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!

Grandfather Time…. We didn’t start the fire!!

VA1veterans

WardFIRST-THEM-CAME-FOR-Graphic-2-homeless-vet-278x300

The VA is a place of healing but a healing that is part transcendence and part acquiescence.   A kind of home to the many homeless and/or hurting.    Like an old military training film,  the memories of soldiers are rekindled,  with the ebbing of the time and tide and the constant changes that slowly and almost imperceptibly evolve.

Sitting in chairs lined up like eggs the shiny floors and a plethora of young people with a whole lot more than you in their lives talk loud and authoritatively.   Nurse Cratchett with her Ben Casey cap mulls over the scene keeping it as quiet as she can with a prescription in hand and whispering where to go next.  There is order here,  and signs telling you what you should do as and where you should do them.   Part suggestion and part demand….  you comply.

What I see is a bunch of old, white men/women constantly berating the President. Don’t believe me…check out Fox News’ viewing demographics….You guys seem to fit right in their target demo. Face the fact that your generation is dying off and being replaced with multiracial, non-religious, informed citizens that don’t buy the corporate bull shit anymore. Thank you all for your service, but it’s time to give up on your 50s “Leave it to Beaver” dream world and accept that America is changing.

(And this was from a military site and a part of my point in this blog)

Shuffling past the new partitions and faded drapes you humbly canter onward to a room to wait some more.  Then the eager young doctor rolls into the room, inquiring about what brought you there that day.   Like he doesn’t already know.  His intentions are generally good and his allocation of time is ten words and a prescription(s).     Back in your chair you wait.   The minutes tick laboriously on with black and white clocks making their rounds in your head.    And you feel like a bursting dam full of still water.     The coldness of put-out caregivers with dissembling glances stare obtusely at you.

You are whisked away in rubber chariots with the air-conditioner breaking the disturbing silence that has long been established.      Only so many retold stories can they bear and what they show to their friends is markedly different than what you experience.   The tar on the road causes a clicking and thudding as tires roll and roll and roll and you fall fast asleep.

At home there there are no cupboards,   just a chair,  a bed and perhaps a TV.    The walls are yellow and gray brick,  the mortar hardened like the souls of man.   The ceiling fan in steed of a dream whirring and whirling and the tick,  tick,  tick of an electric chain.   Bound to reflection you start to complain but feel the potential sting or words,   those silent statues in an antiquated museum.   Their only destiny an auction or the city dump.

Old pumps

Children's phone

The plain yellow curtains burp and rustle against the warm walls as the A/C is clicked on and you fall asleep and you faintly hear the sound of doors and the rustling of tires on hot gravel.    Magical cupboards are laden with product,  generic brands of what you used to consume and settle on mashed potatoes and country cream corn,   as much due to chewing as it is to satiation.

Pretty soon your cat or cats or maybe a dog gather up with you,  finding a place to call their own and that is the closest you had that day to affection,  non-contrived and totally about you!   Yet the emotional give and take is the soft mortar which has not nor will ever harden until the by and by.

Prozac Nation. Your thoughts! The Long and winding Road.

As I watched the movie Prozac Nation,  Christina Ricci is sitting naked on the bed while her mother comes into the room and opens the window tells her to get going.    Ms. Ricci is going yard.   She is off to Harvard to ply her skills and hone her narratives on life as she experiences life away from mom and dad.     Her home life was idyllic in the sense of having nice clothes and a supportive mother but she did not like people because she assumed they did not like her.

She of course had her drugs,  mainly medication for her behavior but she added X,  LSD,  Marijuana and Alcohol to her mind bending menu.    She had a narcissistic,  womanizing  father who avoided her  during her early teen years and a madly manic’ mom whose insecurities rubbed off on her talented but troubled child.

After the first party her own manic behavior corrupted her friendships and she was openly antagonistic at the worst moments.      She already had an emotional problem and the sense her life was going to be short.   She was also a cutter and obsessive about her writing.

On a personal level her behavior is NOT necessarily outrageous given her medical,  yes medical condition.   Depression and anxiety is not cured by psychotropic drugs because cognitive and awareness therapies can redirect some of the more harmless inclinations.    Those treatment modalities may not cure and so the right medications will help fix some of the neurochemical issues.

