I got some Thanks to give!
I dont want to go all ooshy on yer asses, so I'll leave out some details.
But , hear this much : Without my friends , being there , giving a shit, listening to me bitch and moan , over the past year, I'm not sure I would be here now.
And that would be a shame , because I am enjoying here, and I am enjoying now. As much as ever.
What can I do for you, my good friends?
Anything you ask.
Anything you need.
I promise , I'll be there to do it.
I love you all SO much!
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Like I said< No one wants to hear about pedophilia
Apparently, not even Sister Mary Catherine.
I looked up my abuser's name on the internet. (I will not say that I "googled" him, because the thought results in dry heaves.
My abuser is a very important man.
He lives in Portland. He owns a business. His pals are mayors and governors.
He is well-to-do.
He serves on commissions.
He donates his money and time to civic good works.
He is the salt of the earth.
He is a pedophile.
He is a predator.
He is an important donor and volunteer with the Franciscan Academy of Very Young and Innocent Children. (Not the school's real name .....maybe later.)
I sent the academy an email. I named this man,talked of my reason for knowing he is a predator, and begged them to keep him away from children.
They said that Sister Mary Catherine would contact me by phone,on that very day,after 5pm.
What a relief. They HEARD me!
But, Lord! I was nervous.
I was an 8 year old girl, waiting to talk about exactly how and when, and where I'd been touched by a bad man. I'm still 8 years old.
Though I was alone, at home, I spiked my hair, I wore rattlesnake rattles, and studs, and spikes, and bones, and black, black, black...........Not for Sister Mary Catherine, but for myself, to remind myself that I am NOT any longer, a pliant 8 year old..
I
am
anger!
The nun never called.
I went to bed wearing snakes and spikes.
Maybe she was very very busy interviewing children and parents about contact with that guy.
Or maybe, like said in last blog post, NO ONE wants to hear about pedophilia.
He is a big donor to the school. Perhaps they rely on that income.
It continues.
Protect your children.
Teach them to protect themselves.
I looked up my abuser's name on the internet. (I will not say that I "googled" him, because the thought results in dry heaves.
My abuser is a very important man.
He lives in Portland. He owns a business. His pals are mayors and governors.
He is well-to-do.
He serves on commissions.
He donates his money and time to civic good works.
He is the salt of the earth.
He is a pedophile.
He is a predator.
He is an important donor and volunteer with the Franciscan Academy of Very Young and Innocent Children. (Not the school's real name .....maybe later.)
I sent the academy an email. I named this man,talked of my reason for knowing he is a predator, and begged them to keep him away from children.
They said that Sister Mary Catherine would contact me by phone,on that very day,after 5pm.
What a relief. They HEARD me!
But, Lord! I was nervous.
I was an 8 year old girl, waiting to talk about exactly how and when, and where I'd been touched by a bad man. I'm still 8 years old.
Though I was alone, at home, I spiked my hair, I wore rattlesnake rattles, and studs, and spikes, and bones, and black, black, black...........Not for Sister Mary Catherine, but for myself, to remind myself that I am NOT any longer, a pliant 8 year old..
I
am
anger!
The nun never called.
I went to bed wearing snakes and spikes.
Maybe she was very very busy interviewing children and parents about contact with that guy.
Or maybe, like said in last blog post, NO ONE wants to hear about pedophilia.
He is a big donor to the school. Perhaps they rely on that income.
It continues.
Protect your children.
Teach them to protect themselves.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Pedophilia
I'm sure no one wants to hear about THAT.
No one ever wanted to hear about it.
I tried to tell, but it was too horrible for anyone to hear.
So the kid shuts up.
The kid is ashamed.
I've always thought it was halfway my fault.
Years go by.Decades.
It wouldnt have happened if she was'nt such a rotten kid.
This does not happen to nice girls.
Yet, I dont think she was a bad girl. How could she have been. She was only 8 years old.
She might have drank orange juice, or milk from the carton, when no one was looking, and she would absolutely steal sweets.But I dont think she was really bad.
