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
Don’t forget to read the lover and there’s Racine
Watch Truffaut Jules and Jim and Godard weekend
Read now Thomas Jefferson and Lafayette were friends
Read a tale of two cities by dickens
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
“Well, they say youth is wasted on the young,” and my alter-ego who is more and more becoming my imaginary self, the one that actually lives not the one you think you know, which is made up of a bunch of things I can’t even understand much less fathom, fact-check, respond to or avenge myself of.
WHY ARE THERE ONLY SUPERHEROES NOW? It’s exhausting just trying to get by much less vie for a promotion over some sharing economy bitcoin sumggling operative for the new world disorder which I didn’t really think would accelerate this quickly which makes me think (literally I am thinking I wonder what this looks like because I don’t have my reading glasses, again, and am writing the way I want to write, which is the way I used to write, one where my hands – the vehicles of my thoughts, poor things — can barely get the words out fast enough without the requisite inline self-consciously fragile, proliferating a trail of tears, like peanut shells detonated with invisible nerve gas, killing you slowly in a veil of fake bliss. The Ether, they call it.
I always like using the wod ‘they’ because it’s so ridiculous. It’s the biggest network of know-it-a;;s the world has ever seen and, astoundingly, also the largest network of people who have nothing in common ever to be assembled on this planet, as far as we know.
My God, we are stupid. We want to blow each other up, we are parodies of ourselves by now with the beautiful warriors bombing the shit out of places named in the Bible or Nostradamus, an anagram for ghosts from faraway towns where you feel something lesft behind, possibly a chink in your armor from where a rip in your soul bled a little on wounded knee, by broken stone creek, in love with life, my lord my lemming my lesbos island l word for woman la la, it’s always an M, for some reason, and if it’s not, you’re the bad kind. The nasty grandmother knew her nomme de grandkid was a recognition of what a jerk she was, especially to my occasionally completely vacant farther (I called him that, he always used to say that was his name in reference to me, and I was therefore “nearer”).
But back to the use of the word “lord.” Well the God-particle equivalent is not Gaia for ‘she” is the planet itself which is eeming to die in its storyline, but like a human mother, we don’t know when and when we lose her, it will be the worst pain of our lives. And them, if we are lucky, gray matter jinxed in space where we send light out (instead of darkness, think about that — I do, every day — try to keep one good thought about this awful species we are stuck in called humans, I mean it’s hard, I have to go back in histroy and just conure up a list of my favorite artists – painters to jazz musicians to filmmakers -= and “all the science I don’t understand’ and some of it I do–all that I actually do, but still can’t really make sense of it.
Not in the way that saying and believing what you’re saying to be absolutely true, the absolute is incarnate, in that word “LORD’ when you beg–for a break, relief, a reprieve, an explanation, some retribution, restitution, alms, a vacation, some good news, one kid to survive another day in one of those wars our taxes pay for.
Why are we at war? It’s just what we do.
[The alien jots down notes in the background, some sort of Cyrillic whispy lettering that expresses the sentiment, she can see it in her mind’s eye–is there any other organ’s eye? If so, she didn’t even want to know. She was now officially ‘too old.” Thank God. Damnit. she thought, never one to press her luck in any language on an article of faith, proof from science, logical deduction or otherwise therefore and so forth and so on.
She was making herself sick avoiding this deadline. But yet she wasn’t going to climb up on a step stool (after fake sleeping when her evil-good-looking vacuous 80s cheating husband ‘went off to work’ although no one ever said what he did, just that he became a photographer, had been a baseball player…but imagine his leaving the room, thinking she’s asleep, he tells her mother who has been hovering, worried that the medication could be making it worse or the acid that Scottish boyfriend gave her good girl daughter back in the last stretch of the 70s, that was when she changed. HOW SO, you ask? Ah, but that is precisely what they will never tell you.]
The domesticated animal paces. He could kill his ‘master,” yet he chooses to rely on man for meat.
That could all easily change. She prefers not to think about that.
Yet, it is her job to think about it. In fact, she works for the Agency of DIsinformation classified sub-atomic particles and records or note subdivision, on the floor that doesn’t have a stop on the elevator but the fire escape is high tech. You just think it and you’re down, underground, in plebeian safety, that is until others like you run amok — they need little reason just a certain conglomeration of self-interests with enough oomph and looking for a fight, and you’ve got a pick pocket riot in the sewers of the sublime river. The other option is Elysian Fields, but unless your bloodline allows, you only are invited there for some feat to demonstrate your incalculable merit, undeniable talent and uniquely astonishing pizzazz.
