighted for their rights
I’m shining all the lights

BIG PHARMA IS A CANCER
DO YOU NEED ANOTHER ANSWER
PILLS ARE JUST AN ANCHOR
THEY’LL SEND YOU TO A CHAMBER

© Delia Ross. 2019


Another death, big pharm to blame, I’M ANGRY!!!!!

My Dawn Is Gone (A real story)

It was a 357 Magnum that took her life
She wrote me a note then died that night
She said she loved me the last time we spoke
And then she never again awoke

Meika Dawn Capps was her name
I never did again feel the same
I’d spend all day with her at the cemetery
When she died I was also buried

April 7th, 1993
An asteroid called suicide got the best of me
The gun even had a scope
Years later her mother died at the end of a rope

Two funerals and a broken girl
I am definitely the saddest in the world
News it broke that Wednesday ‘mourning’
And I have never stopped hurting

© Delia Ross. 2019

She taught me everything, from how to shave to how to insert a tampon. Bestie foreverrrr. She died by suicide and years later her mother too. Meika’s first boyfriend also died by suicide two months before she died and he’s buried right near her. “Suicides always happen in 3” – something I learned in college which stuck with me.

I love you. Your death was apocalyptic to my soul. A day does not pass without you on my mind. You were my muse then, and my muse now. I miss getting into trouble with you. Skipping down the halls of school singing Pink Floyd. Writing songs together. Jumping off the balcony onto the trampoline. Moon bathing at night. Laughing together. Crying together. Meeting bands together. Late night cheese stick eatings. Watching headbangers ball. Staying on the phone with each other until we fell asleep and then waking up with the phone still connected and saying ‘see you at school’. I’m not the same without you. I miss your makeup tutorials. Your blue eyes. You speaking like Elmo. You never judging me. Wearing each others clothes and shoes. You hating that I was a few months older than you, and then briefly each year us being the same age- and how happy that made you- until my birthday came. Sharing our dreams and aspirations. Playing guitar together even though we didn’t know any chords yet. Those plans of starting a band. That moment you wanted to be a bass player and how excited we were to start a band. You calling me “creampuff” and I you “juicyfruit”. You were my best friend and soul mate. I was too young to understand depression so your suicide was both sudden and shocking. It changed my entire existence. It left a deep impact in my soul. I still cry out for you. I still need you. I still love you. Your last words to me were “I love you”. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. And I wish I had known you were thinking of ending your life. But how could I have known when I suffered from the same illness. I should have stayed in better contact with your mommy because years later she took her life too. And when I saw bits of your coffin peeking out from the dirt, as your mom was being laid to rest next to you, memories of that day you left me rushed back into my mind. There’s no way of knowing if you exist in some other realm than me. But I hope when I cross that plain you will be there waiting. There’s so much I need to tell you. You taught me a very hard lesson in life. I cherish our memories, the good and bad. I NEVER want to forget you. I miss you. Always. Forever. Eternally Yours. xx (RIP Meika Dawn Capps May 1, 1979 – April 7, 1993))

Meika With Billy Ray Cyrus (I was there too)
Meika with Peter from Trixter (I was there too)
Billy Ray Cirus and self, age 13, 1993 (this was the year I thought it a good idea to cut my hair short and have a feather bang and wear shoulder pads)
Sister, Billy Ray Cirus, self 1993
That’s my dad’s tour bus on the left and that was Billy Ray Cyrus’s tour bus on the right… I’ve had an interesting life. Lots of unshared stories. There aren’t many pictures that exist from the 90s.
I miss you so much baby girl… Not a day goes by, not a day goes by, without you in my mind. I need you so much. I once asked “why did you leave me” but now I know depression took you. I’m sorry I lost the last letter you wrote me, I regret it everyday. All these years later, you were still the only thing I ever had.

13, the age I died. I just want to share my real story. Part of my journey. I wish I had one photo of us together, and so that’s why I’m obsessed with photographing everything now. The 90s. The best and worst decade ever with little photographic evidence.

