Chestnut Tree Cafe – The “haunt of painters and musicians. There was no law, not even an unwritten law, against frequenting the Chestnut Tree Cafe, yet the place was somehow ill-omened. The old, discredited leaders of the Party had been used to gather there before they were finally purged. Goldstein himself, it was said, had sometimes been seen there, decades ago.”
It amazes me that Josh has never been astride a horse. Grandpa is probably outraged. Josh was born to joust. (They say you never really know a guy until you get into an argument. –Ann Frank)
The police state is out of control and we will all die unless something changes. My story is amazingly well documented. It only lacks the piece that you own. The ACLU has not found a plaintiff who can connect all the dots. If you tell me who you paid to rape me, I could change America. I know you like America as it is because you’re a psychopath, but please consider my children. If you tell me what I need to know I have an irrefutable case against this evil government. I know you like war, and I know you think the US is always right but they’re destroying many lives. TELL ME WHO YOU PAID TO RAPE ME and I will change the world. Thank you.
“I can’t live an American Christianity mindset anymore. It leads to pain and suffering.”
Jay Bakker, son of Jim and Tammy Faye
My sons respect my father very much. When he chooses to help me expose electronic torture, they will respect me. When he gives me a home, they will know I have value. When he tells the truth, they will be impressed to speak more accurately and will be more encouraged to do so. They will recognize the worth of my truth-quest, and be less inclined to accept things at face value. Many remedial necessities will be set into motion. I miss my siblings and when my dad tells the truth, we will be friends again. His admission will cause us to reevaluate his psychopathic interventions, and we’ll cry and laugh as we recognize new layers of insinuation within our father-memories. I do this already. I gave him the benefit of a doubt until Summer 2012. That was when he admitted he’d tried to have me locked up. (That was after the part where I didn’t die.) I’m pretty sure the NSA has a recording of that conversation. I only take notes.
My brother and I were both given jobs in the family company at about age seven. (I was seven before he was.) His job was at the commercial end of things and I babysat him and cooked and cleaned because my parents were gone. My brother received paychecks that were smaller than other boys employed with him. I received no paycheck. My brother’s puny pay increases operated on a geometric multiplication system. It’s like if you take a penny and double it every day. Now my brother is rich. My paycheck operated differently, “Let’s see, if you take nothin’ and multiply it by nuthin’ you get… nuthin’.” (Jane. “Serenity”) I am now and always have been destitute. God sees that I lack for nothing, but I also have nothing. This is not a complaint. This is a fact.
Can you see me yet Dad?
I think I’d like a camera when you write my check. I think for the first time ever, I’d like to be photographed. I would kiss you on the forehead. (I know you hate that, because it makes you feel old but it’s symbolic to me.) I want a record of when you look into my eyes for the first time ever. (My boys can keep the photos). I want to maintain the moment, to prognosticate the principles, defy the deceit. I want truth. But, my life is “hidden in Christ” and not my own. I don’t get what I want. I get what Jesus wants. I’m praying for patience.
Pinky and the Brain. What if Pinky were really the smart one?
Text to my dad: “Since you want to rule the world, why do you not wish to do it well?”
Chayla was here for dinner last night with Isaac and Josh and me and Bailey. Isaac brought a good guitar and they played and sang songs. I even played the piano, one of the Negro-spirituals that Isaac used to sing when he was little. He says they’ve been going through his head lately. We didn’t talk about electronic torture as much as I’d hoped but I believe it was sufficient. Chayla, the brave won the war. She said, “It doesn’t matter if we’re lying about it happening to us. It matters that they CAN do what they CAN do. Call me whatever you want, it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
It embarrasses me to get logs in front of Chayla, when there are two adult men in the house. I’m rarely embarrassed by my boys but they do not respect me. I do not think this is my fault.
I need counseling. I need a government-licensed professional to administer a personality inventory. I love tests.
I need counseling. Legal counseling. I need the ACLU or the Rutherford Institute to look at my exemplary evidence of electronic rape.
I need counseling. Family counseling. I need a “counselor” to tell my boys the truth of a very dark period in their lives. They need resolution. They need closure. They need to not live the rest of their lives wondering if such torment will again befall them. They need the abolition of the NSA. They need a future.
I need counseling. Career counseling. I have a purpose now, and soon my current mission will resolve. I need a job and I need to fulfill my purpose. Millions of people around the world are gang-stalked and electronically tortured. Maybe I’ll get to meet them all.
I need counseling. I require support services as a victim of sexual assault. I WAS RAPED! Repeatedly. So was my collaborator, but we’ve yet to feel an arm around our shoulders. If I were walking down the street with a friend and somebody raped me right in front of the principled soul, I assume he would help me fight. He might even gather me into his arms and call for justice. I once assumed that men would stand up for women. I once assumed a father would be outraged by his child’s defilement. This is not always the case. To assume makes an ass of u and me.
It’s been years and everybody knows it. Seriously, how bad do you want to look?
From October 2011
Sent to my dad the night he said my book was exceptional. Before he tried again, to make me crazy:
I’ve been trying to listen to a tape Growmaster made. He wrote on the case, “Shit my dad did.” It’s taken me weeks to get through the shit his dad did. They lived really far in the woods, and when Dad left for the day, they were completely isolated. I had a hard time with the story of how their father held them by their ankles outside a second-floor window. (This was not a fit of passion. He held each of them, in turn.) When a gunshot went through the bed, I turned off the tape-recorder. The bullet passed through a wall and a dresser on the other side. (Growmaster’s sisters were in that room.) He remembers going to school for a couple years, here and there. Growmaster still takes his baby to visit the old man. It’s 100 miles, one-way. I get to see that baby too, tomorrow.
My dad apologized last night. He said he was sorry he’d been a “bad dad” and that you don’t get to have your babies over again. I told him that I’d like to be his friend. He said I was “scary”. Whatever. He’s said that before. One time I asked him, “Why can’t you just let me love you like I want to?” He said, “It’s scary”. It was scary for me every time he woke me from the bedroom door, pitching a shoe at my head, so I guess we’re even.
He made three trips bearing leftovers from a Halloween party. He brought huge tubs of ice cream and 1/2 gallon of hot fudge. I was so amazed at his second trip, that I cracked a joke looking around for hot dogs in his car. He went back and got some. (Maybe he even stopped to buy some, they didn’t look like a commercial package.) My dad does things like that.
He’s always the first one at an accident, and he saves people’s lives. He’s the most generous person I know, other than George and Isaac I guess. He loved his mother very much and every year gave her roses, on his birthday. The best presents ever, he takes people places all the time. He researches cool things. (If he and Isaac ever got to spend much time together, they could teach each other a thing or two.)
Isaac reports amazing smart things that Wonderful tells him. It surprises him how many principles of business stewardship I already understand. Wonderful knows I do. I listened to my dad, even though he wasn’t talking to me.
My dad was not a bad dad. My dad was a lonely dad, and it made me lonely too. I always wished he would yell. He wouldn’t slam a door, he closed them with static precision that stole my air. He’d walk very softly, still does, as though he must defend each footstep. I’ve seen him bite the nipple from an exquisite European truffle and throw the rest out the window. To prove he was in control. (Sometimes chocolate calls him. He told me that.) It’s a hard way to live.
We were watching family videos the other day. I wanted my babies to be perfect. I had waited a long time and was jaw-set to do things right. (I cried in a Big Boy parking lot because my mother commented on how much food we got on the floor.) This video though, was gorgeous boy-baby, lying on his back and refusing to perform. My hands were in his face the whole time. I was tapping his cheeks and demanding: Smile! Smile! I was just like my dad.