Which you don’t want to come off as sass. So, that is the end of the sci-fi world for now, the dog wants at that very barky pit bull who lets everyone know she’s walking her two fat chicks, so then our dogs can pace and go nuts too, and the reason we are all up is because it’s ungodly hot during the day so we follow our man’s best friend’s lead and nap during the day then run amok throughout intervals of night.
Or what we think of as night. The whole planet hiding behind Pluto that is eating the sun and the illuminti spaceships converted dungeons — we can build it, they will come, what do they want that either we or our beautiful lovely life-sustaining miracle of a planet possess (if it’s uniquely human, it’s probably stupid) — because otherwise they would have dispensed with a life-defying death-chasing entity of a “thing” that isn’t quite a collective like a hive, or is it? A hive that cuts itself for being an adolescent and ends up witnessing things that would have been nice to skip over.
But doesn’t it just feelthat way now? Does it really matter who controls it – whether it’s the ad-lib-tard heavyweights or the dehydrated marshmallows (I still have no idea what a nowflake is having terminated any new vernacular in that sub-strata since ‘snow bunny’ was something around me said in the 80s and possibly as late as 91).
I have always been enamoured with words. Well, always is a meaningless word anyway, because there is no way we can say with certainty ‘always’ having forgotten quite a lot the more we live. It’s quite ironic really and can you imagine explaining irony to intra-terrestrial life? Will it look more like Sigourney Weaver’s Alien or cute little E.T.?
Revisiting strong imagery method meaning eyesight to the need reading glasses
Jesus Christ! I don’t want to know!
I’m sure Jesus must have thought that for a millisecond around that burning bush. The idea that the ‘tree of knowledge’ was forbidden but we don’t really know why except this snake which in every other culture is a sign of wisdom or something semi-psychic, not evil, which “Christianity” brought along with crusades and inquisitions and very bizarre things in the name of the Prince of Peace.
Jesus, what were you thinking?
The idea that one can be offended by words is absurd yet they are worse weapons than many spears, knives and hatchets combined (although not in succession with the same target — that would be far worse, admittedly, and this hyperbole is only for the purpose of sardonic satire which isn’t really satire because no one dies, relax, not yet anyway. It’s mostly Science Fiction meets The Year of Living Dangerously meets Plan 9 from OUter Space. I mean why not? WHy are we purporting angst?
Lord knows there’s plenty more where that came from.
More grief, more storm and fugue! More ego-laden hero-driven boasts and proclamations littering scarred neophytes in their wake, proclaiming was it worth it?
Was what worth what?
This was the last thing she heard before waking up.
As she stood behind the childproof gate, obsessing about imperfection, this chronic illness, she wanted to go back to purity if there was such a thing, it was intensity a drive to pain as some sort of self-inflected punishment for failing — at it all.
So brilliantly, so effectively, with such joie de vivre and flare!
Crash and burn, only the good die young.
No, she was not one to climb the step stool, deliberately place the terrycloth bathrobe belt around my neck and then decide to die. No, can’t do it, at least not yet.I found that out standing on the 9th floor of that hotel where they’d thrown a woman out the window (for not paying her debt) and looked out the unscreened window to the concrete parking lot, alley and Main Street below. I thought, within the first nano-second of the leap, I will want to undo it like control Z — which just gave me an idea for a zombie story — control z control z control z my life.
March 29th, a Wednesday, idol march, marching tides of woe spread across the land and so..
With all that I have been through lately, not more than some, less than others, on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the worst pain you have experienced, I guess being unconscious technically gives you a 9.7 or something because you don’t know it’s pain, it’s in and out of who you are and what they’re trying to take from you. In this case, my life.
And that is the problem I face as I go through each day, with noises startling, except here, ironically, across from the UPS Delivery hub and near the brewery with its famous artist buttressing the 5 Freeway which always feels like it leads out of this place, whereas the others bury you right by the side of the road where they found you.
