There was no greater champion, no more exasperating argumenteur, there is no way to explain how my father’s death has effected me.
He never handled injury or sickness well, being a doctor. But even the way he came to be a physician was unconventional, and so his par·si·mo·ni·ous nature was often misunderstood as a deficient joie de vive. Nothing could’ve been further from the truth.
He once up·braided me for buying a bottle of water, which I justified explaining I only sprung for one every two weeks or so once the plastic seemed done in, you could tell by the stink.
While clearly unmoved by the factual details, he seemed in theory to relent to the logic of setting one’s penurious priorities.
We weren’t related, a point his parents were sure to bring up every chance they got. The bastard child is a phrase I got used to, much to the chagrin of everyone else who was neither adopted nor bastard. How often the topics of my experience were simply off limits – from the abuse (not by my father but he could not discuss it even tho he acknowledged my pain) – I was told, simply, to get over it.
Just get over it.
The problem with rape, assault, incest, abuse and harassment is-no one wants to hear about it.
So there you are, dissociative disorder in hand, on the receiving end of hand-me-down dysfunction whereby you are told if you say a word, no one will believe you… And you will be sent back.
Sent back – where?
A dirty word
-but not from him. Who, on Sunday mornings, would turn to me and say I couldn’t go in to daisy’s cage today, she was not in the mood. And there I’d stand with my vanilla wafers for our recovering raccoon, while my father, the zoologist-radiologist went in…
#metoo is not about my father but what he had to reconcile – he could not and did not protect me from a predator within four walls….
I looked up to see the fires burning coming down the hill facing my father seated at his bay window looking out over the life he built, a life he gave his children, the future of our children, an American Dream bought of Italian immigrants to carrying the great Italian grapes to the fertile fecund Northern California.
Ironic iconic RUSSIAN River valley, expanding into Napa with his French brother in arms Jean-luc purveyor of the finest Boudreaux and Michelangelo the Pinot Grigio man – all had fought alongside hemingways kind against Franco’s fascist rollover planned as comeuppance for the empires and their colonies.
Once they’d killed ghandi in prison, beat Biko to death, sequestered the master and the margarita, they turned to the inominable agenda of squelched free speech and disarming the right of patriots like Nathan hale or Paul revere so that no one can defend that right to free speech when the military declares martial law, fema initiates operation mass grave keeps only soldiers and those with bank accounts as need be only should the entity called government and its partner in crime corporate greed, Rothschild illuminati infiltrating your DNA to sell off to the bad aliens aka fallen angels they now say wiped out the Neanderthals who told,us in those rock walls underground k. France
Look up the French resistance
Watch Truffaut Jules and Jim and Godard weekend
Read now Thomas Jefferson and Lafayette were friends
Take up knitting
Listen to kind of blue, in a silent way and miles-Coltrane collaboration s
See you next week
Ps hunter s Thompson essays due Tuesday morning 8 am PST
FEAR AND LOATHING UPDATED
Now, rich order of walls is fallen…
This is one of three poems to perfectly describe the breakdown of a marriage – the others will be revealed in forthcoming dispatches from the subterranean reaches of the soul land, a dream space no one can inhabit for long and can never satisfactorily convey when back “in reality.” The dream time where we know what will happen but wake up as if we had not seen, heard or felt the warning signs dissuaded by mass groupthink, the hive mind will transform you more than you think, sitting atop your throne whichever one you sequester and call yours alone – when many have sacrificed to put you there.
The conversation is in silence
Confessions on a rainy alter
He is pushed
I was almost killed, nearly.beaten to death in a McDonald’s parking lot in February of this year. This violent assault resulted in brain trauma and amnesia and as such. White memorial hospital really fucked up – but that’s a whole nother story
Then the city terrace chop shop experience.
And my wonderful nonexistent friends – in this city that is. The subpar producers whose jobs I protected and mortgages I assisted the payment of – as I endured slander that didn’t even have the balls to say it to my face. And anyone who knows me which is turning be under 5 maybe including ducks and dogs, anyone knows there’s no way I could have accomplished all the things of which I stand accused- from the pile of cocaine like scarface to the Keith Richards consumption of inebriants apparently chronicled by Dave Oliver and Justin Steinberg who actually are complete liars who were also malicious for some reason. Then there’s the complete scumbags jay and Jamie who just boggle the mind when you realize they went out of their way to hurt me never once show compassion or comraderie I. A world sorely needing some basic acknowledge that being In the trenches mattered.
To think I was such a fool I actually cared that I had your back Jamie when you were incompetent, sniveling and under-handed. Hard working but weak minded. Kiss ass who couldn’t accept loyalty and friendship how sad. How telling that he’s still head of Sony prodding and poking the zeitgeist for some clue as to why they think he knows what he’s doing. On top of being stupid, to have no morals is well that’s the course of de jour. [idiotic repetition intentional]
So there you have it