I asked Josh to make a fire and when I finally took over he asked, “So I’m excused?” I said, ” Put the bucket back where it came from and get the carpet sweeper,” which he then gave me. I said, “You sweep the carpet. It was your choice to hack kindling after you’d vacuumed.” He said, “You told me to make a fire.” I said, “You want to be a grown-up. This is a roommate issue, not a mother issue.” He said he couldn’t agree more and bristled at my responsive “ouch.” I asked what he meant and we had a moment of dispute. Then I asked, “What do you do here that gives you the right to that seat at your computer?” He had no answer. I said, “I cook everything you eat, wash everything you wear and clean up every dish you use.” He had no answer. I wish I had a man to reinforce the wisdom I express. Apparently, that’s not necessary. If I keep speaking the truth, God will back me up. I daresay my father will wish he had assisted me. Josh was back in two minutes telling me funny stories.
My allies jostle the matinee, talk out-loud and don’t sit at the back of the bus. Our impropriety is disturbing to those whose seats cost more money. We drink in the wake of battles, we play music and interrupt one another’s stories. We don’t always know us, but we’re comrades. (I’ve experienced more intimacy with a stranger at a truck stop than ever sucked from my mother’s bosom.) (And I’m celibate.)
My Josh is a warrior and I ask him, when strategy stymies me. I thought I knew the answer before I asked: “What is the single most important thing an army can fight for?” He liked the question and even rubbed his chin. (He’s so handsome.) His answer was mine: “Freedom.” So then I asked, “It’s wrong to sell a product you don’t have, right? If you win a battle and secure “freedom” for a populace, you are reproducing your own experience of freedom, right? What if you don’t have any? The conquered can only enjoy the freedom of the conquering force.” “They’re gonna get what your boss gives you.” He agreed and asked me why I was questioning so I said, “All politics is local politics and I have no freedom at home. I’m talking about me and my family.” When he went to bed he said good-night and I was delighted. He doesn’t always do that.
Knowing every day that I am a disappointment to those I love has been my lifelong cross. Being called crazy is much easier, especially when you know you’re not. (I was given a run for my money in that regard, but I kept cogent notes every single day.) FAMILY, LISTEN UP: My boys are my vindication. Isaac is free from everything except his own mind which he attempts to discipline. Joshua is free of indoctrination, and when he is permitted to experience the world he will conquer it. His deprivations were caused by his grandfather’s allegation that I was not worthy of regard. My regiment requires provision. Freedom-fighting on the homefront may seem selfish when one requests money. Freedom-fighting is the most self-sacrificing of the few noble pursuits.
Freedom fighters are truth fighters. I’d like to lead an assault that liberates truth. (I’m a lover, not a fighter, but I know wimpy men.) Clarence Grace can’t make up her mind. She knows she needs to take a dump but she’s been locked out of the house so many times she can’t trust she’ll get back in before she freezes to death. She hesitates at the door, after demanding that it be opened. I try to reassure her, “I won’t leave you out there forever.” But she doesn’t speak my language. We communicate less when it’s 10 below.
I am a freedom fighter but I recognize that political freedom is illusory. When I gave political speeches I told the truth, but I lacked conviction. My conviction has always been that true freedom is freedom from everything that bothers us. Freedom from self. I’d like my family to live free. So far they can’t. They’re selfish.
(Did you see how the word “jostle” jostles the sentence? Sometimes I picture my stuff on Heaven’s whiteboard with angels laughing as I change a jot or tittle. To make it right. Did you see how “strategy” stymied the phrasing?) (Did you see that the previous parenthetical notations mean more than they say?)
(I just let the cat in. I’m very responsible.)
“Oh I’m on the battlefield for my Lord,
Yes I’m on the battlefield for my Lord.
And I promised him that I, would serve him ’til I die,
Yes I’m on the battlefield for my Lord.” (Unknown)
Propaganda benefits usurpers of freedom and safety. Propaganda is: lying to benefit the king. Advertisements proclaiming the rightness of those who run our world. Propaganda is now a legal tool in America. It is still illegal internationally. I don’t know why it exists, since the PTB don’t need our permission to destroy the world. Why attempt to initiate our approval? They’ll do what they want no matter what we think. Do they value approval based on deception? Do they believe in it? Does the rich guy really think that girl loves him?
The existence of propaganda demonstrates the psychopathic nature of the state, but it is only one example. There are other ways psychopaths influence opinions to benefit self, the king. Kings all want the same thing: control of others. “Yertle the turtle, oh marvelous me. I am the ruler of all I can see.” (Dr. Seuss. Paraphrasing unintentional if existent.) Yertle wanted to be the most highly significant. He made all the lesser turtles stand on one another’s backs and he climbed on top. He wanted to see further and control more turtles so he could see further and control more turtles and see further and control more turtles…until…until… Egads! This is awful! How could Yertle maintain his seat when such a terrible thing occurs? The turtle on the bottom dared to be human. He did a common thing. He sneezed. (His name was “Mack.”) (The next turtle up was called “Zeke.” ) “And the walls, come tumbling down. And the walls, come tumbling down.” (John Mellencamp. He’s not “Cougar” anymore.) (“Yertle the Turtle” was banned [Huffington Post, 2012] because it was too “political.”)
Psychopaths and governments always ban things. They decide what their subjects must not see/do/think/say/be. Slaves indulging in proscribed activities create grounds for dismissal. To be dismissed by a psychopath is exactly the same as dismissal by government. Those excluded are “rendered.” (You could look it up but be sure to read the entry at urban dictionary or another current volume.) Rendering is applying heat until a substance/person gives up. I’ve rendered lard before. I cooked a kettle of pig fat until it gave up the good oil. It stinks to high Heaven! (So do pigs.) The lard, when purified never goes bad. It doesn’t require refrigeration. It can tolerate high heat without burning. It also makes great pastry so it’s worth the smell. When you render lard you must scrape off the cracklings. This refuse is yummy and rich.
There is no sadder death than the death of a king. He is replaced immediately; his absence is not felt. Simultaneously, his casket hears: “The king is dead. Long live the King.” (Insert: Shofars. Three quick blasts, I think.) I told my dad and he remembers it every day: “You lied. You are now my enemy. It will be my faith or your religion.” (I can look up the date if anybody cares to speak to me…)
My mother taught me coup d’etat. I learned “coup de gras” on my own.
OK Dad, so here’s what I’m thinking. I’d like to get out of your face while you rebuild your confidence. How ’bout you set me up in Toronto so Josh and I can reconnect at a Swing Dance Class and when I come back we’re friends. Then we can save America. What do y’say?
I read the above to Chayla who commented: ”I like that because it’s the first time you’ve ever mentioned your dad without including the words ‘anal-rape’ or something.”
She’s not usually so risque, but I don’t believe she could have said it better.
“As is said in the law, falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus. (“False in one thing, false in all things” is an instruction given to jurors: if they find that a witness lied about an important matter, they are entitled to ignore everything else that witness said.)” (Sheldon Richman)
Bump to the top: From September…
I do require money, whether you repent or not. I require money, and you owe me much. I want the condo in Toronto, with bills paid forever. I WILL SEE MY CHILDREN GAIN THE KNOWLEDGE YOU DENIED THEM. They like to see the museums and ride on the subway. You took my house, you owe me. (I also want a golden passport, but I don’t suppose anybody would listen to you.) You have purchased homes for many “pastors”. Your daughter has been a missionary to the “church.” Jesus gave his life for the church. Can you not reward a soul who loved it so much she was willing to give up her reputation? I think you can.
I haven’t found a single four-leaf clover since I gave the last one to Jimmy D. (I kept the seven-leaf one but gave away the fours, fives, and sixes.) I’ll bet I found a hundred this summer! Summer’s over. I don’t need them anymore. You’ve been warned.
Turn off Fox News and read a few hundred posts on my blog. I have not been mistaken, my timing has been poor. Now I have superseded time. Jesus means for all of us to do this. You CHOOSE to age and hurt and worry. I would that this were not so. I could teach you how to survive mind control, and mind lack-of-control. I will not force you to learn what you are incapable of valuing. I would instead mourn, and trust that God knows best about your heart. I feel the same way about others I know. Life goes on.