It’s hard to have hope and faith when for the past 8 1/2 (one of my favorite Fellini movies) months, I have been consistently victimized by the system, which my frontier nature hates to say, I don’t believe in that, but it’s happened from a hostile neighbor to an illegally operating management company to the police themselves, twice now, once being tossed in jail for no reason and then treated as if I were some most wanted criminal because, quite simply, I was white. They will never say this or let it be told, everyone hates the dying race so much, they think it’s okay to be hating, berating and almost killing us – for the ‘sins of our fathers’ — they think it’s okay to destroy our lives, for no apparent reason, these are not people we even know, no crime of passion, no well-orchestrated specific reason to be brutalized over and over again except those of race and gender.)
The lawyer who committed slander, defamation of character, malicious intent and actually lied publicly in a harmful manner, deliberately trying to harm us by preventing us access to housing when we did nothing that she claims but because I was beaten and barely alive, could not do anything but try to recover for many many days and weeks and then someone lies and causes strife, illegally, a lawyer? Not such a great track record for our legal system from enforcement through supposed guardians of justice.
The Sheriffs who detained us for picking up my own car because the tow yard is a chop shop about a mile from where I got beaten within an inch of my life, while trying to get a burger at McDonald’s. Who witnessed this? Why did the hospital then not call the police but told me they thought I was drunk so they just let me wait, and never questioned why my supposed husband never said he would be back or seemed to care if I actually woke up–somehow I did. I still have the stitches. The bruises are mostly gone. The head trauma, alas, will be with me longer, if not forever.
The nerve damage done by LAPD and that first fiasco was permanent to my hands but this last beating and the hospital’s irresponsible treatment of me (all because I was unconscious — no one thought to consider that perhaps I was not drunk but had been harmed in some way maybe a car accident hit and run, as I thought, until we heard the recording of my call to my partner, which I still can’t bear to listen to, 6 weeks later…I cannot bear to hear it, it is too traumatic, still, overwhelming in the shadow of the past eight and a half months of consistent persecution — and for what reason? Who knows, if there even is one. Those who blame the victim always seek to find a way to plant their evidence on you, to keep their corrupt privilege operating without you in the way, or they just beat a woman almost to death in a parking lot for no apparent reason).
This is the first I have written of this publicly and some of you know or I tried to tell but you simply didn’t believe me or thought oh there she goes again, I seem to have the worst luck, maybe or you have already written me off for my freelance career and struggles to survive in a world that just was not ready for me. I was certainly ready to make my mark, a positive one, to live in peace and contribute positively to this world. That is all I seek and have ever sought. I don’t know how far I will get in that path as I am overwhelmed and exhausted each day, “just not the same” those around me notice, and for that I am pained, mentally, knowing ‘what has happened to me…’
To reiterate: around the third week of February the night before checking out of a very strange airbnb experience, I was severely beaten in a McDonald’s parking lot in the early evening hours and taken to White Memorial Hospital, who broke protocol at every turn, never even reporting my near-fatal ‘accident’ (accidental beating???) to the police, which is actually the law.
I am invisible (adoptees know that), and expendable (the ‘film and television industry’ taught me that, after working with the most unloyal f-%$s you can imagine, and very few ‘friends,’ who actually have a soul in this town, I realized way too late) but now I feel destructible, worn-down, beaten up, tired, sad, soul-tired, suicidal on occasions but from existential nihilism more than any other specific, so don’t worry, I never do it, I love life and butterflies and the earth way too much, and I am just now trying to recover.
Please be kind. Please if you know me don’t use my honesty against me. I am just a human, trying to survive after someone speaking spanish probably two men, it sounded nicaraguan, beat me within an inch of my life near my car, which was impounded for $ 1,395 (all tow yards in Los Angeles say we were fleeced) and they called the sheriffs, who of course illegally searched us, what else do they do?
I suppose this is my statement since no police officer has ever asked. I have yet to see a judge. My case is a rare form known as a wobbler. Murderers and rapists are given the right to swift hearing but not the victim of police brutality. This is the story of the past eight and a half months of my life, since last July.
Namaste, be well, my nerves are telling me to quit, the nerves in my hands, always from numb to pain now thanks to LAPD RAMPART back in July 2016.
Katherine E. Walker
born 1965 Cleveland, Ohio adopted 6 weeks later, my birthname we think is Turner
”All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless […]