Ferguson Matters but not the block parties and 11 year old raped and charged???

Danielle Hicks-Best, 18, holds her son, Levi. After D.C. police questioned her account about being sexually assaulted, Hicks-Best spent years in detention and secure treatment centers. (Sarah L. Voisin/The Washington Post)

http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/magazine/a-seven-year-search-for-justice/2015/03/12/b1cccb30-abe9-11e4-abe8-e1ef60ca26de_story.html

I feel for anyone who is the victim of police abuse but who are these miscreants,  who even our own honorable President Obama called criminals?    No where do you see community activists demonstrating black on black crime.   The defacto parents of this preteen (at the time) were concerned but the police and judge basically called a child who was tortured by her birth parents….  a liar.     Her attackers were late teens and more and they raped her twice.    Child experts who deal with rape and the trauma of other abuses are startled and alarmed at this story and they should be.   We should be.

I am angry for the girl who is now 18 and feels the system has run all over her.    I am angry at community leaders too worried about stuff that does not matter relative to abuse.   I am upset with a system that treats women so shoddily but talks about feminism.

And it upsets me that we are doing nothing to help at-risk children and at-risk adults.    It is not about police and it is not about punishment as much as prevention.    And I am NOT saying that offenders get off,    but how do we prevent this in the first place?    Education should be a lifelong practice and the saying ‘It takes a village’ is utterly correct.    Abusers hide behind their hate and mental issues and so reporting is delayed.

We care more what idiots like Ismus has to stay and other bigots who promulgate by default,  abuse,  hate and misunderstanding.     I have an issue with cops who act like superiors to suspects.   They are not lawyers and they are not judges.    They enforce and are there (ideally) to serve and protect.   I know there are more than a handful of creepy cops.  I have seen the good cops but cops who trip soccer playing girls after a game is a scum bag or the police officer that nearly killed a 90 year old man.   I would love to have a whack at that jerk off.    He is a jackbooted scum bag.

We spend billions enforcing drug and prostitution cases while these kinds of abuse is happening even though we have rapes happening and too many feminists wanting to hear themselves moralize.   I do totally support women and men who contribute to the alleviation of pain and suffering and the fear that blacks have with cops.    Bullying happens every day and by those who are supposed to make us all safer.

So while we are at it,  let’s help now!   There are kids living in hell on streets,  in foster homes and with drug-crazed and mentally unfit parents.   Hollering doesn’t seem to help and building cargo aircraft that are barely used being sent off to the aircraft graveyard is a waste and irreconcilable.

So let’s start getting to know each other.   Stop being rich and condescending and assuming these problems are just going to go away.

http://www.daytondailynews.com/news/news/crime-law/trial-begins-for-man-accused-of-raping-girl-8/nkH6L/

Or like above,   we get crimes by sex offenders who are left to watch over kids?   In what world is that acceptable or any person you do not know?????

Craig-Edward-Turpin

We all need to look at ourselves and what we value most.   None of us are exempt to helping others.

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I Started to Smoke (A Joke) Bee Gees.

One of my first blogs.. still sucks …ahah

Floyd, Times Are Changin

This is a takeoff on a song,  a humorous interlude into irony.  As it is,  I totally missed the boat while they were all alive.   Instead I saw them as chessie during the ‘Stayin Alive’ days of Disco.   I was too fixated on the hairstyles and their clothes and those silly ‘ooooooh hoooos’.   That stuff drove me insane and women were the most likely to do it.   That was also a time when Big Hair was making it’s appearance and Boy George flamed his way into our lives and we mostly got what he was about.  Creativity.

So recently,  I heard the song again.  There was something ethereal about it.   In fact,  Robin Gibb brought that song to life as if he were still young again and the fact that some said he looked really bad,  I still saw his inner beauty and strength.  …

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Chills, Spills and other things. Roads to now. Are you here?

I felt the sun’s virtually as unabated heat in the white sandy beaches of the Florida  panhandle and the smell that permeated that area from a nearby Paper Mill.   It’s sickly sweet smell hung in a florid sky and the aftertaste of scallops made me feel nauseous and trapped.

The Frozen Rainbow.

 

I guess things happen for a reason and behind the doors of our dreams are cryptic answers too complicated to comprehend.  Especially for a child.   The Northern Lights breathed a luminous landscape in the night skies and the cold winds were a knife with a lethal cut.

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Sad moments made the frosty chills breathtakingly painful and unforgettable.  The lonely heart of my many nightmares both real and dreamt cascaded over me,  sealed by the ice and recorded in fragments of memories.

The Rainbows here were made of AU with Santa’s helpers nearby,  ready to conference with that white-bearded Totem handing out candy and coal.