When I first started taking Citalopram it was not effective so was switched to the drug Sertraline which did alter my awareness around me.    Initially my family and specifically my brother indicated I was more aggressive.   I may have been but I believe a lot of that was a change and the change was discomfitting.    I resolved that I was becoming more aware of what was eating at me.    My comprehension of my behavior and thoughts became my own.

The sheer terror of public speaking is a theme that caused me a lot of anxiety as a kid and was not helped by the constant threat of violence in the schools.    Corporal Punishment hardly phased the hard-butted strong-willed student but to the good kids,  it became an obsession and fed into my own distrust of 99% of people.

I understand Elizabeth’s (Ricci’s) impulses and her lack of control and the desire to please everyone long enough to find an egress from a social situation.  Hers was self-medicating.   I was fairly skilled in language and was a prolific speller with a great vocabulary.   I read college text books in fourth grade because they were fun.     What I hated was the spotlight.   I really loved sports and always felt like people who were watching were judging me.    By the time I was in my early twenties I went back to the high school and played basketball during recreation at the school  and a childhood nemesis who said,  “Damn you are talented.”    I tell you,  for a moment in the social context that was a homerun.    I did practice and I shot threes with touch.   I prided myself getting lost in a place I felt safe.    Both scared and excited was when I made my first bucket in a game.   I remember like it was yesterday.   A high arching shot and nothing but net.   That was an ice breaker of a kind but too much is a bad thing.

still waters

Retreating into my own little Universe I groped for safety without a safety net and the feelings of being judged,  even by family.    My hypercritical thinking makes me a very good weather forecaster but the downside is that skill causes me confusion and alarm.    I have overcome a lot of things educationally but extreme anxiety has rendered me inert in many situations.    I sometimes hate myself,  question my own sanity and perceived stupidity.

The exact origins I am slowly rooting out.   I am reconnecting with friends from my own class of 74 and finding out that the girls thought I was cute and so on.    But this is a slow process and reconciling the pain and anguish is hard.  My cats help and we share a symbiotic connection that I believe benefits us all.

So her behavior is not unusual and her journey through the darkest abyss is a journey that we must take.   The therapy, drugs and finally a modicum of self-acceptance.    We are what our neural pathways allow for.   Mine is a hardwired hyper-awareness.

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.

NL2NLights

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.

 Anthropocenebaby102Lacey1angelt2

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.

SoLstreets-of-larado-fake

You and I might clash. I have a better idea. Help asap!

“When the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys.He becomes a sort of hollow,posing dummy,the conventional figure of a sahib.For it is the condition of his rule that he shall spend his life in trying to impress the “natives”,and so in every crisis he has got to do what the “natives” expect of him.He wears a mask and his face grows to fit it.”
George Orwell

I consider myself a liberal when it comes to humans and suffering and since we can spend hundreds of billions on soon retired aircraft,  I get annoyed when Veteran’s Benefits are slashed because of the cost factor.   Too many are counting on robots and drones and such as a reason but invariably injuries are long-lasting and life-changing.   Athletes get richly compensated and their risks are nowhere near a soldier’s.

So the problem is the suffering is also a reflection of us collectively and I am not talking about socialism or worse,  I am talking about helping in other ways than just words.   And there are those doing and not just saying they are helping.

“There’s a saying that you can’t put a price on a human life, but that saying is a lie because we have. We have, and it’s so much lower than you would think. Yes, human life has its price like anything else, and will continue to do so for as long as it doubles as a commodity.”
Nenia Campbell, Cease and Desist

I want people to understand this one very important point.  If you are a billionaire and in production of some sort then you hire people and those people may be retired or laid off.   Their fingers gnarled from the constant abuse of repetition and perhaps an unsavory boss.   This boss/owner goes him and for that family season’s greetings are easier.    Some hoever lose everything and very few to help out or even care.

It took Unions many times to get safer conditions and better pay.   To ward off the improbable accident or misfortune that at one time we never considered.   We surely can find fault with something that person has done and so we blindly legislate as a remedy for a symptom.

A 19 year old girl gets notice of her fiance dying in the Middle East and suddenly her life and the life of the parents are shattered.   Generals still sleep well and there is never enough compensation to recompence the newly indigent or those whose problems keep them second class citizens.   Second by what standard? Poverty,  medical bills,  Cancer,  Mother Nature,  Despots?

Not only does the Billionaire have electric all winter but at the expense of the withered hands of a widow or widower.