Your thoughts set into motion a series of events that will either 1) destroy you, or 2) render you conscious. This is so totally out of my hands that I’m watching in amazement. You ignored me all my life but you can’t anymore! It’s a good thing I no longer expect love, or I’d be all over this. As it stands, I am emotionally unengaged. I’m watching the show and reminding my mouth to close. I’m enjoying my life and feeling purposeful. I’m grateful and yielding to all the Lord sends my way. I have a great dog, and two great kids and I can sleep on bare ground. This is a fine time to be me.
I’ve been right about so many things, that I’m learning to trust myself. Do you know what it’s like to be caused to distrust your every thought? Paranoia is a learned tendency and you taught me well. You put me into hell. (The fearful and the unbelieving are the first cast into hell. I believe I’ve expressed this truth multiple times.) You sent your own daughter to hell on purpose! You have done evil in the sight of the Lord and you’re now going down and I’m going up. “The last shall be first.” We’ve lived to see the day.
It will take money to disengage all the processes you set up within my family. Your evil thoughts about us created a reality we’ve struggled to shed. Remediation costs money. (So do newspaper ads but I’m sure that if you delay, God will give me those necessary funds.) I will proceed as He instructs. I always do. The people who watch me really hate you. For what it’s worth. My single-handed love can’t hold back their reality forever. You taught me to give to the needy. Was that just an act?
If you’re a hypocrite, I suppose I can stay here another winter, and keep the fire going. I ask for more fire every day. I beg to see God’s glory poured out on Helmer! I’ve been begging for years! He tells me I talk too much. I told Clive years ago that my hands would raise the dead on the floor of Lakefield Baptist Church. That’s when his “earnest” look started taking over his eyes. I told my mother that God had asked if I were willing to be made into a prophet. I was pretty upset. He asked me if I was willing to smoke cigarettes too, which I loved in my youth. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. I did not remember about a man’s enemies being those of his own household. We truly are at the end of time.
OK, when you first start becoming conscious, you’ll evaluate a lot of things in your own heart. You will be shown bigotry and subterfuge. You will be shown affectations and attitudes. You will suffer. Then you will notice other people suffering. That is going to hurt, too. You will cry a lot. You will offer up sacrifice to God. You will thank him as every scale is ripped from your quivering corpse. You must DIE. You must DIE to YOURSELF and consider others as more worthy and deserving. Then you’ll learn not to evaluate them at all. You will still notice things, but you will not be critical, nor lusting.
When you get done with that part, give me a call. 906-291-1376
Woody Guthrie’s New Year’s Resolutions. (No. 30 “Stinky-Pete”)
By the time my family gets up I’ve put in an eight-hour day. I suppose I could be crazy. I do not have to spend my life being considered an impaired intellect. You know very well I told you a year ago that I would accept your bullshit longer, because God told me to. (I have the notes.) You know very well that I have never been crazy and that you are covering your sorry ass. It is time to come clean.
Education is perceived as an equalizing force. Supposedly, a good education will level society’s playing field for those hindered by other factors. This has not been my observation. (Neither have I observed any semblance of a “good education.”) The women in my family have been hindered by DNA. We just don’t matter. Some women have gone on to live normal lives, albeit lives of tension and self-aggrandizing. To be pertinent seems a puny goal, but it is necessary for survival. If your life doesn’t matter, then why the hell continue? Why indeed.
My younger brother has a bachelor degree from a state college. (Now a state university. He bought a new diploma when the school’s status changed.) I attended his graduation party. I’m ashamed to say it but I thought it would be nice if somebody threw a party for me, so I went back to school. I was not disappointed. At each of my graduations I was given a party. I was given two other parties, when I “married.” My brother’s party never stopped. My male cousin has been partying since high school, although his sister is far better educated and always learning. Maybe he does that too. We girls aren’t privy to the habits of men that make them so much more important.
I do not believe my mind to be weaker than my brother’s, nor my work habits less diligent. I do not believe him to be more honest or perceptive. I do know that he is a good father in many ways, and encourages his daughters to become educated. Hopefully they won’t put too much stock in their diplomas. Around here the women’s diplomas are encased in glass and displayed when the menfolk choose. Women who behave appropriately are dressed well and given gifts. The women in my family are better educated than the men, many times over. They do not receive respect for their efforts although some have graced magazine covers and been on TV. (That’s the penultimate, right?) No matter how famous my cardiologist sister becomes, her accomplishments are still only recognized when the men choose. This is tyranny and I am a freedom-fighter.
I’ve never been a feminist because I really like men. Actually, I’m astonished to find myself defending women. My mother and sister are frequently unkind, irrational and basically unpleasant to be around if one is a lesser being. (I am, God help me, a far lesser being.) Still, I’d like to see that wildness leave their eyes. The caged-lion look that flashes as they consider the right answer to some innocuous question over dinner. They have a tremendous need to be approved by men, even yet. When your father tries to kill you that irrational expectation goes right out the window.
I am approved and entirely so. God even gave me confidence. I was on a ship off the coast of Belize staring at the sun. For the moment I didn’t have my fingers in the anus of my paralyzed ward and I was not being bitched at. The cruise was not fun, but God said something to me in the sunshine. He said, “I’m doing this for you. I’m giving you confidence.” Confidence is a much better vehicle than the infrequent approval-buzz.
People plan their whole lives to take a cruise. My boss was that way. Then he got a bedsore and couldn’t do the things he’d always wanted to do. He was pretty devastated. Everybody on a cruise rushes to line up for this or that extravaganza. They don’t dare miss a thing. Paralyzed guys don’t get their foot in the door. (I wasn’t much help in that regard since I do not value the gambling and shows.) He was very disappointed. So was everybody else I met, except the early morning sun-gazers.
“If we help an educated man’s daughter to go to Cambridge are we not forcing her to think not about education but about war? – not how she can learn, but how she can fight in order that she might win the same advantages as her brothers? ” (Virginia Woolf)
Open Letter to my Family
I don’t get to talk to a lot of you anymore. I don’t even know what state my sister lives in. My brother asked me to stop sending chatty updates, because he would prefer not to talk about what I need to talk about. My uncle let me pray for him, but refused to hold my hand. (He said my prayer was “eloquent.”) My aunt balled me out about some personal habits, but she wouldn’t listen either. I can’t remember any one of you telling me I had offended you, and I can’t remember doing so. What I remember is, my dad lied about me, and y’all stopped talking.
I spend holidays alone. Tough shit. My children hated me for a time. Tough shit. I got a divorce. Tough shit. I know what I know and if you don’t care enough to consider that maybe I’m not the things my lying father called me, then I pity your souls. I defy anybody, not just family, to prove I’ve ever lied about anything. (I know I lie about many things but not very often outside my own mind and ego.) I respectfully request my family members to consider my evidence and ask themselves two questions: 1) Did Linda ever lie to me? and 2) Did Robert?
I know the demons Dad, you can’t deny that. I’ve been to hell where you sent me. (“No, no, Beatrice. Get thee to Heaven! That’s where the bachelors are…happy as the day is long.” Shakespeare. Do you remember when you used to quote Shakespeare?) I can now recognize demons in their preferred environment…the heart of man.
I am recognizing stupid! This is the greatest thing ever! Stupid had me by the nuts for years. I have repeatedly befriended stupid, revered stupid and even married it. I reproduced it (not biologically, thank God) and I endorsed it in the public square. I submitted to stupid and I paid for it. Stupid is a spirit of vapid appearance, and treacherous resolve. Stupid is crafty, and hides behind other spirits of indifference and status. You might have stupid without being able to see him in the mirror because, hell, you’re stupid. I was called stupid when I wasn’t. That gave stupid the deed to my house. When stupid moves in you’re homeless. My dad always said, “there’s no cure for stupid.” Then he called me stupid and made me stupid. Then I got cured. My dad is a liar.
“My people – in any given moment – are either going to be exercising faith or
exercising fear towards the money and the possessions which they are a “steward”
over. If in faith [love] then they shall deal faithfully in obedience to Me in
distributing [sowing] in the necessary manner – that will allow them to
continually “increase”. If in fear, then, ultimately, they will allow Satan to steal
from them all that which they have placed their “security” in – apart from Me!”
