Let Sweetie Little Jean Out of The Room - (social commentary)

Cage the Elephant recently released a heavy-handed pro-female album entitled 'Tell Me I'm Pretty' and an entire critique of the album could easily be done, it is rich in complex symbolism, deployed via simplistic lyrics (makes sense since Dan Auerbach from The Black Keys assisted in production).  However one track that I'd like to specifically focus on from 'Tell Me I'm Pretty' is Sweetie Little Jean.  

In this part of the world it's Track 2 Mess Around that is getting the most airtime on the radio, but Sweetie Little Jean is sitting pretty as Track 3 on the album and is hands-down the most important song from Cage the Elephant's most recent compilation.  If you listen to the song without really paying attention to the lyrics, it has an old fashioned twang of a poppy unrequited love ballad.  But when you actively listen to the entire song including full absorption of the lyrics, it quickly loses that initial vibe altogether.  Take a moment here to listen to the song to perhaps fully enjoy its analysis:     

I became marginally obsessed with the song after absorbing the lyrics.  Who was sweetie little Jean?  Why was she missing?  How old was she supposed to be anyways?  Why does there appear to be a duality in the singer and the song?  It sounded like both a confession and a lamentation.  I was intrigued and started listening to the song over and over again, endeavoring to absorb its story, its feelings.

It's a song about a missing little girl, the tone of the singer originally misleads you into thinking it is a croon about an adolescent love gone wrong, a little bit like Del Shannon's My Little Runaway - but no.  It's not about a 16 year old teenager that ran away from home (one that was most likely abusive), who ditched her childhood dude friend--that probably never confessed to her how much he loved her--unannounced.  Sweetie little Jean is little, she's sweet, her parents are freaking out she hasn't come home, there's a vigil on channel 4 for her, people are canvassing the neighborhood looking for her.  Posting missing picture flyers and knocking on doors.  So the tittle of the song is a tell, there's plenty of clues in the song that point to an abduction, but I can't stress enough here that it is the abduction of a child.

Eventually I found myself stupefied over the complexity of such simple lyrics, and fairly horrified as well.  I went from going 'oh no, he misses his missing girlfriend who has either been abducted or run away' to having to Google the lyrics as my imagination with the song made me think about how the singer is admitting to killing a little girl, that's why there's an international vigil on TV and a door-to-door search, signs on every "mother loving" post--he sounded haunted and annoyed by that--the singer is whining about wanting her back, but by talking about her bones he seems to know she's certainly dead, how would he know that if he didn't kill her?

Also who is "we"?  What are we "letting go"? How's he wanting her back?--out of guilt?--to relive his time with her?--bring her back to life?  His only hope is lying next her bones?It began to strike me as a murder's melody, Jean is obviously very much so underage. 

Ruminating deeper on the song, I began to think it might be about letting go of the Rape Culture that's fueling violence against women, which is ultimately about letting go of the macho male myth, the notion of entitlement and ownership over the female body, coupled with the singer's real viewpoint of lamenting that we're overlooking how many times sexual violence is in actuality getting committed and therefore embedded in American culture and how much longer is that going to be let go/overlooked?  Perhaps what is wanted back is a restoration of the female as sacred?   

In that context it's a pretty creepy song since it's about a missing girl that the singer seems to know is undoubtedly dead.  Yet overwhelming powerful, especially in the chorus as it seems the singer as an artist is pushing the persona of a child murderer (that turned her laughter to tears after pushing and pulling...) into the true revelation of his real self, which is the artist as a man asking, pleading, suggesting, that perhaps, we let it go.  We let our sick Munchausen society go.  Start over, since what it has become, is a place where musicians are going to write songs about murdered little girls that may go overlooked because we are SO desensitized to the serial sexual violence committed against females, no matter their age, as plot devices and in actual neighborhoods.     

This epiphany lead to researching the band and the meaning of the song.

I learned about the two brothers in the band, Matt and Brad Shultz.  The muse for "Jean" was a real little girl and neighborhood playmate for the Shultz brothers in their shedding childhood.  In July 1996, 7 year-old Morgan Violi disappeared from an apartment complex's parking lot shortly after playing with them that day, her small lifeless--no doubt, violated--body found by October later that same year somewhere in Tennessee.  Her abduction and murder remain to this day, unsolved.  Brad was 12 when this happened.  Matt became "done".  

I am so consumed by emotion, it's hard to write...Internet Kingdom, fans of justice and Cage the Elephant, please search for the animal that preyed upon not only the body of Morgan Violi but the developing minds of Matt and Brad Shultz.  Please?  Drive the killer out, haunt him with guilt, burn him out of his foxhole.

I wish I could hold them and take all that trauma, misplaced responsibility, and survivor's guilt they must feel, right out like a splinter.  

I couldn't dismiss the song, I can't dismiss the reality either.  

