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
This week is a busy week for people whose birthday is or was February 22, starting with Zookie, who has known me since I was born or before I was born if it is possible to know collective consciousness then well yes, Zookie would be on that list. I never called her because I couldn’t find her number which I thought I had but have not yet located.
The years of disarray, the illness, the betrayal, the infinite anguish I endured just saddens me. the thought haunts me that the ‘therapist’ i turned to to help me sort out my fucked-uped-ness so i could have a chance of surviving til my 75th birthday god-willing, another 1/3 is about right I think i have about that much in me to contribute — if I am lucky i will be like Barry, my dad, who was still alive a year ago.
The pit of my stomach drops a bit, my throat is sore — I smoke too much, which is funny, I never was a smoker, I was so healthy, my life has run the gamut, I have embraced it all. Now I just wish to lift the senseless anxiety – I no longer want to compete for what should be mine – or yours – or whose better at what? Kissing ass is the name of the game and the politics usurped the skill. I don’t honestly know what was wrong with me and I can only assume there must have been something because I finally can acknowledge that my intelligence and talent should have placed me in a much higher ‘category’ of whatever realm I was in by now instead of the constant insecurity.
I just can’t take the misunderstanding anymore. The clearly spoken and precisely said words being heard/translated/believed to be other than their meaning and somehow my emotional fortitude has gotten me only to the spot I most believed in – only because it was the bottom. The aloneness. Caring for mountain goats up somewhere that by now will be more of a sad thing than anything I could have imagined at 15.
I wanted nothing of this — the badness I have seen and known. I could have been one of those professors in the country, had a family and raised horses and been very happy. Instead how the fuck did I get here? I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. It all bores me. All I ever seem to feel is overwhelmed at how much I have to pull together — and somehow find a way to find a way to be someone someone wants to hire – because I honestly don’t know and that’s the scary part, at 50. I guess before I embraced the chaos but now it just feels well not that interesting and I just want meager ability to count on if I show up and do something that is of service–and I’m pretty sure I can contribute. I just can’t pitch myself to anyone.
Too tired. Too much to sort and mail and get birthday cards to my uncle in the mail – I think it’s too heavy for regular stamps so god-forbid I have to go to the Burlington Post Office tomorrow. Plus my mom’s card, she’s his twin. My brother’s twins’ birthday is today – their cards are late. I also stupidly suggested a telescope to which my usually no thanks brother said great idea which obligates me – in my own mind – to follow through.
What would I like to do?
Immerse myself in some very complicated literary and history study; cultural anthropology; teach 56-75 some decent college; next 5 years, get these projects off the ground, their marketable i just can’t do it alone so I guess that’s the thing and I’m not sure how to really go about that so instead I am just going to stick with chores, errands and things like this http://kadavy.net/blog/posts/the-10-minute-hack/
Since I can’t find the meditation that I downloaded and then got barraged about doing my healing reading which wasn’t exactly the only thing in front of my brain – the whole thing is mish mash that I’m not sure can ever be clear enough for a person who was so paint-by-numbers, I could do anything I set my mind to at one point in my life. I know that.
I guess I know that.
Because even as I say that I think – wait a minute – no – because you would not be here, so out of sorts, no novel, no autobiography, prolific in a messy sort of a way. A focus, an aesthetic, no problem. The whole women whining thing a set back perhaps, being gen-x, being a nomad, as my father called me, all those wrapped into one. Being doggedly loyal, very slow to learn that you should quit while you’re ahead with some people, I bleed dry and then somehow am resurrected.
i used to think i was the chosen one.
this was supposed to be about the 7 birthdays (following several last week too) this week – i know a lot of Pisces. they are so emotional compared to my leo sun fired virgo cool scorpio restless gaze upon the universe only to know more than i can articulate and in a method of delivery outside the pre-set categories, which has always been the problem which is why i think i could go away from society and live out my days. this is why i am struggling so hard to take care of business — the unraveling of my life started so long ago, but most directly associated with becoming ‘freelance’ that I feel compelled to write my cautionary tale for the millennials to avoid the pitfalls that elizabeth warren just outlined to a tee–my life. I fall in line with those in Detroit — except this Flint massacre is a new low and that is where my heart wants to go – can I find a way to make a living a way to support myself humbly follow? Oh please god that would be all i ask to tell the stories the way they aren’t being told and just be able to not have to be fucking running scared in the same way as i was over the past 5 years of hellish bosses and people who used me up big time.
tomorrow i have to mail the other twins’ cards.
and here I am emoting
hoping no one reads this, really
but this is where i tell the story of my emotional coming together
my mind is not the enemy
nor is my heart
everyone is trying to help
i broke down today again badly i went there there is no point to me – it’s easy to argue from a purely empirical data way
no one depends on my
my existence is genetically null
that is hard to take sometimes
when I am not leaving behind
any tome to
the depth of the existence
i have actually lead
i feel – overwhelmed
without the ability to really focus
i guess without that balance
on the other side
and I am just divided
and I am tired of that
and I don’t even know how much of this is actually true–and what that even means. I know I mean everyword I say right now but it’s like the truth serum of various substances, pain in my wrists (from writing on the laptop versus the planet of the apes opposable thumb callous i had going on the iphone ipad writing combo – and just the press of time always time time time running out)
Well it already ran out on me for having kids, then my career just went poof, I shit you not, I really didn’t do anything wrong, it was so weirdly political and out of control I had no other option than to take a look at why I was constantly being abused in an industry where to speak up was sure sudden death – but what happened anyway? I got fucked over by bit players and for some reason an editor thought he could slander me and make me lose a job which is illegal by the way by actually recounting a rumor that was a lie. This saddens me.