Does the Mother of a dead soldier see the name on a stocking and smile?   Do the generals stop by and offer condolences or send an emissary to pay their respects?   And the child dying of cancer,  where are those people who own a Nuclear Reactor who poisons for generations.   Where are they when a child is born with no legs or arms?   Where are the producers Malathion and the congenital birth defects and the toll that takes on a family?

Do we support ‘Make A Wish’,  ‘Give Kids the World’  or any other number of agencies who can provide relief?  And do we continue to support or grandstand or say we did enough?

http://www.sjbhealth.org/body_childrens.cfm?id=2305

The link above may shock many people but George Steinbrenner was a saint to the kids at the hospital which he paid for.

DepressionRedwhite

People who are different or people with a disabling condition.    Many tempt fate by a cavalier disregard for others until they are in a supine position counting off moments til the inevitable expiration of ego and all the rest.

We have shows like Criminal Minds or even SVU.   It is well and proper to prosecute the guilty but what is the fallout from legislation?   It sounds like a good thing until the human cost includes unintended consequences from the actions of well-meaning people.    At best legislation and lawsuits can temporarily bring some relief without a healing that is more complete.   Support Groups are generally run by lay people and it seems cures defer to treating symptoms but not the cause.

Cases of Irritable Bowel Disease is rampant among the Jewish populations after the Concentration Camps.  We have billionaires today still benefitting from the tragic loss of others to which many times there is no resource but a support group that meets once a month.

IBDAGenetics

And felons,  from small time hoods to murderers and sex offenders,  it seems that sticking it to them also has consequences.    Our nation is becoming very self-centered and not aware of the effects of legislation and a lack of housing that follows offenders.    But by the grace of God go we.

RachelShepards Kitchen

To the left is a homeless advocate who helps.  A private young lady with a heart and the dear young ladies on the right whose elder years are feeding the young and hopeless,  the aged and the so-called profane criminals who sully our word?  <— being facetious about the felons.   Hell,  I might be a bad person myself!

But this badness in others and ourselves is no farther away than head trauma in an auto accident to drug abuse and hate crimes.   We have offenders who never got treatment or programs to head off their own particular brand of abuse.   Stopping the cycle is a humane test.  Not silly PSAs by corrupt nabobs in Hollywood or actors who feel an affinity to some cause.   Those offenders have families too and those unintended consequences are things they share in and suffer over?

Cops beating up old people and other such abuses are more a product of our own pride.   So instead of helping we actually use sentences to get cheap labor and then wonder why the marginally gifted feel alienated,  despondent and angry.   East to be hard!

copssoupkitpoem_res_0_0.appeal

The food with Shepard’s Chapel Soup Kitchen is catered and high quality and no one gets refused.   Otherwise who are we but jailers of a kind????

old-graveyard-by-Andrea

Silly Love Songs

The moment of awareness of sexuality comes with vistas not before imagined.    Kind of like in the Wonder Years and I was about to find my own Winnie Cooper.

.   But this process was painful and at times I felt like I was watching a show from behind a sound-proof glass.  I was in love with a few girls and a few could see behind the two-way mirrors.    Music was a way to escape and so naturally certain songs were buoyant,  light-hearted and romantic in a way that fit with my own personality.

So I cringe at terms like one-hit wonders, bubble-gum music and silly love longs.   Paul McCartney nailed it and even John Lenin and Yoko Ono proved that commercialized music may not be all that bad.    For me it was Day After Day by Bad Finger and  I pined for a cute little idealistic blond teen.  I remember that we went on a date to the Paddock Room and I stammered and stumbled and was probably incoherent but it was a date and it became news around the school.    One of her friends found out we went out on a date and said that I had the hots for her!  And I did.   I fumbled that ball a few times but years later the ball was back in my hands and I fumbled it yet again.

“What she had realised was that love was that moment when your heart was about to burst.”
Stieg Larsson, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

She basically told me one day long after High School  that I already found what I was looking for.   Her!   I was confused and botched that badly but she still really liked me,  just a bit concerned that I missed the obvious clues.   It was like I found the pot of gold but just stared at it and then walked away.

The old High School was a special place where we would play basketball on a court that had a shallow ceiling so you had to shoot a somewhat flat shot.  Oddly enough they used to play Varsity Basketball games on that cozy little court.  The place had the old building scent which wafted through it’s halls and hinted at love and life and where in the gutters floated love notes and old trees cried out.