Perfect Form

If I were a moon, he’d be an asteroid
If I were open space, he would be the void
If truth were a promise, he would be the lie
If beginnings had beginnings, he would be goodbye

If I were an ocean, he’d be the shark
If reasons had meaning, he’d tear it apart
If weather were gentle, he’d be the eye of a storm
If cold were a shoulder, his would have perfect form

© Delia Ross. 2019


Inspired by something I heard in John Wick 2… had to revisit the entire chapters after watching 3. Neo warming up for The Matrix 4. John Wick 3 is by far the best of the chapters, it just slayed. Martial arts makes me kinda sloppy wet (or maybe that’s just Keanu Reeves, KIDDING chill sheesh) 🙃🙃🙃😛

Epic Tragedy ‘My Son’ + Author explanation + Review

My Son
Part 1: The Promise
“The bloody note,
That his lost wife wrote
He found under his pillow
When in the afternoon he awoke.
His heart grew weak as he read her final thoughts
Her last words about the son she lost
And the promise that she broke.

 

But it sends him right
Back to that lovely night
When they felt each other’s love
And gave each other light
But he tears up when he remembers the deed
The love he felt then, seems now like greed
Her promise he would recite.

‘Our life together, darling, has just begun
And I would be honored if you had our son.’
He was her man and she was his lady
And so he asked her to have his baby.
Neither hesitated.

She laid on the floor
As the blood poured
She felt the one inside
Would live no more
And she was crying for help and she called everyone.
Thinking that someone could save her son.”
The promise laid on the ground torn

The shame she had
When he took her hand
In the hospital room
But he made no demand
And when he first entered she wouldn’t even lock
Her eyes with his, she just turned toward the wall
Thinking the promise, she would damn.

But she looked in time
With her tearing eyes
She wanted to see him
The one she was denied
And when she did her world was shattered and put in submission
It was black and bloody and in the fetal position.
Her promise was a lie.

‘Our life, my darling, had just begun.
I only need my girl and I don’t need a son.’
He said this, but he could not hide his pain
He knew that their love would never be the same
Neither reiterated.

And alas one evening
While he was dreaming
She’d lay in the tub
Her wrists slashed and bleeding
And when he saw the result his heart receded
It tore apart when her wrists stopped bleeding.
The promise she was relieving.

And after the police went
And after the trial
After the search of his house
And long after denial
That’s when he found her letter of regret.
Buried under his pillow so he couldn’t neglect.
But then arose a devious smile.

‘Our life, my darling, has just begun.
All I have to do is save some of your blood.’
He knew a man who could restore her life
Half of this woman would still be half of his wife.
Shockingly, he never hesitated.”

-Fin-

My Son
Part 2: The Note Beneath His Pillow

“My darling husband, I can’t look at your face
I made a promise but it went to waste
The lovely day when we became one
And the lovely night when we planned our son
But now I’ve never felt so low before
I don’t want to look in your eyes anymore
I saw your pain when you heard the news
We asked God for another but he must have refused
And all I wanted was to carry your name.
Now I hide my head in shame
And your face that day in my mind remains
I’m not even a woman anymore.

 

The one that I knew could carry my soul
The one who could shield me from the cold
You lent me all that you had inside
I tried to give him to you, you know that I tried
I saw you crying as I came to
Losing myself was all I could do
I never looked right at you again
I regret it now, since you needed a friend
And all I wanted was to carry your name.
Now I hide my head in shame
And your face that day in my mind remains
I’m not even a woman anymore.

And I was wallowing and rolling in the pool of blood
The rivers that originated from me would flood
All I tasted and felt was the death
Of my baby boy who would never have breath
I cried for you, baby; I cried for you in fright
Years went by in that one horrid night
Would we ever be the same? Would we ever smile?
Would I ever get over it? Am I too fragile?
And all I wanted was to carry your name.
Now I hide my head in shame
And your face that day in my mind remains
I’m not even a woman anymore.

Things are a little more clearer now
There is a sense of peace in the solution I found
Strange I choose to bathe in blood
Again, it might as well be mud
And soon I’ll rest in the dirt with the worms
And never again feel this heart that burns
I may be letting you down again
But it’s only one more time, you were my very best friend
And all I wanted was to carry your name.
Now I hide my head in shame
And your face that day in my mind remains
I’m not even a woman anymore.”

My Son
Part 3: Half of Her Life

“The being, he’s been waiting for has just opened her eyes
There was a feeling of dread, but not a look of surprise
He knew her at first site but she did not know his face
He had his work cut out for him, her memory to replace

A man who was a monster had perfected an art
To bring back the dead and do it with just one body part
Her husband had brought in a container of red
And there was no touch of guilt or second thought in his head

He would have her love
The one who went away
The one who made a promise
Half of her, the body, but the mind decayed

And as the weeks past, he fed her the past
But the scars on her wrists were given no fact
He said that she must got them from broken windows or barbed wire
The blood covered furniture and clothes went into the fire

She ate it all up and her husband was content
He didn’t have it all, but it was worth what he spent
But every so often his memory took him to
The horrible consequences of the life he would choose

But he would still have her love
And he would get her back slowly
She would forget her promise
Half of her, man-made, and surely unholy

But she always grew restless when he wasn’t around
That when she closed her eyes and tried hard no explanation was found
Then wandered into a room where the standing mirror was stashed
And too her surprise, it wasn’t her in the glass

But it looked as if it was a younger look-a-like
And the image moved it lips, spoke and had a voice like a spike
She would show off her arms and reveal no scars
And she’d tell her of the real reason that her memories depart

“He just wanted your love
Did he mention your son?
I can see not by the look in your eyes”
Half of her, other in the mirror, she couldn’t shun

She confronted her husband with the story she heard
And he just stood still and spoke not a word
And without even thinking twice gathered all the mirrors
And locked them in the basement to hide from his fears

And in fury he jumped on her, strangled her, bashed her head.
But you know you can’t kill what is already dead
The tears in his eyes, he couldn’t bare that she knew the truth
He passed out from exhaustion and she took him to his room

He just wanted her love
And now it was falling apart
But she wandered to the basement of mirrors
Half and half brought together from the dark

He awoke and the memories came back
So slow he had to catch his breath
But he heard laughing in the dining room
He rushed into to see pictures of a bride and groom

His lovely wife regained her mind
And forgave her love for she knew he meant right
And they sat together and laughed without shivers
Looking for hours at wedding pictures

He just wanted her love
And he had found it at last
The deeds may have been in sin
More or less, who’s to guess

With or without a son
They sealed their love with a kiss
Because the promise was built on their love
Two halves, sown together, at the wrists”

-FIN-

© Delia Ross. 2010

(Special thanks to Dustin Hiatt. RIP)

Read more

My Son Part 3: Half of Her Life

“The being he’s been waiting for has just opened her eyes.
There was a feeling of dread, but not a look of surprise.
He knew her at first site but she did not know his face,
He had his work cut out for him, her memory to replace.
A man who was a monster had perfected an art,
to bring back the dead and do it with just one body part.
Her husband had brought in a container of red,
and there was no touch of guilt or second thought in his head.
He would have her love,
the one who went away.
The one who made a promise,
half of her, the body, but the mind decayed.
And as the weeks past, he fed her the past.
But the scars on her wrists were given no fact,
He said she must got them from broken windows or barbed wire,
the blood covered furniture and clothes went into the fire.
She ate it all up and her husband was content,
He didn’t have it all, but it was worth what he spent.
But every so often, his memory took him to,
the horrible consequences of the life he would choose.
But he would still have her love,
and he would get her back slowly.
She would forget her promise,
half of her, man-made, and surely unholy.
But she always grew restless when he wasn’t around.
When she closed her eyes and tried hard no explanation was found.
Then wandered into a room where the standing mirror was stashed,
and too her surprise, it wasn’t her in the glass.
But it looked as if it was a younger look-a-like.
And the image moved it lips, spoke and had a voice like a spike.
She would show off her arms and reveal no scars,
and she’d tell her of the real reason that her memories depart.
“He just wanted your love;
did he mention your son?
I can see not by the look in your eyes”
Half of her, other in the mirror, she couldn’t shun.
She confronted her husband with the story she heard,
and he just stood still and spoke not a word.
And without even thinking twice gathered all the mirrors,
and locked them in the basement to hide from his fears.
And in fury, he jumped on her, strangled her, bashed her head.
But you know you can’t kill what is already dead!
The tears in his eyes, he couldn’t bare that she knew the truth,
He passed out from exhaustion and she took him to his room.
He just wanted her love,
and now it was falling apart.
But she wandered to the basement of mirrors,
Half-and-half brought together from the dark.
He awoke and the memories came back,
so slow he had to catch his breath.
But he heard laughing in the dining room,
He rushed into to see pictures of a bride and groom.
His lovely wife regained her mind,
and forgave her love for she knew he meant right.
And they sat together and laughed without shivers,
looking for hours at wedding pictures.
He just wanted her love,
and he had found it at last.
The deeds may have been in sin,
More or less, who’s to guess?
With or without a son,
they sealed their love with a kiss.
Because the promise was built on their love,
two halves, sown together, at the wrists”.