And so I remind myself of the mantras Progress not perfection
Try not to remember that I cried for 45 minutes and was so distraught
that everything seemed to backtrack
no matter what I do I am a mess
and I was so not a mess…was that just because I was so tightly wound to cover up the wounds of all the secret scars being imposed for too many years? is it to late to unravel and re-bandage up to heal? should it just become some other form of numb?
I don’t know.
I doubt I’ll do the 10 min hack tomorrow in a few hours (I am either constantly anxious like right now with a mix of creative inspiration and dread) or I’m very focused on cleaning or cooking or trying to organize all the paperwork when I feel like Robert DeNiro in Brazil. So that’s a struggle and avoidance piles up.
The lack of focus is not my style either but I’m pretty sure I have cultural ADD.
And worst of all how am I to get over this “poverty consciousness” thing when I KNOW ALL too well that it’s a real thing. Not manifestation. I’m not doing enough — enough of what I don’t know because I’d gladly do it! I submit resumes, I look for jobs — but you have to filter the infinite listings to key words and nothing fits and you waste time and get older and then find yourself developing an anxiety disorder you never had before and that alternates with paralyzing depression, the effects of 46 of repeated emotional trauma, the therapist said.
I guess I will try not to feel like a loser when I can’t do that super-dude’s ten minute life hack when I wake up a few hours from now (I don’t sleep much when I am worried like this –but then I will crash and sleep for a long time when I can relax) – i did sleep in until 1030 am to day and it’s hot in that room – i don’t like feeling scattered and that’s exactly what it feels like and I don’t know really how to fix it – am i just being impatient? Am I that stuck on some aspect of nothingness?
I have been making progress — I have. I just can’t believe how extreme the pain must have been for me to pull a 180 from responsible about everything to can’t keep up with taxes and all the other financial vampire tactics once i lost that first job after 9-11. Never really recovered. But I never really had the mentor a woman with my talent and temperament (I’m not the most politically-minding when in comes to internal games–I find that to be a waste, however I am finely attuned to the forces of the outer enemy, of which I’ve come to find are the majority of the people I’ve worked with.
This is raw, uncensored, needs an edit, but I had to say I am disappointed in myself that I cried so hard to day and it was for long enough to go the the dark place i don’t want to go but honestly i need some help here. i just need some work to do some one must know of something i can offer of i will end up not well because i’m the kind of person who needs a purpose
and checking my email isn’t it
and trying to find the mediation mp4 file i paid for but can’t remember where it downloaded
or the fact that i bought a sketchbookbut i’m a sucky artist
that i have notes all over the place
and it all just represents wasted time to me and that makes me very very sad
I am a writer, filmmaker, producer. I tell real people’s stories, and am a master of verite-style, unscripted television.
I manage big crews and work with exceptionally talented people. I deliver the best possible product, on time and on budget. My organizational & communication skills as a Show Runner and Director combined with my creative on-my-feet scriptwriting responses make me unique among the many.
I have over 18 years of experience in film and television, in a myriad of genres and formats.
Other experience: Grantwriter, columnist, editor.
Conflict Resolution Facilitator for the State of Hawaii
The Apprentice, seasons 1-5 producer: 19 million viewers, Episode 1.
The Amazing Race, Episode 311 wins first Emmy for that series.
Series: The Colony, Model Latina, Bar Rescue, American Hoggers, Ice Cold Gold, Fixing the Body, The Restaurant, The Amazing Race and five seasons of The Apprentice.
On-set assistant for Harrison Ford & Robert DeNiro.
I cannot explain why this song makes me want to cry (or has in the past, now I slightly choke up before the next item on my to do list, storage full warning, why is there popcorn stuck to my bread, and why did I just call it my bread?)
I have to check the laundry. The room is a mess. I can only deduce this is part of my ‘process.’ I wanna write a punk song called, “Just Ask Tony Robbins.”
