Meet a Warrior: Introducing 1Wise-Woman

Meet 1Wise-Woman, a Warrior

Blood Into Ink

The strength of Blood Into Ink is the writers who gather here. Each member is fierce, talented and incredibly respectful and supportive of others living with a history of trauma. We believe that their stories will move and inspire you

Laurie resizedCurator/Writer

I write under the name 1Wise-Woman.

Where do you live? What do you love about it?

I live in Western Oregon, out in the country, on 35 acres of forestland. Oregon is known for it’s beautiful scenery, from old growth forests, mountains to the Pacific Ocean. I live in an area that most would consider to be full of “hippies”. We love organic everything, local businesses, biking instead of driving, tie-dye, natural living, weed in any form (I may be the only person that does not partake), bra-less boobs and our college football team. In the area that I live, you could drive an hour west and get to…

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Objectification

My latest piece on Blood Into Ink

Blood Into Ink

8e8a65f8a697091e7fe5837e049d519d

You sharpen your words

into knives

lovingly caressing blade

with whetting stone

until it can split hairs

your goal

to dismember

into assorted parts

a skilled and enthusiastic butcher

you long to reduce women to

arms

legs

feet

hands

breasts

pelvis

head

mouth taped firmly shut

blindfolded

to hide reproach

judgement

in our eyes

to diminish

disempower

silence

How terrified

you must be

of our wombs

our truths

our rage

to think that complete

objectification

nothing short of carving us like

Thanksgiving turkey

can protect you

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Swear to Me Cover Reveal-Nicholas Gagnier

The authors of A Room So Still and Quiet are honored that this collaborative piece will be published in its entirety in Nicholas Gagnier’s Anthology “Swear to Me.” Profits will go to support mental health organizations.

Free Verse ReVolution

Available October 24. Featuring Phil Benton, A. Marie Kaluza, Kindra M. Austin, Marcia Weber, Christine E. Ray, Paul F. Lenzi, Lois Linkins, Laurie Wise and more!

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Balance

I have been struggling this week with the lines between free speech and hate speech; art and pornography and/or gratuitous violence. It is a line that has been challenging me on social media, in my writing life and unfolding in demonstrations and counter demonstrations all over the United States this week.  I fiercely defend first amendment rights and am a passionate advocate of divergent literature but I have found my personal boundaries pushed over and over again this week. White supremacists, artistic provocateurs and writers whose motivations are opaque have exposed me to viewpoints, to written words, that are targeted, violent, unsettling and often inhumane.  As a person who cares deeply about social justice, I have struggled with how directly to confront it—I do not generally choose silence but nor do I want to provide fuel to someone who will use my words for their own physical or mental masturbation.  As a childhood sexual abuse survivor, this is even more complex. Sometimes when a stimuli is especially triggering, the best self-care is to remove myself from the situation, at least until the dust settles emotionally.

I am sure that I will continue to mull this over in the coming days and weeks. I am not sure that we have cultural agreement on what is first amendment protected speech and what is harassment and terroristic threats any more than I am sure that there is a clear culturally accepted line between what is erotica versus pornography, realistic violence versus a snuff poem. I only know that this week I discovered some of my limits as a reader, as a human being, and that I need to sit with that for a while.

 

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

Meet a Warrior: Introducing John W. Leys/Blood Into Ink

Meet a Warrior: John W. Leys/Blood Into Ink

Blood Into Ink

The strength of Blood Into Ink is the writers who gather here. Each member is fierce, talented and incredibly respectful and supportive of others living with a history of trauma. We believe that their stories will move and inspire you.

John resizedCurator/Writer

John W. Leys

Where do you live? What do you love about it?

I live in central Oregon. There are many things I love about this area, but if I were forced to choose just one I would say my favorite is being able to see the Cascade Mountains from my back yard.

Tell us about yourself

This may sound strange for a poet, but I always find it awkward talking about myself. But since you asked nicely, I’ll give it a shot:

I was born a thousand years ago in the year 5733 (Oh, sorry that’s the Hebrew Calendar, it was 1973) in Oceanside, Long Island, New York…

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I remember-Nathan McCool/Blood Into Ink

Beautiful raw writing from Nathan McCool/Blood Into Ink

Blood Into Ink

man-2445281_960_720Here I am,

the king of letting good things die.

My fingers are dark magic talismans, and sometimes they’re wrapped around everything.

My lungs have evolved to only breath air violated with toxins and rot.

But most importantly,

my burning, black skull remembers it all.

I remember being a child struck dumb and motionless beneath my mother. That midnight skull still wears the scar where it was cracked open on the concrete.

I remember the sound of the gun

while watching a suicide. And sometimes I still taste my friend’s brain matter in my mouth.

I remember my father slicing him arms open with cheap knives while he stood at my daughter’s grave.

My eyes still sting every now and then and I think maybe it’s his blood still clinging there where I tried to wipe the tears.

I remember the sound of a phone ringing

the night a sweet…

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But, I am no temple… — Dom/Bold, Beat…

I hang with the most amazing writers Dom/Blood Into Ink

Blood Into Ink

For my former shacks… you too are a temple.. and are worthy of every bit of adoration

(I wrote this in response to Temple, by Eric from My Sword and Shield!!! Please check his piece out, and all of his work as he as inspired me to think out the box so many times!)

