Gale Acuff

by Horror Sleaze Trash on June 22, 2017

I have had poetry published in AscentOhio JournalDescant, PoemAdirondack ReviewCoe ReviewWorcester ReviewMaryland Poetry Review, Arkansas ReviewFlorida ReviewSouth Carolina ReviewCarolina QuarterlySouth Dakota ReviewSequential Art Narrative in Education, and many other journals. I have authored three books of poetry: Buffalo Nickel (BrickHouse Press, 2004), The Weight of the World (BrickHouse, 2006), and The Story of My Lives (BrickHouse, 2008).       I have taught university English in the US, China, and the Palestinian West Bank.
I want to say tell Miss Hooker I love you
except she’s too old and I’m too young, 10
to her 25 and she’s my Sunday
School teacher and I’m her student and she’s
going to go to Heaven when she dies
–for her, death won’t really be like death–and
I’m a sinner and if I died right now
I guess I’d wake up dead, or deader, in
Hell. Where it’s hot, she says, and I’ll never
stop burning for eternity. Meanwhile, she’ll
be up yonder and taking it easy,
she says her soul will sing and play the harp
and have wings, wings since it’s an angel. All
I know is what life’s like now for me, and
my past, of course, most of it, what I can
remember back to my first memory
–before I was born I’m a bit shaky
though Miss Hooker says I was a soul in
Heaven waiting for a body. Something
like that–I wonder how she knows. Maybe
she has a better memory. Funny
but she’s got red hair, a lot like fire, and
green eyes like my sister’s cat and it ran
away. And it’s not because she’s pretty,
all those freckles on her face and neck and
arms to boot, she’s pretty damned decent, too,
and whenever she tells me I’m going
to Hell unless I get saved I don’t take
it personally, Jesus says forgive
and He should know and it’s easy because
Miss Hooker’s not my enemy but my
mother and father argue sometimes and I
have to leave the room because that’s not love
or if it is I’m too young to get it,
like knowing where babies come from, I don’t
mean Heaven but the part they played, Mother
and Father I mean, they had a date and
started up kissing and wound up with me.
I’ll end up dead one day like we all will
and if I want to live again then I
need to cut out my sinning but then if
I don’t have Miss Hooker for my wife, well,
I may just sin my way to perdition.
That‘ll show her and if not her then God
I’m no fool. I wasn’t born yesterday,
more like the day before. So forgive me.
                                         –Gale Acuff
Yes, Jesus loves me, but I need a raise
in my allowance so I’ve prayed like Hell
for two months now and nothing’s happened. We
sing that song in Sunday School, we’re all 10
but it’s a little kids’ song so maybe
Jesus is tired of it so in that case
He should get after Miss Hooker, she’s our
teacher but maybe He figures what with
the red hair, green eyes, and freckles she has
which God gave her in the beginning, her
beginning anyway, He won’t bug her
to bring us up to date with our hymning.
And I guess I’m a hypocrite because
we still sing “Onward, Christian Soldiers” and
I’m fond of that one, it’s like a war-song
but nobody gets hurt except Satan,
at least I think he gets hurt, I hope so
anyway but then the Bible says not
to hurt anyone. But then it also
says–I think God’s doing the talking here
–I’ll make your enemies your footstool, so
I don’t really know what’s what, Miss Hooker
sorts it all out for me, kind of, or tries,
but nobody’s perfect, except Jesus,
but even He died and how can folks die
and still be perfect? I asked Miss Hooker
that after class today and do you know
what she said? She said, Gale, repent,
for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.
I said, Yes ma’am, and went home. It’s a long
walk, back from God to the world of sin and
sorrow. I’m glad I wasn’t carrying
a cross. I wouldn’t have even made it
out of the parking lot. I need a raise.
                                     –Gale Acuff
Miss Hooker tells us children that when we
die we’ll go to Heaven, our souls that is,
to stand before the throne of God and be
judged and if the judgement’s bad although
God’s always fair, she says, we’ll go to Hell
but if it’s good we’ll go to Heaven and
dwell eternally in happiness, but
I’d rather not die at all and after
class went up to her chair, I mean she was
still sitting in it, and told her so and
asked if there wasn’t some way God and I
could work out a compromise. Miss Hooker
smiled and took her glasses off and put them
on again, I’d never seen her naked
like that before, her face I mean, but
I didn’t tell her so, I’m not stupid
and if you sin in church you’re certainly
doomed. And she said to me, Gale, you are
the compromise, whatever that means, I’m
only 10 to her 25 and that’s
not kosher somehow but I kept my peace
and just said, Yes ma’am, thank you, I’ll see you
next week, next week in Sunday School that is.
I walked home the mile home from church, beating my
breast over what she said, it didn’t sound
bad but didn’t sound good, either, but I
think I’ve got it now, she’s a compromise
too, and so is everybody else,
it’s either be alive the way life is
or never have been born and never die.
But if that’s not right then maybe she meant
to live eternally in Heaven or
Hell we have to put up with living here,
which means temptation and fighting it off
to show God we’ve got character. But if
I was God I’d let folks live forever
with only good things happening to them.
I’d put Heaven on earth and as for Hell
to Hell with it and we’d all be happy
then. Nobody would sin. Miss Hooker says
that one day that’s what things will be like here.
The difference is that I won’t make us wait,
which I hate–waiting, I mean. No patience.
Without death I guess there’s nothing to fear
but if there’s nothing to fear I’d just die.
                                          –Gale Acuff
In Sunday School today it all came down
to Jesus again, and the Lord’s Prayer
to finish class, and then we went into
the church for service, and then that was all
for one more week back in the regular
world, I’m in the third grade and forget God
until the weekend comes and He’s closer
in time but He’s always close anyway
Miss Hooker says, she’s my teacher and I
love her enough to want to marry her
even though she’s 25 and I’m just
10 so I can’t wait until I’m 18
and she’s 33, a reasonable
age because, she says, that’s how old Jesus
was when He got crucified but I wish
her better than that when we get married,
I won’t have her die for me, I want her
to live until she kicks naturally
and leaves me sad enough to wish that
I’ll see her again when I die, too, if
I’m as good as she says I have to be
to mount into Heaven, where I’ll track her
down–she might not get the word that I’ve been
born again up there, my soul anyway,
and I want to surprise her. Remember
me, I’ll ask, if I have lips, or maybe
folks use telepathy on high, they pray
their thoughts like we do down here when we speak
to God with our mouths shut, hoping He’ll heed.
I’m sure she will–we used to be married
and had babies besides and always hoped
we’d get to Heaven but never really
wanted to die to get there but that’s all
behind us now, or will be when we’re dead.
I wonder if we try to kiss our lips
will go clean through one another. I guess
we’ll have a good laugh at that and become
used to new ways of doing things up there.
Even if we never marry down here
I’ll still look Miss Hooker up. I’ll tell her
–I’ll think her–what she meant to me on earth.
If she can’t cry about that, it’s a sin.
                                        –Gale Acuff
Behold Thy Son
Miss Hooker’s my Sunday School teacher and
today she was talking about Jesus
dying, I mean by crucifixion, and
then His mother holding Him like she did,
maybe just like she did when Jesus was
a baby except that He was bigger,
of course, when He was still alive up
to then, His crucifixion. So I walked
the path home from Sunday School wondering
how she must have felt, Mary I mean, when
she held Jesus both times and probably
compared the older Him, also dying
or dead already, I think He was dead,
I think it’s there in the Bible somewhere,
with the younger Him of about thirty-
three years earlier and like we’d say in
science hour at regular school what her
findings are but here in Sunday School we
talk about heavier things than weight.
When I got home Mother was in the kitchen
cooking up lunch, bacon and eggs and toast.
So I told her the story and asked her
You’re a mother, how do you think she felt,
she meaning Mary and of course Jesus
was the Son of God on top of it all
to boot. How the Hell do you think I’d feel
she cried, and left the stove. I took over
but burned the bacon and the toast caught
fire and I undercooked the eggs. Father
came in from the living room and asked what
the Hell was wrong, was the house burning down,
No, I said, everything’s under control,
which was kind of a lie but true enough
When Mother returned I told her I was
sorry but that I wasn’t sure why. She
laughed and said that I should get used to it.
I think she meant that that’s why Jesus died.
It seems as good a reason as any
even though I don’t understand. Who could?
                                       –Gale Acuf

My name is Vanessa de Largie.

by Horror Sleaze Trash on June 20, 2017



My name is Vanessa de Largie.

I’m a journalist, actress, author, sex-columnist and blogger.

My work primarily focuses on feminism, fierce female sexuality and women’s issues.

My Official Facebook Fan Page Was Deleted For Speaking Up About Issues That Affect Women.

Please help me to have it restored and stop the oppression of female sexuality, bodies and voices.

My Facebook Fan Page had over 5000 likes and was removed without warning on June 14th 2017.  According to Facebook they had received ‘negative feedback’ about my page.

I have filled out every form on Facebook and written to their customer support team. All I receive back is generic emails and messages.

Facebook apparently supports freedom of speech and women. Yet it has taken away my platform to shed light on these issues.

I’m currently in London pursuing my dreams. I’m studying acting as a ‘visiting international artist’ at the London Actors Centre.  

My one-woman-show about my brutal rape recently premiered in a showcase at the Tristan Bates Theatre in the West End.  You can read about that performance in an article published on The Huff Post.  And in July, my one-woman-show  has 3 performances at the Lost Theatre off West End.

I’m a prolific journalist and sex-columnist for publications such as Maxim Magazine, Penthouse Magazine, RendezView, The Daily Telegraph and many more.

I’m  also an author of award-winning books about domestic violence and sexual assault.

I have spent the last 20+ years of my life pursuing my dream.  And the last 3 years of my life building my social media platform and developing relationships.

So on JUNE 14th 2017, when my Facebook fan page was deleted/removed — one can only begin to comprehend my dismay. This is a platform where I share my life’s WORK. 

Gratefully, Facebook have restored my personal account  which is a blessing .


THEY HAVE NOT restored my verified and official Facebook page which USED to sit at this url:

Everything has been taken away from me in a SNAP.  I’m unable to connect with followers or my niche market. I’m distraught…as you can imagine.  It’s having a huge affect on my business and ability to make a living.

And as per usual with life…the key is TIMING.  

I’m in rehearsal for my one-woman-show.  I don’t need this shit!

Here is my website.  

If you value me and my work —

I ask and beg of you to sign the petition and help me get my Facebook Fan page resurrected.

Thank you for your love and kindness.



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