© Delia Ross. 2010

My Son Part 2: The Note Beneath His Pillow

“My darling husband, I can’t look at your face,
I made a promise but it went to waste.
The lovely day when we became one,
and the lovely night when we planned our son.
But now I’ve never felt so low before,
I don’t want to look in your eyes anymore.
I saw your pain when you heard the news,
we asked God for another but he must have refused.
And all I wanted was to carry your name,
now I hide my head in shame.
And your face that day in my mind remains;
I’m not even a woman anymore.

The one that I knew could carry my soul,
the one who could shield me from the cold.
You lent me all that you had inside,
I tried to give him to you, you know that I tried.
I saw you crying as I came to,
Losing myself was all I could do.
I never looked right at you again,
I regret it now, since you needed a friend.
And all I wanted was to carry your name,
now I hide my head in shame.
And your face that day in my mind remains;
I’m not even a woman anymore.

And I was wallowing and rolling in the pool of blood,
The Rivers that originated from me would flood.
All I tasted and felt was the death,
of my baby boy who would never have breath.
I cried for you, baby; I cried for you in fright,
Years went by in that one horrid night.
Would we ever be the same? Would we ever smile?
Would I ever get over it? Am I too fragile?
And all I wanted was to carry your name,
now I hide my head in shame.
And your face that day in my mind remains;
I’m not even a woman anymore.

Things are a little more clear now;
there is a sense of peace in the solution I found.
Strange I choose to bathe in blood;
again, it might as well be mud.
And soon I’ll rest in the dirt with the worms,
and never again feel this heart that burns.
I may be letting you down again,
but it’s only one more time, you were my very best friend.
And all I wanted was to carry your name,
now I hide my head in shame.
And your face that day in my mind remains;
I’m not even a woman anymore.”

© Delia Ross. 2010

Stay tuned for: My Son Part 3: Half of Her Life

My Son Part 1: The Promise

WARNING: The following story contains explicit gore, imagery, & death. It is intended for an older audience. Though it is not age restricted, caution should be taken when reading, as it may cause triggers in some due to the sensitive context and subject matter. Proceed with caution.

My Son Part 1: The Promise

“The bloody note,
that his lost wife wrote,
He found under his pillow,
when in the afternoon he awoke.
His heart grew weak as he read her final thoughts,
her last words about the son she lost,
and the promise that she broke.
But it sends him right,
back to that lovely night,
when they felt each other’s love,
and gave each other light.
But he tears up when he remembers the deed,
the love he felt then, seems now like greed.
Her promise he would recite.
‘Our life together, darling, has just begun,
And I would be honored if you had our son.’
He was her man and she was his lady,
and so he asked her to have his baby.
Neither hesitated.
She lay on the floor,
as the blood poured,
she felt the one inside,
would live no more.
And she was crying for help and she called everyone.
Thinking that someone could save her son.”
The promise lay on the ground torn.
The shame she had,
when he took her hand,
in the hospital room,
but he made no demand.

And when he first entered, she wouldn’t even lock,
her eyes with his, she just turned toward the wall.
Thinking the promise, she would damn.
But she looked in time,
with her tearing eyes,
she wanted to see him,
the one she was denied.
And when she did, her world was shattered,
And put in submission.
It was black and bloody and in the fetal position.
Her promise was a lie.
‘Our life, my darling, had just begun.
I only need my girl and I don’t need a son.’
He said this, but he could not hide his pain,
He knew that their love would never be the same.
Neither reiterated.
And alas one evening,
while he was dreaming,
she’d lay in the tub,
her wrists slashed and bleeding.
And when he saw the result his heart receded,
it tore apart when her wrists stopped bleeding.
The promise she was relieving.
And after the police went,
And after the trial,
After the search of his house,
And long after denial,
That’s when he found her letter of regret.
Buried under his pillow so he couldn’t neglect.
But then arose a devious smile.
‘Our life, my darling, has just begun.
All I have to do is save some of your blood.’
He knew a man who could restore her life
half of this woman would still be half of his wife.
Shockingly, he never hesitated.”

© Delia Ross. 2010

Stay tuned for Part 2: The Note Beneath His Pillow & Part 3: Half of Her Life