I was lost one day in a row of sleepy trailers which billowed out smoke from wood-stove fires and dangerous old space heaters which either warmed us or ignited other kinds of fire.

My Journey seemed to have no end.   With a runny nose and rubber boots I languished in this maze,   seeking out some answers from a random neighbor.    This story somewhere between a dream and my fear of being permanently lost.   The smoldering ruins of a fragmented world.   Like elevators in towering skyscrapers chased by Gremlins and the free fall of a damaged psyche trying to make amends for being hurt.   To be hurt less or no more.

Life always seemed to be changing.   Starting over again and again with the approach of a train, a car or a bus,  we were Gypsy’s not long for anywhere.  And each mode of transportation offered Rockwell scenes,  with pop tarts,  Corn Chips,  Sandwiches and Koolaid.

 

Texas was the land of tumbleweeds, tornadoes and tacos,   where watermelon festivals and PTA meetings and Open Houses happened in a school with disagreeable teachers and paddles with holes in them strategically located in plain site.

At our home in Burkburnett we had a storm cellar and one day a boy who is a few years older than us wanted to show us younger kids something.   He showed his ass (literally).    Getting upon a large electrical spool inside the storm cellar, he showed us his wares,  so-to-speak.   Or the lack thereof.  (underwear).   I had to be careful with that term.   LOL.

Now as far as his crime,  it was not his own but the influences around him.  Probably at home or somewhere else.  Nothing wrong with the human body,  especially the coming of age stuff.

When you’re an adult and violate the vulnerability of your kid or someone else’s,  you set in motion a disaster.   Roles are confused with adult behavior in a life whose coming of age is thwarted for a time.

   Anger bleeds with wounds so deep you fail to thrive.  Your life is bits and pieces and crashing bells.   You cry silent tears of rage and people getting too close makes you want to fly away to a place no one else can land.   You dream of leaving on a train like the Box Car Children or in a clean space station dressed in white where angels cannot find.  You dream of stories where you are the hero and you can control the volume and the brightness.

Box CarBC2AngelT

Sad songs make you happy because at least they are real and the clouds and the dark skies are a kind of revenge,  control over the storms.    You cheer the rain and people wonder at your skills to know but what they do not know,  that these are your sanctuary.    Snow Days are a thrill, a hedge against consensus. A road painted in white,  radios calling it a day.

One night you wander in your dreams, falling down to the Earth and walking back to the camper where you hung out.   The next morning your bleeding hand started to heal and the following night you punch out a window.    Your dreams and your reality clash and the rebel yell resounds.    Heart beating to rhythms unheard cloaked in allegory.

The ending of a story with buildings punctuating the end.   Times will never be the same.   Love?  Happiness?  Your own shame,  mix in a vortex of purple and green hues.   The Cowboy left bleeding in the sand,  his hand no longer the fastest,  the mask going gray along with the retreating clouds.  The wary veteran reporter no longer finds a smiley face but a dearth of wisdom and the prickly thorns of conscience.

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My two cats are my sentinels and they know the sounds to make with purrs laced with loyalty and a home where a home might not be.   A car,  an alley or a truck stop day room,  your car at least has your friend.

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My Gay Roommate. Air Force.

I had a choice of roommates.   A straight dickhead or a gay guy with issues.  (Don’t we all?).  However Mark was intelligent, engaging and a friend.    His dissections of movie plots were genius.  He was a 702 which is the military way of saying a person worked in the office.     One day after a Commander’s Call with our weather unit,  we were walking back to the barracks and about four guys were calling him names I will not mention.   When I saw the look on Mark’s face it was enough for me to retaliate in kind and this was in an era before DADT.

No fight just a threat because I was an NCO (SSgt) and they were little weenies and I would have gone after them if I could.   Anyhow,   it is not what a person likes if it is legal but what kind of person they are to others.

As I said,  Mark has his problems and of course being gay and being out front about it,   was a method to get kicked out.  His behavior escalated eventually he was wearing lipstick and mascara and leadership had enough.   Regardless,  he was and I hope is doing well.    Above all,   he lived the way he felt was the best for him and who am I to judge.    I did learn something about humans though and I am forever grateful for that.

After getting out I had a gay roommate again and he was okay but one of  his friends was not.    His friend said the place stunk of fish,  regarding my girlfriend.   After he left I went to Ray and told him if I ever heard anything like that again that I would kick his ass.   So again,  tolerating and accepting is kind of fluid,  but what is not subjective is common decency.   I do not care who you are if you are being a shit,   I am going to let you know.

No need for bro slaps or mancaves!

Ice-skating with Zebras! On the Thin Ice of Life!

The world can be a tricky place with thin spots in the ice while crumbling quite literally beneath our feet.    One person flaunts the fact gaining attention for their intrepidness.    This is a figurative ice and I will explain.   We all go through our moments of self-discovery.   Coming of age in our right without the knowledge of it beforehand.    It is one thing to hear the story of the Birds and the Bees and quite another to feel what we feel.