8 years old, maybe younger, as far as I can figure, based on where she lived.
I know exactly WHERE it happened. The hall, outside her pink-painted bedroom with the teddy bears in it , and the dollies..
And I know it was a Thursday. Thursdays were when the sitter came.
I cant remember dates. I dont even know how many times. But it was more than once.
I cant prove it.
I cant prove any of it. No dates . No times.
But I can see and feel every detail like it happened yesterday.
She didnt like it.
I did not like it.
I am middle -aged now. I identify as lesbian.
Would I so identify if I hadnt been "molested"? I do not know. That is a heck of a thing not to know.
I dont know if I'm a real lesbian.
I dont know if I'm a real anything, except I am a REAL bonifide, "Dont fucking TOUCH me!"
(They call it "molested", which means ' bothered')
They should call it more honestly.
Fucked.
That asshole fucked an 8 year old.
That asshole FUCKED an 8 year old!
She didnt know what "fuck" meant.
He gave her a stick of gum and told her not to tell.
...and I didnt, for a while, because I was a good girl.
When I learned about fuck at age 10, ..............I thought I was going to have a baby.
But I didnt tell.
I waited for it to come out. At night.Out of my hairless little girl vulva.
But it never did, because I had not menstruated. But That was a detail I was not aware.of.
I'm 56, and I've figured out finally, there aint no baby in there.
On October 17 2012, A court order forced the release of old files long held in secret by the Boy Scouts of America, going back to the early 1960's. The release of these files stemmed from old cases and cover-ups of child sexual abuse by Boy Scout leaders, in and around Portland, Oregon from the early 1960s.
http://news.yahoo.com/boy-scouts-america-perversion-files-made-available-public-183000544.html
I read the files. There were names there I knew.
There were lies.
There are STILLl lies.
There were a lot of victims.
The victims werent all boys.
No one ever wanted to hear about it.
I tried to tell, but it was too horrible for anyone to hear.
So the kid shuts up.
The kid is ashamed.
I've always thought it was halfway my fault.
Years go by.Decades.
It wouldnt have happened if she was'nt such a rotten kid.
This does not happen to nice girls.
Yet, I dont think she was a bad girl. How could she have been. She was only 8 years old.
She might have drank orange juice, or milk from the carton, when no one was looking, and she would absolutely steal sweets.But I dont think she was really bad.
8 years old, maybe younger, as far as I can figure, based on where she lived.
I know exactly WHERE it happened. The hall, outside her pink-painted bedroom with the teddy bears in it , and the dollies..
And I know it was a Thursday. Thursdays were when the sitter came.
I cant remember dates. I dont even know how many times. But it was more than once.
I cant prove it.
I cant prove any of it. No dates . No times.
But I can see and feel every detail like it happened yesterday.
She didnt like it.
I did not like it.
I am middle -aged now. I identify as lesbian.
Would I so identify if I hadnt been "molested"? I do not know. That is a heck of a thing not to know.
I dont know if I'm a real lesbian.
I dont know if I'm a real anything, except I am a REAL bonifide, "Dont fucking TOUCH me!"
(They call it "molested", which means ' bothered')
They should call it more honestly.
Fucked.
That asshole fucked an 8 year old.
That asshole FUCKED an 8 year old!
She didnt know what "fuck" meant.
He gave her a stick of gum and told her not to tell.
...and I didnt, for a while, because I was a good girl.
When I learned about fuck at age 10, ..............I thought I was going to have a baby.
But I didnt tell.
I waited for it to come out. At night.Out of my hairless little girl vulva.
But it never did, because I had not menstruated. But That was a detail I was not aware.of.
I'm 56, and I've figured out finally, there aint no baby in there.
On October 17 2012, A court order forced the release of old files long held in secret by the Boy Scouts of America, going back to the early 1960's. The release of these files stemmed from old cases and cover-ups of child sexual abuse by Boy Scout leaders, in and around Portland, Oregon from the early 1960s.
http://news.yahoo.com/boy-scouts-america-perversion-files-made-available-public-183000544.html
I read the files. There were names there I knew.
There were lies.
There are STILLl lies.
There were a lot of victims.
The victims werent all boys.
Monday, September 17, 2012
I'm NOT crazy!
I'm not the crazy one.
OMFG!
I
am
not
the
crazy
one
!
Oh my stars! What a relief. What a fucking load off my recently troubled psyche.
All this acting crazy is taking a lot of energy. And time. It takes so much time.
and it disturbs people.
Totally unnecessary!
Hallelujah....or however you say that in the language of snakes .....(Yeah. I am very odd....but I AM NOT THE CRAZY ONE!)
So I'm done acting crazy , except in the service of FUN.
I believe I'll yet retain the habit of dressing in spikes and snakes, strange colors and adolescent outcast wear, because .....it serves the purpose of fun, and black is slimming.
Stick a fork in this depression.
Its done.
OMFG!
I
am
not
the
crazy
one
!
Oh my stars! What a relief. What a fucking load off my recently troubled psyche.
All this acting crazy is taking a lot of energy. And time. It takes so much time.
and it disturbs people.
Totally unnecessary!
Hallelujah....or however you say that in the language of snakes .....(Yeah. I am very odd....but I AM NOT THE CRAZY ONE!)
So I'm done acting crazy , except in the service of FUN.
I believe I'll yet retain the habit of dressing in spikes and snakes, strange colors and adolescent outcast wear, because .....it serves the purpose of fun, and black is slimming.
Stick a fork in this depression.
Its done.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Schism
alienation
breach,
break,
cleft,
crack,
difference,
disaffection,
disagreement
discord,
disharmony,
dissension,
disunity,
division
discontinuity,
disjunction
estrangement
falling-out,
fissure,
fracture,
gap,
gash,
hole,
opening,
parting of the ways,
quarrel,
rent,
rift,
rupture,
secession,
separation,
severance,
split,
strife,
tear,
variance,
withdrawal,
`
`
I heard about a Labrador retriever running in blind foaming panic with a dog house leashed to his collar, clattering after him, down a highway. . The doghouse chased the frightened dog for miles. It chased him out of sight. I don't know what happened to the dog. I hope he eventually stopped,and some kind person freed him from his terrifying burden.
Me , I finally undid my own leash , and the funniest thing....
There was no doghouse hooked to me at all . I'd lost it miles ago.
Its in a pile, broken and splintered. Its been back there all the while.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
BlockHead
Right place. Exactly the right time.
I just returned from a 4-day intensive Japanese woodblock print-making workshop.
....and now everything looks just a tad different. A little bit of Kitagawa Utamaro's floating world informs my brand new retinas.
I like what my head does when I carve my block of Linden wood.
When I ink the block and rub the paper, I am surprised to see the picture emerge from inside my head , through the wood , by way of the ink, into the material world.
This is fantastic!
The paper I'm using is made of mulberry fibers soaked for hours in a cool stream, by old women in a tiny village in Hokkaido.
When I moisten the paper to prepare it for the ink, I can hear them gossiping.
I made prints of a raven, an owl, a snake, and scarlet runner beans..
I'll see if I can scan them in to share here.
I just returned from a 4-day intensive Japanese woodblock print-making workshop.
....and now everything looks just a tad different. A little bit of Kitagawa Utamaro's floating world informs my brand new retinas.
I like what my head does when I carve my block of Linden wood.
When I ink the block and rub the paper, I am surprised to see the picture emerge from inside my head , through the wood , by way of the ink, into the material world.
This is fantastic!
The paper I'm using is made of mulberry fibers soaked for hours in a cool stream, by old women in a tiny village in Hokkaido.
When I moisten the paper to prepare it for the ink, I can hear them gossiping.
I made prints of a raven, an owl, a snake, and scarlet runner beans..
I'll see if I can scan them in to share here.
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