Time Suck (in my opinion, largely for the words TIME and SUCK as the lead words be cause most people respond to those in some visceral way) 74
Polaroid Concepts: the Board 40
semi-top secret so that’s okay
a.m. ongoing 57
evening continuous 64
Sisyphus considers 52
the one that always perplexes me but
I can’t put my finger on why
in a tangible
the kind I would like now
will they find me just thru that one thing and now I can’t even write crap poems that I put out there coz I don’t actually think they’re crap, not all of them, and they’re much better when I read them out loud, and I get all of you confused, so best not to try to understand or get too close, I am fine with a certain set of rules and can be quite useful in a myriad of situations. I basically am my own pimp at this point and I can say that I know market values. Just don’t write the name and number together anywhere in public.
my clay concepts are next to be amalgamated
like the threesome brownie mixed message
i don’t know
how it is
that i have
at a very
and i don’t like that word
or the drum beat chant to the lips
or the hips
or wherever your brain matter moves
when it goes somewhere human
since I have now basically reduced it to
non-human alien evil in the shape and
format of dick cheney, karl rove, those who slay children and use their wives as shields, or harm anyone willfully- it’s so obvious who the humans are. For now. the flawed ones.
It is 11:40 a.m. on Sunday, nothing discernible has changed, Take it in. Bless that.
You may miss it all together, but there is some stretchiness to the cosmos, and believe half of what you see and none of what you hear or is it the other way around. Always get more than one source for your information. Unless that source is something trying too hard to be ‘something’ since the truth is such a rare commodity, it can be hard to recognize from time to time.
12:05 p.m. T.S. Eliot that unravels like pulling blossoms from a string. I begin.
But I do have something important to tell you.
circumvented by this serious discussion, the dark mistress of an ethereal soul, more dissolute prof·li·gate of syb·a·rite bon viveur, more resolved in my dissolution than any recompense therein.
And what could this absolve? You, specifically, from any belief that has not come between us, already, in passing misunderstanding, a specialty around these parts where Twin Peaks destinations tend to ruminate too long in my world.
The women come and go
prattling about Michelangelo
Oh please do not say
what is it
Let us go an make our visit
like a patient etherized upon the table…
I slip off into a mindless slumber where the senses are shattered so the inverse proportion can be gathered by slicing and dicing thru skin, blood and bone to save some aspect of your anatomy they believe something about that makes them want to patch it up, enhance it or downright remove it…if that were they case, I would have them remove any memory of pain from sciatica as I am now holding my neck in such a manner as to cause ultimate pain so I must stop with the inspiration and re-feng-shui the roadhouse blues, deal with the very real anxiety from being contacted by people who want to yell at me for some reason and want me to do all this stuff for them and I can’t possibly do everything they ask not to mention what I need to be doing not to even consider the fact that there are things that have been gutted from my life for this very reason, and the crux of the situation is that I never learned how to set boundaries so what starts with T.S. Eliot ends here, with my
stream of consciousness
on the subject of
Let us go then
you and I
where the evening
against the sky
and then I bash myself for not being a better poetry memorizer, I only know snippets like
climbed the weather”
But it’s my own words that
fill my head
rona you called and i answered
full belly moon
and more to the point
those were narnia-blossom-love odes
I could never achieve
now having been
siddhartha-sized upon the table
some sort of contribution of
innate attributes that are valuable
level of zombie apocalypse preparation
producer skill set (always useful,
like a leatherman),
saturation level very high
blood type unknown
could easily die
with IVP dye
but there’s no reason to
a barium swallow
not the regular
but the barium
Not as bad as the Boku Harem of birds, the sparrow
massacring blue birds maniacally
and just for fun
then making their nest on
the dead bluebird eggs
which they eat
Nature is cruel
dolphins are known to violently
(that’s just strange)
off body parts
This is a re-write at the end of a day and I merged the two and I’m hoping no one’s listening, except my publisher-to-be and agent-nanny.
Namaste, let’s call this the ONGOING ICARUS of February’s Life Story.
I’m trying to get a few different stories going now so they evolve into books or scripts or vials of story you snort before going out to the Blade Runner Star Wars (i can see it in my head but it’s not been made yet actually) -well-lit stairwell leading to 5th Element type environment–but at night. IT’s not dangerous. Yet.
So by the time it’s ten years on, I can teach story telling thru multi-media platforms/interface/just not in da butt stuff filmic reality, community college Boulder or Bozeman or anywhere mellow where I can have a cabin, a dog or two and definitely 2-4 horses and live out my days not too shabby, working on these fucking books which I sell at the internet fair (we have spaceships, 4WD trucks and sports cars for different modes of travel in this future world of Keanu K. Dick) and contribute to that non-profit work I know how to do. So full circle fuckstick I will be. That’s the goal which means at some point I have to get over my email anxiety.
I could survive a little while on all the excess chub I have gained despite being fairly active (not just laying around watching entire seasons of tv shows) from chowing down on retirement fatso fare (they are killing those old folks with Quaker midwest cuisine which means “is it really food at all? we can’t be sure, love, snide new yorkers and pass agg southerners)…but I know it’s related to anxiety and not being left alone–because I could never afford the real estate and the gate.
And on to what might have been is over because it never was and there are things that could be better than what just happened to make me so sad in the first place. That is not something anyone is likely to get to and if I may ask, if you read this whole post, could you comment with the words: THANK GOD THAT IS OVER> so I know you read the whole thing!!!