More at: http://jtlmin.com/FIRE%20BY%20NIGHT%202013/12%20December%202013/WPFBN1229.pdf
From many years ago as time is recorded on the chain gang:
“DAD. God will give me my modesty back. I will hold my head up in this community.”
No response from my mom about my dinner invitation for New Year’s Eve. (Also Isaac’s birthday.) So, I’m sending this text: “Thank you for considering my dinner invitation for New Years’s Eve. I’m making other plans now.”
UPDATE: My mother texted me back and very politely thanked me for the invitation.
(I feel as though I’m teaching remedial manners to my parents. I hope I’m man enough to continue when we get to the “courtesy” classes. They involve empathy.)
“The usual set-up goes like this: the empath is forced to make a stand on seeing the sociopath say or do something underhand. The empath challenges the sociopath, who straight away throws others off the scent and shifts the blame on to the empath. The empath becomes an object of abuse when the apath corroborates the sociopath’s perspective.”
13) “Gaslighting is a form of psychological abuse in which false information is presented in such a way as to make the target doubt his/her memory and perception. Psychologists call this “the sociopath’s dance.”
“Pam Anderson was respected in the targeted individual (TI) community and had recently been appointed to the board of Freedom From Covert Harassment and Surveillance (FFCHS). However, after 53 years of constant suffering and sabotage, with no end in sight, Pam Anderson had reached the end of her endurance.”
“There, but for the grace of God, go I.”
I started a fire a couple years ago, across the road in the woods. I actually thought somebody might actually come talk to me about my (actual) mental health. (My bad. Even the pros would rather talk about you than talk to you.) I don’t think we got charged for the firetrucks but then it’s really not our property. Today was a fun drill, though. You find out what really matters when you think you might have to leave with uncommon haste. I put on a pair of boots right quick and found my grandma’s ring. It’s spinning on my finger…I’ve had it resized numerous times. I also grabbed my journals. They’re always ready to go. I made sure my passport was in my purse and didn’t even consider how my computer might feel as it melted.
My roommate has begun to hoard again, I find empty boxes in closets while our useful and necessary goods are on the floor outside the door. His two-foot piles are spilling out of his enormous bedroom and walk-in closet. He’s fighting me over used plastic jugs. (I figure we’ll buy more juice before Maple season. ) He wanted me to burn up the fine kindling that came along with the commercially processed firewood, but I thought I’d burn the pile of boxes in the living room instead. I started a chimney fire and suspected it when the sound became unusually loud and smoke puffed into the room a bit. I called to him and he answered. I called again with more urgency. He said he was coming so I waited. When he had identified the fire he looked at me and said, “I don’t know what to do.” I said, “You should get a fire extinguisher and shoot it up there.” He said, “I have those.” I said, “Go get one.” Then he moved. I suggested he go faster and he got annoyed and shouted, “JESUS.” I said I didn’t like him swearing using Jesus’ name and then he went to get the fire extinguisher. (He studied fire-fighting in the Marine Corps.) We need guidance and I’ve been asking for it since we married. He owns plastic facsimiles of knives, antlers and revolvers. He also owns the real things. Why? He put a couple beer cans on the fire and said the aluminum would take care of the creosote in the chimney.
Text from my mom:
“You are welcome. No plans at this time. Nice to have Josh n (sic) Isaac. Isaac sang some Christmas songs for me.”
“He’s an angel. Could I cook for you?”
Text to my dad and to my mom:
Thank you for the gifts and for taking the boys shopping. Josh said he ate himself silly on bacon at your restaurant. Do you have plans for New Years?
My guardian angel keeps me in the moment. When I’m not aware of him I ruminate and recriminate, I dread and I fear. Peace is being yourself. Peace is not evaluating yourself. I evaluate every thought since my dad started calling me crazy. This is not peace, although I feel peace when I write. I require peace. My father holds the keys to my peace; he’s holding me hostage with lies. I can’t compel him to tell the truth and set me free because we are both Christians, and I will not take him to human court. This is God’s ballgame. There are so many things I do not know about the torture I endured that I cannot think about them. I must just follow Jesus every step of the way and not look over the edge. He allowed me to experience a lot of crap for the good of others. My dad just has to set me on my way. In God’s time.
DAD! Can’t you see me yet?
Chayla made me a plant hanger out of baling twine with beads on the bottom. It has a Wandering Jew in it. They’re her favorite plant (after ergot which is not really a plant but a fungal symbiote) and I like them too but I’ve never had one. I gave her my favorite thing I ever made. My golden mittens, Aztec Gold, Josh’s favorite color. I knit them when he was small, using Icelandic wool and I shrunk and shaped them. I made golden felt. Alchemy. They were too dainty for Josh before long and they haven’t been worn hardly at all. (Double negative.) I’ve kept them in my car for when I’d need them.
My car also contains an inverter and a submersion heater for liquids. There is a 48-hour candle under the driver’s seat (with extra wicks so you can burn it hotter and faster) and a water filter in the pocket at the back. I have a sleeping bag in the trunk, and a camp-pad which I will soon remove because I don’t really require cushioning anymore. The glove compartment and trunk contain instant noodles and instant coffee, deodorant and a toothbrush. Toilet paper, Kleenex. Flashlight, water. I keep a pillow, because no matter how scanty one’s need for cushioning, pillowing is important. I always keep my fleece jacket in the car. I lay out fleeces, and people will want me to tell them what I learn. I will have to go to them. I will need gas money. The prophet says I don’t need the deodorant. I used to haul a pair of moon boots, for emergencies. Now I carry a pair of Sorels that are three sizes too big.
When I get to go I will be so happy! I want to get up and pack the car in the cold darkness and drive until it’s dark again. I want to drive so far it’s never dark.
“When you have tried everything that you can think of and nothing works, it can be absolutely soul crushing. Today, one of my regular readers explained that he was not going to be online for a while because his power had been turned off. He has been out of work for quite a while, and eventually the money runs out. Have you ever been there? If you have ever experienced that moment, you know that it stays with you for the rest of your life.”
“After all, how many of us, if we were given the choice of our children earning a lot of money and being bad, or struggling economically and being good, would choose the former?” (Larry P. Arnn, President Hillsdale College)
….”I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set
before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. So choose life in order that
you may live, you and your descendants, by loving the LORD your God, by
obeying His voice, and by holding fast to Him; for this is your life and the length
of your days, that you may live in the land which the LORD swore to your fathers,
to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to give them”….Deuteronomy 30:19-20 NASB
Those who survive the initial onslaught of turmoil that results from recognition that there is no private place are faced with additional dilemma. Fear of man is still an issue. (Does the VOLUME of my thought life gain merit?) One squelches those questions, and proceeds, as one must, through one’s life, as one must. Life becomes a puzzle. Messages are all over the place. Which messages do I believe? (Smart people may have less trouble with this phase than I did.) I am very child-like. I am however, a smart child. I do not know what I should believe and far less which voice I should follow. So many voices! So many evil-doers battling for my obeisance! Why do they care so much what a child does?
They care because they need the children to sit down and shut up. If I had a nickel for every time I was told to sit down and shut up… This has not happened, so I require recompense from him what took from me. Another story. My dad took my life. He took my life not only from me, but from God who was happily running it. I could die in a firey crash tomorrow…but it would not alleviate my father’s debt. He stole from God, whose child I am. I can watch it from down here or I can watch it from up there. My dad is toast. So far.
(I can’t help but think that even Emperor Alexander is on my side at this point. I’d welcome him to the truth-fight. I’d welcome him into truth.)
When I was first learning what had been done to me, I was flabbergast. I spoke to the cloud of witnesses, gasping at the evil I was viewing, “WHAT KIND OF PERSON WOULD DO A THING LIKE THAT?” The response was a silence that rattled my implants. I’d like to know when it began Dad, and how deeply you’re involved. I’m a witness. Jesus needs witnesses. “Witness” is the Greek “martyr.” You sacrificed your first-born to Baal. Guess I said that before. Guess this is on the right page of my surprisingly successful blog about liars and truthers. Jesus says I can ask for two million. I want hard money. Commodities. Whenever you’re ready. Obama fired 200 career military officers. I told you it would be this way. Get your head out of your buggered ass. (Sorry. You don’t like ladies to say bugger.)