During my Junior High days there was a classmate who had sex outside of the old school next to the football stadium.  As stories go,  this sounded like a date rape fantasy of a pretty and innocent girl but none-the-less it was prurient in nature, a myth of the preteen years.    The same story-teller told of the time he had touched a classmate in the bathroom of her parent’s house.   One gets the idea here in Sixteen Candles and Molly Ringwald’s panties.    The sheer awe of the unknown and to the Devil with the details and how they affect others.

So using the skater analogy again let’s consider this ice.    A person decides to lie about something.   Perhaps that diving off a water tower into a shallow retention pond is safe.    The problem is not whether anyone has tested this out in reality but simply repeated old tales.    They may even say they have jumped,  while they have not.   Person B thinks they need some Street Cred and invariably suffer because of it.

The girl above did in fact move away but I never heard anything else about again.   As to the reason or reasons why and the alleged facts by a somewhat silly boy telling other silly boys lies.     And before anyone plays the Ace just be sure that there are still aces remaining.

We seem to operate at our best with someone to keep us in line.   And that when no one is looking,  when take something that is not ours,    The human condition,  I guess.

This all reminded me of the events during my school days and how these cracks in the ice,  happen to the innocent and who cries for the victims in life?    Like I saw at a Soup Kitchen,  where a relatively young man, dressed badly,  smelled worse and had a big wound on his neck that was soaked with blood.    He started acting out an the Deputy summarily threw him out.   A young woman at another table commented that he was not like that before going to Prison.

And in a movie I saw from one of the Baltic States where two young girls used their looks for advantage.   These were nothing more than jumping lines and getting boys to hold their books on the way home from school.   The more beautiful girl was able to fend off the lecherous older guy until one day she was kidnapped,  passed around and eventually decided to marry this POS.   Too young to be married,   her advantage slipped away.

Her more conservative girlfriend stopped her from using her gun on her husband who murdered her ex boyfriend for no other reason than jealousy.   The conservative girl went to the wedding while loathing the miscreant who forced a young girl into a bad situation.     The more modest girl started to dance a very ethnic dance with adult movements and wowed the revellers and I guess were enamored.   Anyway, part of life for women around the world is this kind of subjective justice and it sucks.     The pressure of being weaker doubles down when their very utility is neutralized by seedy creeps and bullies.

For those who can be a hero,  do it.

Pensive Patience – Turn your head and deny.

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One night we ended up at a place called the Port Authority in New York City.    We being my girlfriend and I,  as we had a stopover before heading on to upstate NY.     The busstop was an eclectic mix of wandering souls,  some with bus tickets and others seemingly having a ticket to hell or a local jail.    The insidious nature of being poor relegates too many people to the streets and ironically far too many are servicemen out of the military,  many with serious mental issues.

So what do the police do?  They either arrest them or make them move a few feet to another Gate.  Where they put down their makeshift cardboard homes while swilling alcohol and threatening other homeless people or harassing bus riders.  I remember the narrow metal benches that were too thin to sit on,  let alone sleep on.   But that didn’t stop some from trying as I saw a young Puerto Rican man trying to sleep and an obviously high and drunk lady of about 50 pushing that young man off the bench.

The result was almost too bizarre and unsettling to observe.   As they yelled at each other the disagreement escalated and the disturbed woman with a bottle in a brown bag broke that bottle as she smashed it against the top of a metal 55 gallon drum producing a rather lethal weapon.  She waived her jagged bottle and threatened to kill the guy.   A black lady seating a few feet away called the old drunk lady a bitch and other assorted life-affirming comments.

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Finally the 50 year old mentally ill lady discarded her weapon and it got scary and otherworldly.   The lady proceeded to lift her soiled skirt,  dropped her unmentionables and menacingly told the young guy to  F#@K her.   Now the old black lady was in top form, telling the ersatz stripper that no one wanted to see her nasty coochie.   Again her vocabulary was as a colorful as before and it seemed that high tide was going out because she feel asleep until the whole entourage was shifted like an adult version of musical benches in an insane asylum.

Perhaps we can start by realistically addressing homelessness.   The VA Hospital,  truck stops and Motels have their parking lots where homeless people find a safe place to sleep for the night.   The decent people (not billionaires) who try to accommodate the needy are indeed angels of a kind.   And these professional fast-food workers and managers basically hold the world together,  while Wall Street and it’s minions drive rental properties out of sight.

The people in NYC who get gunned down are not necessarily suspects but innocent bystanders.  The stories feature the injuries of random shots into a crowd while they get paid leave and offer no apologies.   Sad when police officers do their own version of terror against the weak and enfeebled.

The other side of the homeless equation is where are the children of these homeless seniors?   Where are the cops that do good and why are not these cops emulated by other police officers?   An officer approaches a feeble adult and gets aggressive not knowing if the person is globally Aphasic but perceived as Jason Bourne with tactical firepower and a drawer full of steroids.

Society is ill, perhaps irreparably when handicapped people are not taken care of.   And to me,  even criminals should not be raped by fellow inmates and murderers are not somehow heroic when they hurt the various kind of  offenders in a faux game of morality awry.

Police officers should be respectful and accommodating rather than finding trumped up charges which other officers  accept at face value.    They have a life and a home and respect and it is a power trip because that is why they arrest a jogger for jaywalking.   Campus cops.   The ultimate worst kind of parasite who arrests young ADULTS for doing what they did or their fathers and mothers did during the 60s and 70s.

So this is the season of discontent and mercy and patience have given way to a political state of anarchy where politicians and polizei are given carte blanche powers to accuse and abuse suspects.   The Miranda Rights are fudged with and lied about while good cops are not judgemental but a mutual respect transcends gung ho wife-beaters with a badge.

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There are nearly 1,100 BILLIONAIRES in the world who sweep people off the street and characterize homeless as worthless druggies.   The problem is that many make money off of them at both ends and then moralize and wonder about what house they will stay in during the weekend and whose palms need to be greased for the various PACs and the democrats are just as rich and even richer than their counterparts.   Neither party is blameless BUT their immediate task should be to provide humanity to as many as they can.

In depressed places the womanhood of a woman is like Park Place or Madison Ave if they are attractive and date rape is laughed at and kidnapping is happening with souls making money off of the pain and dehumanizing effects of human trafficking while horny rich men dip their wicks in countries where police officers make our own look like caring social workers.    It makes me mad when I hear women using misogynistic language at women who lack what they consider classy behavior,

We all need to access how we treat each other and it starts in the home and in school,  mitigating sexual abuse and educating the poor from abusing their children and including the  hymens of young girls.   This kind of savagery needs to be talked about and a real plan to deal with it.   Collectively stemming the tide of the heart break of being deemed service type people.   Classism is an issue and if we want to lead the world in morality that starts with feeding the homeless and providing shelter to the homeless during spates of especially bad weather.   I have slept in my house or car where temperatures were in the teens,  along with kitty and a few pillows and blankets.   It can happen to anyone.  The gentle and graceful find a way to make helping cool again and for the first time for many.

She’s very very very smart, but she is bad at drugs?

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I am actually proud of this young lady because she is smart but it was pretty evident that she suffered a lot of abuse at home and yet is surviving.   One of the most significant choices was to not go back home because as she said and I am paraphrasing,   “too much temptation”.

But at the same time looking back at her past on A&E,   she said,  she should be thriving.    She said that.  And this kind of talk most undoubtedly came from social workers,  guidance counselors and self-help books.  She was thriving as a young girl but the demons that haunted Ma and Pa Needle made that foundation shaky.

The mom said she was one of the greatest people that she has ever known?  A teenager who has Gollum’s ring tethered to opioid dreams and where Meth is always more.   A boyfriend who gets to sow seeds deep and in a haze find a love that no one else could possibly can.    While deserving souls are denied pain relief and all in the name of a fix or fixes,  overdoses and quantum mixes.

fda doublesTrans fats

And getting to how very very very smart she is,  the cumulative amount of verys invariable make her very very very smart.  So let’s break this down.   This attractive intelligent young woman is held hostage to a drug-induced state while disconnected parents with brick telephones hammer I Love yous in a staccato deception.  This very very very very smart girl  is doted upon unhealthily and the father says she is not good at drugs.   Well that is a goal,  I guess? Iron Oars on a rusty canoe.

SeizuresThat picture actually give me seizures.  Who needs drugs?  Ban pictures too!

I believe the father has other secrets too.   We may or may not know one way or the other,   and probably do not need to,  especially as this young woman continues to actually grow up.    The patchwork quilts are replaced with yarn,  replacing burned-outs bulb with Neon.    She is a champ inspite of the nesting cuckoo birds who cooed lies on brains filled with chemical Metaphors.

We could only hope for moreacid-drugs-good-trip-good-vibes-Favim.com-818970

Good luck and God’s speed and while I know her parents are just human too,   the objectification of her youth and intelligence invariably vanishes.    She is arty woman and interesting too,   but let this very very very very very smart woman who is not good at drugs,  to forever give them up.

It seems to me that we are reverting back to a time we do not want to go.  Things happen in life,  you can not control the tick of a clock anymore than you can control people.  In the next moment creative art will be inhibited as politicians talk about things they never experienced and if they did,  they just lie about it.