You see me as your temple… but if only you knew me a few years back… it would probably fuck up your mental…

Would adoration be offered if you knew me when I was a shack? So open and broken… when self love and respect was what I lacked?

I used to let the village use me… so desperate to be occupied, the overwhelming blasphemy I allowed to invade my walls and later on led to just confuse me..

Okay…okay… no need to to dwell on it… I caught wind of the deceit… I emptied…

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Blood Into Ink Writing Prompt Challenge: The Tao of Cage Fighting/Mighty Tigress

My apartment isn’t magazine material, but it’s mine. A little loft, with brick walls and apparent pipes, a futon and the bathroom on one side, the training stuff in the middle, and the kitchen on the other side. A few flowers as the only decor. Home, not for long. Unless I win this fight.

The thermometer shows 101.2. I swallow four Advil and leave.

Sifu used to say the joy of the fish is not thinking of water. He always talked about it. Discarding thoughts, possessions, ambitions. Focus on getting better and that’s all. That may work in a small village in China, but in America, lose your home and you can’t sleep in a cave somewhere. The Uber stops in front of the abandoned high school in Oakland. Driver peers at me, worrisome. I wink.

Gloves on, I fix my hair in a tight bun, and put my reddest lipstick. The other guy always gets uncomfortable with my cherry mouth. A mix of arousal, guilt, surprise. They called me geisha once, the ignorance of the American white male never ceases to amuse me. I check the temperature again. 103. Fuck.

A minute later, I’m in the cage. Beyond the wires, shouts of encouragement. They all have money in the bets. A black kid goes to the chalkboard on the balconies and writes the odds. A few years ago, it would be 2 or 3 against me. There aren’t many girls fighting men, after all. But after 12 consecutive wins, things changed. “Tigress! Tigress!” The crowd is mine.

Bell rings and the ritual of mutual measurement begins. We walk around each other and try a few hits, just to test reflexes. This one is a tall black dude with basketball limbs and an afro. The brutes I face here don’t offer real risk, but they allow me to experiment against live pressure. To keep my forms current and real. For me, this is training. Tonight is for counter strikes.

A jab comes my way. I dodge, the back hurts. The fever must be rising; I need to finish this fast. Another jab, now with a cross. I get away and hit him with three hooks on his rib then wobble on the other direction. It must have hurt more on me than him.

My eyes start to cross and I begin to sweat. Breathing gets harder. The whole body aches. Hold on, Claudia. It will be over soon.

For a second, I am back in China, training with Sifu, getting belabored for trying to use force against him, a grown up man, when I am just twelve. “Block strong, dumb. Block stronger, very dumb.” I always had trouble letting go.

The Savage, that was his nickname, had pretty fast legs. He throws a kick that barely misses, then a spinning fist I manage to block. I hold his arm, he pulls. We are at a lock. I can smell his breath, hear his grunts. Our sweat mix as we slip against each other. My stomach protests, but I don’t want to bring the fight to the ground. Not feeling like this. But I can’t let him go. What’s wrong with me? I palm strike him on the ear. He backs off. Now he’s deaf and furious.

My head is slow. My muscles, in pain. I blink and sense my eyelids burn when they touch. Lights dim up and down. I try to launch an attack, but it hurts too much. Better wait. Then he comes, running. I can’t think, can’t react. A flying knee gets closer and closer to my face. Hold on, Claudia. Not now, not now. I jump on his direction, desperate. I have no plan.

The world spins. It all goes black.

I wake up in a place with blue walls, a tube plugged into my arm. A hospital. The booker is seating next to me. “That was stupid, you know? Fighting like this, sick like a possum.”

“The fight?”, I ask.

“That was an impressive move. Crazy, but amazing. Knockout of the night!”

No idea what he’s saying, but try not to show. He hands me a check. “Here, blood into ink.” He doesn’t think that guy is ever going to fight again, and I have no idea why.

Need to go.

I call the nurse. “I’m feeling great. Will be fine.” She says she needs to talk to the doctor, but I get dressed and leave anyway. Have to pay the rent.


Mighty Tigress is writing a book about a Chinese girl. Tai chi teacher during the day, cage fighter at night. And is posting some fragments of the story on her blog to experiment with the characters and the narrator.

Meet a Warrior: Introducing Aurora Phoenix

Meet Aurora Phoenix

Blood Into Ink

The strength of Blood Into Ink is the writers who gather here. Each member is fierce, talented and incredibly respectful and supportive of others living with a history of trauma. We believe that their stories will move and inspire you

MW skydiving 1Curator/Writer

Aurora Phoenix – my nom de plume

Where do you live? What do you love about it?

I live in Ohio, USA, straddled between Cincinnati and Dayton (living in one, working in the other). I have lived all of my adult life here. I grew up in Detroit, MI, USA. I love the splendor of the Great Lakes, and feel very connected to Michigan, especially northern Michigan along the lake. While Ohio still feels like an adoptive home, I love the versatility of Cincinnati. It has many of the attractions of a larger city- access to arts, sporting and cultural events – while retaining smaller neighborhoods. I continue to…

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