“O Lord God, to whom vengeance belongeth; O God, to whom vengeance belongeth, shew thyself.”
(I figure my life must be just about the best video game in the world. No sex or blood but players get to control people. The goons like that as much as you.)
I always wondered about those girls who thought their vaginas were some kind of pot of gold.
Then…bada boom! I realized that mine was!
This TARGETED INDIVIDUAL kept records too! I wonder if her dad set her up…
Targeted Individual: Microwave Burning mixed with Forced Orgasms
I have evidence about just about everything on this chart…
US Army Intelligence Officer: Gang Stalking Phenomenon is Precursor to coming Holocaust
Domestic terrorism: Silent Rape
Well, I had to go down and see a guy named Mr. Goldsmith
A nasty, dirty, double-crossin’, backstabbin’ phony I didn’t wanna have to be dealin’ with
But I did it for you and all you gave me was a smile
Well, I cried for you—now it’s your turn to cry awhile
I don’t carry deadweight—I’m no flash in the pan
All right, I’ll set you straight, can’t you see I’m a union man?
I’m lettin’ the cat out of the cage, I’m keeping a low profile
Well, I cried for you—now it’s your turn, you can cry awhile
Feel like a fighting rooster—feel better than I ever felt
But the Pennsylvania line’s in an awful mess and the Denver road is about to melt
I went to the church house, every day I go an extra mile
Well, I cried for you—now it’s your turn, you can cry awhile
Last night ’cross the alley there was a pounding on the walls
It must have been Don Pasqualli makin’ a two A.M. booty call
To break a trusting heart like mine was just your style
Well, I cried for you—now it’s your turn to cry awhile
I’m on the fringes of the night, fighting back tears that I can’t control
Some people they ain’t human, they got no heart or soul
Well, I’m crying to the Lord—I’m tryin’ to be meek and mild
Yes, I cried for you—now it’s your turn, you can cry awhile
Well, there’s preachers in the pulpits and babies in the cribs
I’m longin’ for that sweet fat that sticks to your ribs
I’m gonna buy me a barrel of whiskey—I’ll die before I turn senile
Well, I cried for you—now it’s your turn, you can cry awhile
Well, you bet on a horse and it ran on the wrong way
I always said you’d be sorry and today could be the day
I might need a good lawyer, could be your funeral, my trial
Well, I cried for you, now it’s your turn, you can cry awhile
Copyright © 2001 by Special Rider Music
Read more: http://www.bobdylan.com/us#ixzz2kGL69qBV
A powerful industry is manipulating us – and ruthlessly exploiting some hard-wiring in the male brain – to turn us more and more into sexual and emotional robots, only capable of achieving sexual fulfillment in a room with a computer, alone.
“Everybody happy” –day 7,653
God gave me a fire yesterday. My treacherously lazy men protest. It has been about 57 degrees in the living room, maybe 64 with a fire. I hauled thirty pound logs as big as telephone poles. They don’t burn hot, but they burn long. I asked George to have Josh split some wood, then I heard him running the chainsaw. So I asked him to teach Josh to run a chainsaw, and he said predictably, “I Never Even Saw A Chainsaw Until I Was An Adult.” I asked if he didn’t want better for his boys and he said, predictably, “Fuck You.”
The fire started at about 3 pm. The charred logs had stopped smoking hours before, but suddenly they burst into flame. God told me I was worth a fire. I cried. After what my parents did to me I haven’t been worth a thing to anybody on earth. When I told George that God said I was worth a fire he said, “Then let God give you a fire.” Then he did. Thank you God.
I thought my parents would help, twenty years ago when I was depressed and Isaac was more than I could handle. They never even babysat one time. I thought they would help many times since then. Rather than helping, they put their hands to destroying my family. I pray for their souls.
My Christmas wish list (as if anybody cared)– A CHAINSAW. One I can start myself and use to teach my men to be better men than they’ve seen. I would do the best I could…I haven’t seen a lot of men either.
(I would help you if you were drowning…if God told me to.)
“Dear Dad, please get on your knees and repent for the evil you did to me and my family. It will make no difference to me, no difference at all. It will make an eternity of difference for you. You run people like they were cattle, and make them be grateful for your manipulation. You know this to be true, and I know you. I know you and I love you and if you died today…as you fear…I would mourn. Only not for long.”
Your wife has not a shred of decency.
Dear Dad, thank you for helping me on my road to becoming a prophet. I needed to be martyred. I’ll probably send you a postcard when I arrive.
Text to my mom:
“You had me doing your research twenty years ago. You know I’m not stupid. Are you?”
(I messaged this part on Facebook. She won’t “friend” me.)
“You didn’t stand up for me when I was sexually abused as a child. I will be 54 next month. If you do not stand up now, what will it mean for your soul?”
From last night:
Josh: “You’re working very hard. How are you going to get money from what you do?”
Me: “God will pay me because I obey him.”
Josh: “What will you do with money?”
Me: “God says part of the money will be my dad’s condo in Toronto. I’ll go there and invite you to come so you can do something you love.”
You know I’m bluffing. You know I’m not smarter than you. You know I’m retarded. You’ve always watched me…like when you took pictures of me and Debbie sleeping when we were about 13. (I was twelve.) You like those girlie pictures a lot.
You know what? I have a lot of pictures taken by you that are evidence of felonies. Remember Megan in the bathtub?
My mom texted me!! She said the stuffed peppers and cookies were delicious! I wished her a peaceful day and then…she texted me back! I’m over the moon, I love that lady so much. But, she’s not my responsibility.
Robert the psychopath, explains how he manipulated and coerced people to be exactly what he wanted. “It was like a fix. I couldn’t get enough.”
Controlling others is a very dangerous drug.
My cousin called her father and dared to say she loved him. He hung up. My grandpa raised him too, and the beautiful woman who had to move a dozen states away to stay sane. (It worked for a while.) I am astonished and humbled with the deliverance of my God. I knew he saved me from more perils than Pauline, but I had no idea I was living in death itself. “Holy, holy, holy. You Jesus have ALL power and ALL glory and ALL of me. Thank you so much for showing me the generational curse of lovelessness.”
Families are entire households of people studying how they should act to avoid ridicule. This is not love in any fashion or perversion. People develop pain-avoidance behaviors that look like emotions. We do not know they are fake, because we do not know what it is to feel the emotions we’re mimicking! We don’t know what we’re missing, so we go shopping. We are psychopaths. It’s kind of like a robot but one that finally licked the AI question.
I really, really like love. I always figured I would. It is just about the most empowering and beautifying thing I ever saw. It’s “Geronimo.” (Mel Gibson, Conspiracy Theory) There is not a thing you cannot do if somebody loves you. With no need to mollify the object of your attention, life is pretty good. It is good to lay down arms. It is good to “Lay down Sally.” It’s all good. I prayed for divine love, I did it for years. I didn’t know that I had never even seen love at all… I’ve received a fine answer to prayer. He’s far bigger than we think, and so is this cesspool we psychopaths believe we can manipulate our way out of. Jesus is very very nice. Not like our fathers.
“We are psychopaths, couldn’t be prouder! If you can’t hear us, we’ll yell a little louder!” This will be like the first night at AA. You gotta say the confession then you can join the “Church of STOP SHOPPING.” This will be a good revolution.
Dad, you were raised by a psychopath. To a psychopath, others are food. After Grandma died, I spent every free moment with Grandpa in that big empty house. Once he held me and said, “I’ve never enjoyed you like this before, Linda.” Think about it. You don’t have to prove anything to a person who cannot see you. On the other hand, when the one who knows you doesn’t love you it’s insurmountable. I see you and I’ll never cut you off.
