Moribund< out of touch.

There is a false dichotomy spreading across this nation.  Rather than bridging the abyss, the ravine grows colder,  deeper and in disrepair.  Mountains rumble, at  loss.  Time is suspended.   The cloudy white milk pours from deciduous pine trees, while hawks lurk high above in their rarefied air,  sending out notice, to prey.

Fear not the rain, nor the  poles, nor the mighty storms at sea.  They drain and sustain creating rivulets and rivers, of disparaging diversity.    Conditional causes, which do not change matter, but subverts it.  Hollowing trees, scattering bees and bees being boarders in their own land.  

We walk a tight rope and swing from literal AND LIBERAL vines.  We have no time for childish dreams, yet we are the epitome of games and rancor.  We flourish with pens,  inks and blotters, we stutter with jurisprudence.

My own odyssey was  Quixotic.  It started out with being sequestered in a Mental Hospital in Raleigh,  NC.   That lasted about eight days.  The reason for the visit to the ER was a Major Seizure Attack.  The adventure had morphed into a kind of confinement,  a suggestion of mental entanglement.  Upon release, I contacted the hospital and with swift hyperbole,  I mounted their unilateral conjecture,  into a scathing injunction to repartee with a patient.   I MADE MY POINT.  Essentially  saying, “do not condescend to me and patients alike”.

 

I may again at some time during the next couple of weeks.  For right now,  more terrible blogs,   for you to enjoy and me to destroy.   Peace.

 

 

OK, Enough! Let’s Dance/Sing!

 

Reaction Videos Must watch,  for the reactions

If Hubris had a name it would have the moniker ‘Corruption”.  But let me address people here, but before I forget,  I am having a difficult time.  Seizures can be attributed to the Manic Depression.  It doesn’t matter what I eat or sleep.   I had seriously entertained calling it a ‘life’.   That said,  my cats are like a bridge over troubled waters.

This is sick…   All Filipino.  Listen people react from all the all around the world, reacting to these songs.

 

 

“Music is a higher revelation
than all wisdom and philosphy.
Music is the electrical soil
in which the spirit lives, thinks and invents.”
~ Ludwig van Beethoven ~

My cats give me a sense of what life is all about.   I stutter  and hiccup  jigsawed speech.  Today an incident reminded of the Tonic-Clonic Seizure on Jan 2015.   So, if there are points, that my mind is mentally wandering,  you know why.  Some days are great and too many not very good.  I was manic when I saw the Dr.  I was prescribed mood stabilizers but not really working yet.   Major Depression,  seeing and hearing things and the steady Mania that clouds my mind.

But this is not what this blog is about.  What it is about, is what makes us  shine and brings joy to our hearts.   It is about common threads,  that swirl and gives us a heads up, about our spiritual connections.   I want to eschew hyperbole and dance around the circle like muses waiting to be connected.

Music is such a vehicle,  speeding like a comet across the Northern Lights,  lifting spirits and dancing like ABBA.  Music is like string theory,  with a million microscopic worlds, waiting to unite us.

I imagine one day, that science will literally be put upon it’s head.   No more wantoness,   no more twinkie food for the oppressed.  No matter the difficulty,  music is our MUSE.  We share the passion,  feel it’s warmth, and is commodious with peace.  Hubris exits out the back door.   Music is peace.   Promoting equality and offering hope to the benighted.

“Music does bring people together.
It allows us to experience the same emotions.
People everywhere are the same in heart and spirit.
No matter what language we speak, what color we are,
the form of our politics or the expression of our love and our faith,
music proves: We are the same.”
~ John Denver ~

 

Misogyny 101. Rape is Rape

RAPE IS RAPE. Calling it a date-rape, suggests that women, asked for it. This kind of rape is done in a different fashion, but is still what it is…RAPE. The suggestion is that she was drugged, meaning she DID NOT consent! She WAS, er RAPED.

If these RAPES were reported, then another battle happens. The rape kit, the police interview and last but not least, she is pilloried by defense attorneys and has to face the RAPIST. Not to mention the line-up!

Now, the accused RAPIST doesn’t have to prove anything and chuckles as the girl/woman has her entired life affected. She find it IS impossible to live her life. Every unexpected noise, becomes a panic attack. Some hate men and others are forced to watch the accused, either get an aquittal or see him get releasd on bail.