MuldoonGardens-544x3911_Muldoon_Slide_4

“What she had realised was that love was that moment when your heart was about to burst.”
Stieg Larsson, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

One night Mom drove me to the old school and there she was in the crowd still yet coming into focus.  She was pretty as a Blue Jay and wobbly as a colt,  I saw her skating across the ice when she suddenly saw me and smiled.   It was a soft invitation and I took advantage of that opportunity to say “Hi” to her.   I was a terrible skater and was very skilled at falling down.   Noticing that she grabbed my hands and steadied me.   I was in heaven.    The warmth of her body and the prospects of something more filled my mind with curious and yet predictable emotions.

As a side note,  I did have a first love.    The kind where you smile at each other meant you were going steady…LOL

I did have a sixth grade girlfriend named Cheryl and during the fall festival and play I was a paper-machete pumpkin with a green hat that looked like a stem.    Sitting inert on the stage until my cue,  I was rather inspicuous.  Afterwards I dressed in a suit and tie we danced and for some reason it seemed that all the parents with little girls was smitten by me and I had serious game in spite of my shyness.    I had ton of pictures taken by parents and this was more fun than square dancing in gym class.

Next year I was in upstate NY in a very strange place,   where the community was named after our family Ellistown in Barton, NY outside of Waverly and on Ellistown Road.    We moved to the old Brink’s Greenhouse and their fading history replete with a caretaker’s house that become home to hundreds of wasps and other incendiary insects.   My parents found Rhubarb though I had never heard of that before.

Maj Russell Kline Trees

On my first day in homeroom class the teacher accosted poor Ann R. with a comment about the contraband in her mouth. (gum).    I think we were more perplexed about the word (contraband) and I was pondering Ann’s abject humiliation and embarrassment…..

Even at that point were the Freudian connection with her plight and my trying to remain as anonymous as possible.   Things were a bit discomfiting as I was elected to the Student Council for our homeroom.    An honor that I was both proud of and embarrassed by.    I got the feeling the election was more of a joke than an honor.

So the music does play a role in the development of our higher needs.    Merely dismissing out of hand any song because of what some people consider to be corny or not deep is ridiculous.    These songs do get overplayed but that isn’t the artist fault and sometimes the DJ’s either.    From Seasons In The Sun to Sugar Sugar by the Archies,  these iconic pops songs transcended the Rock N Roll critics scorn and embedded themselves in the psyche of our frontal lobes.   These radio voices were our muses and they live forever and a day.

I think it is funny when the rock jocks,  those middle-aged men dressed in black whine about superficial pop songs while wailing on a Fender Stratocaster as their own aging bodies and receding hairlines and pony tails are stuck in a past to be forgotten like an old Class Yearbook and High Times Magazine.     Between have Lava Lamps,  Mood Rings and Chia Pets there are far worse diversions than a Bobby Goldsboro song like Honey.    It is too sappy but Two Live Crew exploits carnal depravity.    Dude,  where’s My Viagra and remote.

or this…..

ncm_wallpaper-122-800

She Fell in Love. Can’t be help responsible!

Back in 1974,  I was a kid,   only 18 years and probably was witness in some way to a date rape.   It sure felt like it because as I was leaving out the dorm that night,  guys were pulling a train on a teen girl and some guy asked me if I wanted to have ‘some.’   I said, “no.”   And besides,  the choice of words haunts me too as well as the whimpering that went along with her disorientation.

I was so naive but a part of my soul has been tortured to this very day.   If I knew then what I know now,   I might have gone postal because I cannot imagine a crime worse than that.     You see,   she was drunk and whimpering.   Damnit.   That really pisses me off.  No girl asks for ‘it.’   Not for that.

 

But date rape characterizations are nothing new and for the longest time just generally accepted.   In the movie ‘Animal House’  the guy was contemplating having sex with a passed out underage girl.    Did she ask for it?  NO! Does it happen?   Hell ya!   Is it any wonder so many women want to spread the pain around.

Going a few years into my adult life,   I had a girl friend and she was given a roofie.    The net effect according to her,  was she never felt the same about anything!    Date-raped by her boss at the mall.   She and I went through hell afterwards and my anger @ jerkoffs intensifies.    My girlfriend was only pieces of ceramic,   like Humpty-Dumpty,  those pieces can’t always be fixed.

I suffer too,  knowing that seedy men with seditious desires lay in wait,   like Jack The Ripper or the Boston Strangler.   In these instances the pain is far worse than death.    It is a slow blood-letting of one’s spirit and sense of control.    We had great times and every once in awhile we would talk.