“There’s a big degree between telling white lies and being a full-blown psychopath and manipulating everybody to your own advantage….our culture is predominantly psychopathic. Ugliness, lack of harmony, lack of balance…”
“Psychopathic family values.”
Dad, I never meant to be smarter than you. As you know, I am half-retarded so I just draw on the cosmic-consciousness and all that. All I ever wanted was love. I’m sorry I turned out to be smarter than you.
Holding up the sky is easier than it was to support your reputation.
I gotta tell you Dad, if anybody paid as much attention to me as I do to you I’d wet my pants. Guess you know that…
Josh said he loves me. It went like, “If I were to say…OK we got that settled.” DAD, YOU must have relented! You let go of one of the keys. Thank you so very much.
Hey Dad, look how long and hard I can work for no paycheck. Just imagine what I could do if I were being paid for my labors. I need to get a job and you need to help me. Writer’s Block? Never heard of it. Oversleep? Not likely. I can work ’round the clock and I am being wasted preaching to you. God wastes nothing so I know you’re going to straighten up and fly right. You were always correcting altitude for me when you’d let me fly. Now I’d like to see you come higher.
My father came to my house today! He brought two beautiful poinsettias and I gave one to Chayla. I was kind of embarrassed to be walking barefoot in the snow when he showed up but I guess he already knows I’m pretty tough.
Lately if I’m not conscious of my vibration, I’m not OK. Conscious of my vibration. Conscious when the wind-chimes play the first notes of Brahms’ Lullaby. Connie is lying in a patch of sunlight and absolutely pain-free. I almost asked George this morning, if he was grateful yet that I divorced him. Actually, I’d be interested to know if he even noticed it. Bills are different, I guess. He lacks not a single benefit of my existence and he’s not accountable for me. I did him good. He thanks me for meals. He doesn’t miss me in his bed. That’s cool.
“Until you conquer the enemy in yourself, you can’t conquer anybody. In order to be used, you have to sometimes be humiliated. You have to be kicked and beaten. In that situation the guy who is kicking and beating you is feeling more pain than you do.” (Lauryn Hill, age 25)
(Except this time. God is allowing me to enjoy your discomfort. This is not a personal thing…)
“Let’s not be mediocre in our greatness.” (Hill)
This is the lullaby I sang to my sons. (Isaac used to say, “Mama no sing. Daddy sing.”)
“I heard an old, old story how a savior came from glory.
How he gave his life on Calvary to save a wretch like me.
About the angels singing, and the old redemption story.
Then I repented of my sins and won the victory.”
“Victory in Jesus, my savior forever.
He sought me, and bought me with his redeeming blood.
He loved me ‘ere I knew him, and all my love is due him.
He plunged me to VICTORY beneath the cleansing flood.”
“I heard about the condo, he prepared for me, in Toronto.
I heard about the trust account, and parking that is free.
I heard about the passport, so golden and beguiling.
And I said, ‘Jesus thanks a lot, I’m ready to receive.'”
(You’re the only man who ever noticed I play music with “expression.” Thank you, Dad.)
If Jesus should happen to ask my opinion regarding his soon disposition of you, I will say, “I find no fault in this man” and wash my hands. However there remains the matter of a young boy who no longer believes in God because of the lies of “the brotherhood.” This is between you and God.
“To have a trustworthy friend is to have someone you can highly cherish, honour
and trust. To be [with a view to remaining at all times] a trustworthy friend is not
something to be treated lightly: it MUST be brought under the power of the Cross every
single day – through a steadfast love and obedience. ….”A friend loves [obeys God] at all times”…. Proverbs 17:17 NASB
….”Many a man proclaims his own loyalty, but who can find a trustworthy
man?”…. Proverbs 20:6 NASB
* Abiding [dwelling] in “the place called Done” boils down to the continual
exercising of an “absolute trust” in the Father and His Word [Will]
More at: http://jtlmin.com/2013/WP2013120.pdf
“When fear is still ruling [allowed to rule] in one’s heart they remain in a position
of defeat [albeit “temporary – for the one who has made the decision to truly seek God’s
Will for them] – far below the reality of Christ’s absolute victory on their behalf. For fear
[the old nature] never even thinks to “access” God’s Grace – as it is too busy attempting
to just get by in its “own” wisdom and understanding. Whereas, the accessing of God’s
Grace by faith [regardless of how one might “feel” at the time] ALWAYS releases the
force of Love and Righteousness – thus, causing the one who placed their trust entirely
upon the Father to overcome EVERY time in even the most potentially trying situations.”
More at: http://jtlmin.com/2013/WP2013120.pdf
You called me a gutsy lady. Remember? I remember both of your compliments. You didn’t know the half.
(PS- I love writing to you because I know you get it. That makes you more threatened by judgment than the majority of men who do not. Your violations of women were intentional.)
You’re going to have to get over this sometime. I mean your shame and embarrassment about having done what you did to me. You know I have perfect evidence that I was perfectly rational and perfectly hearing from God all the time you were nearly-perfectly lying about me. “Out of the mouths of two or three witnesses…” Not only did I record what happened to me TWICE, in the book and in the journals, but I also wrote down every single thing I did for two years and the reasons I did those things. I was rational every single minute. When my cousin at the bank took my sworn oath and notarized the final journal, I told her I was winning an argument. Little did I know how big an argument it was! I told her my argument was with a man…but I see now that I had a controversy with many, many men. I was also arguing on behalf of womankind in Christendom.
Note to self: Do not take Connie for a walk to the store when it’s eight degrees or feed her Tabasco sauce. Dogs act tough but they limp in the cold and they sure can’t stand the heat.
I washed his feet. I washed my father’s feet.
You always recognized music in me although everybody else knew I was tone-deaf. You gave up on piano lessons when “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” didn’t impress anybody. It is not about impressing people.
From ZEBRA, many weeks ago: I’m going to be leaving pretty soon; guess I said that before. “Soon” is a fluid concept to Jesus, who doesn’t live within this cage of time, and He’s the one who said it. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know who is going with me. I need money, and you need to make reparation for your crime. This is between you and God, but He knows you tried to kill me, and when that didn’t work, you tried to make me crazy, and when that didn’t work, you convinced my kids I was crazy, (that worked, you stole their FAITH IN JESUS) and when I got well INSTANTANEOUSLY AFTER BEING HACKED BY A MORAL ATHEIST you ignored me. HUNDREDS of times, you ignored me. Then I sued you in the COURT OF JESUS CHRIST, and you ignored me. (You called one of my “witnesses”, though, didn’t you?) THEN, we’re here now. I NEED MONEY THAT I WOULD HAVE EARNED IF I HAD NOT BEEN TORTURED! Gimme.
(I can break the amount down according to the current Michigan rules of jurisprudence. You could have the figure evaluated, but that would cost some money, and your affairs would be revealed. That sucks. Been there. Why don’t you just call me instead? 906-291-1376)
Savvy long-term activists are crying. People who care about people are disappearing. It is legal for the United States to abduct people and hold them indefinitely without charges. It is legal for the United States to abduct people and hold them indefinitely without charges. The Bill of Rights is null. It is void. It is past-tense.
When we begin to hear from God we notice things, we have many questions. The biggest question is always: “What is my responsibility?” Religious groups have pre-determined boundaries for their interactions with the political systems they inhabit. As a result, religious groups often choose to ignore what is ordained by evil men. We live in a framework established by others, to meet their ends. I do not choose to serve this system. I choose to serve Jesus. He told me that I am “in the world but not of the world.” He came “to set the captives free.” The government of my country has many captives. What is my responsibility?
I maintain that no matter the degree of “truth” in a person’s heart, if he fails to confront non-truth and injustice in the world around him, he is failing humanity and failing God. Maybe God has told you to enjoy your TV shows and work real hard to make money. He never told me that. He told me today to marinate a flank steak that was left by a guest in my freezer. He told me to eat it with tzatziki and cottage fried potatoes. I eat far better than those who once called me crazy. I cut slender slices across the grain with a churassca knife from Brazil, it has my name engraved on the blade. My parents spent time in Brazil. My baby sister was knocked-up when they got back. But I received a real fine knife.
You do not get to leave this life being a hypocrite. You either repent, or you become a zombie.
“And Shem and Japheth took a garment, and laid it upon both their shoulders, and went backward, and covered the nakedness of their father; and their faces were backward, and they saw not their father‘s nakedness.”
I do not expect you to be motivated by the fact that I have been right about politics for thirty years. I do expect you to move when you see miracles. I’ve shown you hundreds. They scared you. Pussy.
From Journal dated September, 2012:
Prayers: “Lord, if my parents can deny miracles because of their ego-based need for reputation, they don’t know you. (I thought my dad did.) Have mercy, please.”
“If they can sponsor the destruction of four lives based on need for reputation, they are the most vulgar couple I ever met.”
“They’d rather see me dead than admit they were ever wrong. They’re the reason I used to vomit.”
When I open the door to let the cat in or the dog out, or to let the dog in or the cat out, or to take something from the oven, the first thing I see is a fourteen foot wall of stone. It’s cold and grey and there’s a dead duck embedded in it. (This fossil is actually very cool, about a foot long.) This dead duck is built into a planter which is built into the fireplace which is built into the wall of cold grey stone. I can’t be in my house if there’s no fire burning. Chayla says that’s because fire is “life.”
I’ve been deprived of life by poverty and shame. I didn’t mind, because I was waiting for this. I am going to live non-stop supernatural. I heard God and I believed him, in practice if not always in heart. His ideas are far better than mine. I require life. I do not mean glitz and mega-malls; I mean all of life. I will gladly bust the heels from my shoes if I can dance, carefree like Kathleen Turner in “Romancing the Stone.” (I’d rather have a brighter leading man than Michael Douglas.) I’ve never actually danced with a man except my grandpa. He lived only a partial life but the part he lived was a joy I’ve rarely observed.
I do not choose my companions but sometimes they choose me. They cry a lot. Chayla lets me cry. She knows the necessity and value of cleansing. Strong women often put it off. Me, I’m different. I’d get cleaned up every day if I could find the right shower. I’ve dreamed about bathing for years. But, I’ve never gotten to bathe. I’ll trudge around campgrounds with my towel around my neck and I’ll jerk on gorgeous glass doors that won’t open. I always have my kit of supplies with me, far better cosmetics than I actually use around here. When I find that place, I’ll soak for hours.
God kept me blind, to the road of hell I was traversing. He told me in 2007 to “stay in the secret place” and I did that. I asked him to rule my mind because others were attempting to do so. He told me to trust what I could not trust. He told me to believe the unbelievable, and to expect the impossible. He told me my father loves him. He told me my father is a liar. I believe him, always. In practice, if not in heart.
I am surrounded by dead people. DHS was right, zombie wars have commenced.
November 22, 2013
Powerful things come out of me. Evidence indicates I am not deceived in my perceptions. I do not wish to see you burn.
November 21, 2013
George said we’d go to town at one. He’s not home. Thus goeth my life. I have company coming at four and need to cook in the interim. I’ll wait instead.
1:11 More company is coming now. Maybe George will have to go shopping alone.
I’m finishing last night’s chicken parmesan…and last night’s mess. I’m grateful that George cleaned the stove and “pre-washed” and stacked the dishes. I am not really a fan of stacking and sorting, believing that doing so requires considering the same items twice; I choose to sort as I go. I rinse items over the filling dishpan, to conserve water. Pre-washing is basically a failure to commit. Just rinse it and be done. I’m expending exactly the same energy and effort as he already did. The stove though, I can use help. My chef-friend says I can take a rangetop from “zero to Linda” in thirty seconds. I’m a very messy cook. I pray that my thinking not be messy.
November 20, 2013
The boys will be here at six. I’ve prepared a killer dinner, and it is set up on a fabric tablecloth. They will leave the dishes for me. I get up very early, so they’ll never see the mess again.
I may be naive about this, that is often the case, but it seems to me that my attention to detail should be worth something. I actually try to do everything that I do, as well as I can. My father should value this. He sure bitches when he hires a person who does not.
George went with me to cut up the tree that had fallen across my dad’s driveway. I can now run a chainsaw, and probably start one with fewer idiosyncrasies than George’s. It was a very solid maple tree, about 18 inches in diameter at the largest end. Lots of BTU’s. I loaded it all after moving the van so it I didn’t have to carry it so far. I tried to explain to George about efficiency and minimizing labor, but I’ve tried before. I tried to explain how one should not clean debris from the van in the driveway but finally volunteered to take the van across the road to clean it out. George then did that. He helped unload the wood on both trips. I pointed out that if his sons would do this once a week…there would be no fuel bill. He did not hear me.
My dad was pulling out of the driveway as we returned for the second load. He asked if we had been “pruning.” I said I’d like to use his log splitter and he said he did not know where it was. He said “maybe somebody borrowed it.” This was lie and I told him so. He is very protective of his tools. (Non-biological ones anyway.)
“Thank you for the wood, Lord.”
I will now make chicken parmesan for George’s dinner with his sons. I have cranberry-cream cheese cake with cinnamon already, and Italian bread dough that I started yesterday, so I can blog for a bit before I begin cooking.
George was disappointed when he got home because there was no home-made bread, I’d given it away. He will have now: fried potatoes, over-easy eggs, ham, and (store-bought) toast. He has no idea how other men eat. He has never had friends, no men friends. He thought the Chicken Cacciatore was “alright.” If I had opened a can of sauerkraut and boiled some potatoes he would have raved. That’s what his mother serves. (Actually she cans her own sauerkraut, so it’s pretty good.) I am wasted, have been wasted and God wastes nothing. I await His pleasure.
11 times during 2012 and 2013 I asked him:
“What symptoms of ‘craziness’ do I display”?
He could not answer me.
He could not talk to me.
He could not look me in the eye.
He could merely drive away saying, “get help.”
So I asked him for help and then…
He could not talk to me.
He could not look me in the eye, etc.
November 19, 2013
I must determine what kind of demon it is that causes me such frustration around George. I’ve always struggled with temptation because manipulating him is easier than communicating with him. I didn’t want to do that so I learned to speak very precisely and to maintain a level voice. I cannot restrain my passion about many issues. When I overhear him speaking about me, a subject about which he has chosen to know nothing, I bristle. Then I feel remorse and it’s a lot like a religious spirit. He told a mutual friend that I am “up and down.” This is not so. I’ve never been more “up” in my life! He drags me down and this should not be true, and I should not feel that his failure to recognize my pleasure-in-purpose makes it any less valid. He does not require purpose. I asked him not to talk about me. I’ve been writing my most intimate self for five years. He has not been interested and I no longer wish him to be. I am happier than I’ve ever been in my life. I tell him so, and I tell him about Jesus’ revolution that we’re all experiencing. He nods. I feel guilt around George. I also feel very imprisoned.
I’m planning a dinner with his children on his day off. I always do that. I asked him if he ever noticed that I always do that. He had not. I did it all summer. I’ve been doing it for six months. He said, “Well, it’s better than tortilla chips.” I usually begin to breathe normally about an hour after he leaves. The grace of God and my submission to his will should be sufficient enabling to squelch myself, for George’s benefit. Squelching myself is uncomfortable, but my life is not about me and I choose to do what is required. “Please Lord, enable me to get into the box when it is required, to maintain this man’s equilibrium. I do not wish to mess with the life he has chosen. He is unable to recognize mine.”
I stand accused yet, of issuing “hate” letters. This is untrue. I send love letters to people who do not know what love is. I didn’t know either, and my wrong-definition caused problems for myself and others in my life. There is a reason the Bible so often uses the term: “loving-kindness.” They are different things and much kindness is not love. Much love is not short-term “kind.” Telling lies, or ignoring lies, or suppressing truth will effect our personal, eternal destiny. I’d like everybody in the state to fulfill their destinies. Wouldn’t that be great? My letters are most loving. (I wonder if Paul had this problem…)
November 18, 2013
2:28 am (6:41 am, power is back on)
Nothing pulls one from the spirit realm faster than a power outage.
“You are Lord, You are Lord, You are risen from the dead and you are LORD.
Every knee shall bow, SATAN’S tongue confess, that JESUS CHRIST IS LORD.”
I’ve seen my house in visions, as it explodes with fire. I’ve seen flames assault the sky, so very high. I’ve seen myself and my boys on a single-person scooter fleeing the conflagration. We went south, across the lake. Legally I am a divorcee’. In reality I have been a widow for many years and an orphan far longer. My children and I have never known the attentions of a competent caring man. I’ve been prohibited to write about these matters, even in my personal (huh) notes but now God says I must.
I am a retarded woman. The flashes of sarcastic brilliance are not my own. I do know however, that one must keep a house warm. I work at night to escape the stupidity of the husbandman of the property. His last words to me before the lights went out were, “Shit happens.” I had been begging for a fire. Begging for wood. (No Freudian innuendo intended.)
I’m wondering if stupidity is a spirit. It must be so because no amount of evidence or discussion can eradicate it. I roused my roommate in the wee hours to help me haul wet fungus-covered logs. We have few of those. The basement is filling with water, we have no wood and until the lights went out “Zombie Wars” was blasting its evil into the house. “Shit happens.”
I’m an extremely lonely woman. I recognize loneliness as a demon and I reject it through the blood of Jesus. Perhaps I must address functional stupidity the same way.
I just yelled at him. I don’t do that often because he can’t take it. The most recent time he punched holes in the wall was after I merely “bitched.” A mutual friend was in attendance and noted that I “bitch like an angel.” (And he knows lots of women.) A sensitive stupid man is infinitely harder to impress than a bastard. Give me a bastard with brains any day. That being said, my father and other male relatives do not help me either.
The church in such situations, should help. The church should love and cajole. This is not the case. They make target practice of any family not up to snuff. (Excuse me, snuff is tobacco. May I say, “up to par”?) I’ve watched the church pick off family after family. Ours was Spirit-led, when I was considered worthy to influence it. The church destroyed my “worthiness” and now we have no lights, no heat, no wood, water in the basement and the boss is going to bed. Wish I knew a man with some wood. I’ve begged for wood every fall for years. The response? Yesterday even? “When was the last time the lights went out?”
“Lord keep my boys warm.” This too shall pass.
I overhear him on the phone discussing me with his girlfriend, “…well, she’s a good mother.” Perhaps he recognizes good mothering better than good fathering. He never had a dad. I’d always hoped my own father would assist.
I’m in love with a man. I would bless my ideal man with fulfillment of purpose and destiny. I’d bless him to be fruitful and to populate the world with hero babies who share his commitment to the oppressed and neglected. I’d bless him with his heart’s every desire. I would bless him in his preoccupation and belligerence. I would stand aside as he asserted his will. I would embody his will.
You’ll understand this since you’ve had lots of experience with Asians.
“How long wilt thou go about, O thou backsliding daughter? For the Lord hath created a new thing in the earth: a woman shall compass a man.” Jeremiah 31:22. (God told me to give this verse to my dad last year. I could look up the date.)
You were warned.
“In a scene out of a movie, they discovered her ex-boyfriend, Scott Thomas, torturing Bethany in an abandoned home in Duson, Louisiana on Friday. Arceneaux’s family then shot Thomas dead to prevent her from being killed as he stabbed her”
Wash over my spirit forever, I pray, in fathomless billows of love.” (Author unknown)
I washed my dad’s feet a few years ago. I’d have to look it up. I put on a business suit, since appearance is the most important thing to him. I filled a thermos with warm water and scented it with oil. I knelt before him and removed his shoes. I gave him a daughter-resume, recounting things I am good at doing.
He said that he washes my mother’s feet. He seemed touched.
He never NEVER talked to me.
“You were very wrong about me. I do not love my boys enough to kill their father.”
“I know God will replace my modesty. It’s been hard to do without. “
“So the pregnant girl at Connie’s hasn’t given birth for ten years. Her’s made my decade-on-pitocyn on New Year’s Eve after a week of fear-concerning-infection-because-my-water-broke-early-saga pretty puny.
Her father had never witnessed a vaginal birth and was stationed between her legs to watch her vulva explode and hemorrhoids bursting like cauliflower-florets around her anus. During delivery, the nurse embedded her arm to the elbow in Mom’s vagina, pushing the baby back. As the oxygen mask appeared, and the shouting reached its apex, with the chilling “EMERGENCY C-SECTION”…
she apologized to her father.
I also told him that I didn’t suppose a man like him could understand what modesty means to a chaste woman. I told him God would give it back.
my story is better than “Job”.
and I’ll finally wear my true robe.
My house is now ordered and cozy.
It didn’t take long after all.
The book of Isaiah’s a joy in my life.
I put away things as I use them.
I pick up my stuff when I leave.
God says, I’m too frugal so I throw junk out.
My cooking is yet more rewarding.
God told me about it before.
My prospects just now are stupendous.
The “hidden one”, they too were squirrelled.
My squirrelly days finally are over.
Tolle says needing’s not needed.
But mental deficiency won out the day.
So glad someone stepped in for me.
engaging as soon as I’m sure.
Each time I’m not positive, Jesus says “trust”.
We’ll now have a Gold-town that’s pure.
My cousins can sing along with me.
If they don’t know the words they can hum.
I’m anxious to throw them a party right here.
But I’d rather not have them around.
They’re stodgy and boring and full of themselves.
They’d probably muck up the sound.
To teetotalers truly committed.
Everywhere booze is permitted.
to the Mai Tais and Singapore Slings.
A loonie who sits home and sings.
Self-righteous prigs state their case most precisely.
“Don’t squander your love on a drinker.
You never can tell what he’s thinking.
Drunks do bad things to their children.
Fathers and teachers hurt too.
It’s high time that I save the crew.
Drinkers suck all they can swallow.
They guzzle and giggle and burp.
is not just your everyday twerp.
Especially with drinkers who think.
is a hypocrite’s way.
Much worse when the fink has a kink. (Wink.)
especially when people look on.
But my God defies all addiction.
Health class on drugs was a con.
Health-class without drugs was boring.
I access no way to speak kindly.
and Health-class was blind ones, led blindly.
to those who believe what they’ve heard.
To eat more than needed is sinful.
To hack your gut off is a crime.
The eatingest ones are the new nouveau riche.
When sinners judge sinners it’s shameful.
Judging God’s servant is worse.
restores mouthy fat ones the curse.
for whole is the way they do business.
after work have himself a few Guiness’.
The Cantina’s closed for the season.
The barflies were sorry to leave.
but now I’m too happy to grieve.
with warm episodes for us all.
Prudes who don’t see this are heartless.
I’m glad that I ran the Cantina.
It’s there that I learned what went down.
and no longer look like a clown.
The fearmonger’s grip is now slipping.
His fingers are pulling away.
yet still he has nothing to say.
and everyone says what he thinks.
Then Jesus shows up, and stirs up the pot.
Fear versus love is the topic.
Somehow it always comes up. That’s it.
But books can be honest and true.
The mental gymnastics are hard.
the second best I’ve ever had.
I could probably ramble forever.
It probably seems that I do.
You’ll probably read this. Whatever.
It’s not much fun talking to you.
With Jesus it’s different, however.
We talk just the same as last Spring.
We’ve talked all day long, since forever.
Some people missed Jesus’ last visit.
It earned them some shame for a while.
Their faux pas was quickly forgotten.
The pigs will return to the style.
we all forget facts.
when we turn our backs.
(This poem is much longer. I hope I can format it.)
(Matthew 11:19 “The Son of man came eating and drinking, and they say, Behold a man gluttonous, and a winebibber.”)
(I wrote the whole poem in 90 minutes. [Longhand] It’s on Facebook, George recorded it. I’m so glad to have Zuckerberg doing my bookkeeping…)