From discovery to an actual trial (if it gets that far), she is poisoned by possible malfeasence and the RAPEE facing intimidation and her own credibility almost ruined. Guys who think, she is easy! What a burden to bear!

Nasty signs are depicting College Women as fresh meat!

Now, there is the college issue!!! There are thousands of RAPES that ARE NOT reported, for the reasons enumerated above. Even more shocking are these hundreds of RAPES, that are NOT reported! The denials of those RAPES are DENIED by College Schools and Universes.

Why? Largely sports-related. As smarmy as this is, some of the refusals and intimidation are by WOMEN! How freaking apalling!! Of all things!! Throwing a RAPEE under the bus! Women as Misogynists, de facto RAPISTS.

And for what? A serial RAPIST! A football or basketball who is basically worshipped. In their recruiting process, the Blue Chip players, recieve HUNDREDS, if not thousands of letters, asking them to play sports.

And some of serial rapists and some of these recruiters ignore their violent tendencies. And it is NOT just athletics, some COEDS are themselves serial RAPISTS. And the motivation is: the school’s reputation! Some Dad’s apple grows horns and some of them, the apple of other their dad’s eyes are emotionally and physically eviscerated.

There is a great documentary ‘Hunting Grounds’ that does more than I can do, in revealing these shocking revelations. I will let you see something, that will PISS you off, I guarantee it!

One other issue is, I had to unfriend a blogger here, because she thought that men can offer nothing to the debate. Oh well! I have sisters, mothers, aunts, a girlfriend (sometimes) cousins, friends and women at large. Being a victim sexual assault, I have more than a right to opine.

As a sidebar, this movie as a two-star movie. Hell, I wonder why?

With 40,000 rape kits un-analyzed, many women give up.

Afterall, RAPE IS RAPE!

Everbody Wants to Rule the World.

 

In our nascent days as people,  we stood for liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  We also had churches dictating the position that we could have sex.   To achieve that end,  government and religion would invaribly have to be voyeurs as well.    It seems to me,  the government has too many bigger issues to worry about,  than consensual play between consulting adults.

 

“The onset of mania occurs when when repression is no longer able to resist the assaults of the repressed instincts.”

Karl Abraham

More importantly we do not take the time to listen,   but we judge and assume too many things.   Most of which, are not true.   We try to find a witch to burn and are amazed when some or many, sing in acapella.  About the differences from one life to another.

“Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled”

Bob Dylan

We can’t quite figure it out and rather than to leave people alone,  we enact new laws that restrict people, from the right, to the pursuit of their own happiness.

In fifty years,  most of us will be long gone and those laws,  like their effectiveness,  will serve no purpose.   Agreeably,  there is a need to restrict certain ‘illegal’ behaviors,  but for all the billions we spend on foster children and child welfare,  there are still homeless and abused children, with social workers who live  comfortably, but still no safe place for said children to live.

The legislators and moralists preach restraint.  One codifies the law, to enforce their causes and the other a moral platitude, that never can be met.  Today, the hippies of generations past,  are lawyers, judges and preachers.  They tell young adults, that they can’t drink until they are 21,  as if that arbitrary number actually does save lives.

Or preachers who are popping young women,  driving off bridges and telling us,  that God dissaproves,  of what we are doing.   Memo to the Elmer Gantys of the world, we know what you are doing and did do, when you were young.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one if you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’

Bob Dylan

One Tin Soldier

–

Like the BDSM community,  who regulate their own,  and there are those who are those people who are out there, who are true sadists, who give the lot of them, a bad name.  But moreover,  the doms are very compassionate of their charges and ask them (subs/slaves) what are the limits. Most really do care!  They love their people and hate those who do not follow the rules of that community.

At stake is the very existence of their lifestyle,  who to the outsider,  does seem bizarre.  But being bizarre is not a crime and the participants do volunteer and their bosses, make sure, that the verbal contract, is not breached.

 

 

Remember: this is not about you: parents and friends.

This is about the beauty of life an the indescribable joy of self-satisfaction.

 

 

 

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.

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.

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.

 

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.