From her bosses abuse of her,  of us really,   she went on a self-destructive binge with an older guy who was a criminal.   Arrested for a crack ball and spending time in prison,   he seemed to like finding young victims.   Her sister said he liked to read magazines like ‘Barely Legal’ and ’18’.      Yeah one of those!    One day her sister gave me a journal she had written and she had talked to her sister about the parasite she was with and how she missed me and my steady decisions and what would I do in a particular situation.   She said I am the guy that returns the shopping cart.    For awhile I was miffed by that but then got the gist of what she was trying to express.     She also got a disease from this miscreant,   Herpes!

(She fell in love in the first place)))

For some reason these words tick me off.    An otherwise innocent girl and not perfect by any  means,   paid the price for both of you and you both should be ashamed.     And I harbor guilt for not being able to protect her from the smarmy underbelly of the beast that lurks with a touch of wind and a wiff of illicit drugs.

If her mom had not been a prostitute and subjected her to so much,   she might have been able to cry on her shoulders.    She could have  told her Mom what he said and did  and your Mom would turn away.   Flushed with anger and disappointment,  words she heard once upon a time. Now reverberating like a song that plays over and over on a music box.   The ballerina fell suddenly and her porcelain dreams laid like a million shards of what ifs.

So let’s examine some of the dubious comments made by men and boys and mostly they are one and the same.     Your high school heroes and high society icons flickered as capriciously as the stories of high school football players and date rapes.   The bottom-line being the reputation of the boys and a girl who was allegedly asking for it.    She was collateral damage in the game of cat and mouse.

He gave you wine or drugs and told you it was okay.    He promised you everything to dance in the sheets and tomorrow he denies that he even knew you or the things you said,  you couldn’t have meant,  if you did say them….

Their friends and influences probably had mixed emotions about the destruction,   from the boss to the drug abusing narcissist whose real romance is a synthetic cesspool of misery.   Both now share in a common malady with excuses and no care for the damage they were doing.

What once was a fairy tale happiness transmogrified into a hellish world of missed chances.   Where lightning does strike over and over again(in the same place) and the pain still flows,  if even now to more or less a trickle.     In the video above  Boy Meets Girl they dance and sing with a love that we all want and yet finally,  even they play a requiem to a love gone strange.     To me,   as I worked in the media in Tampa,   the song was a fresh time.   A promise.   Together with Paula Abdul’s ‘Straight up’,  it seemed life had spectacular promise,  even after a lost preemie and the mother who ran off for a decade and a half with our daughter.

But life has second chances even if those chances require some modifications to retrofit them to make them work.    I do remember what my daughter said about her 16th birthday and how much she loved me.   That that was her best birthday ever.   This after being lost to me from her early post natal days to about fifteen years later.    Still,   I would NOT change things too much because what if we never rediscovered that and that is why the blog about ‘Ten Years a Single Mother’  and her kids love for her touches my heart.   Kids get the connections and their love is pure if they are loved.

The theme of this entire post is what are we going to do.    Rather than just complain about the pain,  how can we fix a thing?   You,   I and many others have lived on both sides of the track and nothing……  nothing gets fixed by complaining.    We need to put people first because a warm place and a hot dinner matters.

To the abuse of women,  children and the vulnerable,   you and I can change the world.    I have a few things going now.    One is to get Emotional Support Animals and Service Pets for people who need them.    Let’s teach men and society in general how to treat a lady and your kids.    We need to focus on identifying potential abuse and treat the family not a case number but take care of it as a village.  With compassion.    No tolerance policies does not heal a family.    Making rules is what politicians do.   Why do we punish people like Aileen Wuornos the way we do?   Why not find out where at-risk people are and help?   That gives us all a better chance of surviving the obstacles in life.

From murderers to offenders of all kinds,   punishment is the easy part,   preventing tragedies can happen and should happen.    That takes  more than a Breathalyzer and seeing if you can walk a straight line.    How much better will this world be with solutions and not grandstanding politicians and other nabobs using the moment for  personal gain.

Education is the key to everything.   Not just laws but helping people be better people.    Not projecting how good we are,  but how good we can all be,  if we just try.   Ghettos are going nowhere and neither are the homeless,  the drug users and other kinds of abusers.   Let’s get this done and stop maligning others.    The old speck and the log thing.