There is suffering in this world, but there does not have to be so.  Inflicting any kind of pain is a choice.  A badly made choice. All the selfishness and madness can cease.  When pain is inflicted on another, be it an unkind word or a homicide, that pain ripples.  Just as when an act of kindness is given randomly freely, we're told to pay it forward.  Wilco sang in Jesus, Etc. "all of our love is all of God's money" - there is equally a negative covert currency of evil.  We are horrendously capable of paying that forward as well.  When we surly mustn't.  

It hurts to be in a society, like a doll in a box on a shelf in a store, waiting to be noticed or better yet purchased, claimed, owned, taken "home" to be loved, hated, ambivalent against - or a mixture of all three.  A plastic girl that melts as she ages.  A toy to be toyed with until bored.  And you can dress her with whatever is on the other shelves, be it white lace or black leather.  Her feet are deformed from her shoes, her scalp hurts from her hairdo.  Lead in her lipstick.  She'll do dishes & fellatio.  Her skin is never clear enough, smooth enough, hydrated enough, plump enough, young enough, and her hair is never silky smooth or shiny enough.  She's never pretty enough, sexy enough, good enough, smart enough, emotionally even enough. These are the messages that females are assuaged with.  

Now the capture and assault of young women are making their way into the artsphere of our culture.  I think, not to normalize it, but perhaps shock those of you that are not morally awake anymore.  Those of you that would perhaps even entertain that type of debauchery.  But things like the movie 'Room' and the song Sweetie Little Jean, are not "entertainment" they are supposed to break the current holding pattern.  As these "narratives" are based on actual real happenstances that are equally heartbreaking, the song on Morgan, the movie based on a book based on the three Castro-Cleveland ladies.  Even that 'Lovelace' movie that came out a few years ago.  The movie 'Eden', 'Compliance' -- all extremely terrifying prospects, all born of true real events, in the case of 'Compliance' 70 times.

These are all "stories" that can make you loathe a male by default if only out of mere self-preservation. 

The unveiled mystery of sweetie little Jean, brought with it no satisfaction in the unknown becoming known.  Only disappointed horror. 

But I'll leave you with this: when a baby elephant is tiny and lives in captivity it has one of it's legs tied and staked down, so as it grows into this powerful lumbering beast, it will not fight against its restraint for as a youngster it had been conditioned to think it was imprisoned.  The adult elephant will not attempt to free itself as it has been brainwashed that it simply cannot, so it doesn't try.  A human's mind is like a caged elephant, it does not question its environment as a limitation and thereby never imagines to set itself free.

It is time to uncage the elephant. 

     

                    

Will The Zika Virus Finally Allow Women To Opt Out Of Pregnancy?

Microcephaly

The Zika virus is linked to causing the recent surge in what was once a rare condition--microcephaly--a birth defect characterized by small heads and brains (as depicted above).  Linked to the spread of Zika is the "Tiger Mosquito" as carrier, whose territory due to Global Warming has been expanding, to pretty much everywhere except Canada.

Asian tiger mosquito

Thus it is an invasive species, more commonly known as the Asian tiger mosquito (Aedes albopictus), named for the black-and-white stripes on its body and known for its aggression as the Asian tiger bites all day long, from morning until night, unlike most North American species who only do so at dusk. It has a real blood-lust for us blood bursting humans and once it's on you, it doesn't let go.

Other insects are now harassing U.S. residents, such as the innocuous sounding Gallinippers (Psorophora ciliata), a shaggy-haired mosquito whose bite reportedly feels like stabbings; they're currently found throughout much of Florida.

Unfortunately the Asian tiger mosquito is essentially a disease transmitting pest effectively spreading more than 20 different diseases, including West Nile fever, dengue fever, yellow fever, two types of encephalitis, and the Zika virus.  The Zika virus is only truly dangerous to the developing fetus so women are being advised in certain countries to either not travel or get pregnant anywhere from 8 months to 2 years.  Certain women rights leaders have criticized male leadership for simply determining that making those statements were any type of effective solution.  As most women internationally don't have access to birth control and with incidents of sexual violence, not all pregnancies are voluntary.

This all too closely echos the plot of the movie 'Children of Men', where mysteriously nobody can give birth for 18 years, then some random environmental refugee became pregnant just as unexpectedly.  Here's the trailer:

         
Ultimately it all reads like science-fiction.

We are perhaps on the brink of a world that will be far more chaotic then any of us could have ever imagined. 

So now is the time to end any and all nonsense if humankind is to survive and/or even evolve.  The dictation of birth to the female has to end in face of such a burden of undue motherhood.  This is a defective human.  Give the women access to free and preemptive birth-control, do not argue over the moral particulars of abortion, late-term or otherwise.  Allow the women continuous-cycle, where the pseudo-period week is eliminated as it is completely unnecessary and a misogynist residue from the 1970's, a relic from when male oversight of our reproduction processes was ingrained into us.

 

Whereas an idea from the 1970's feminist movement should absolutely be revisited in lieu of various current events, developed and implemented as soon as possible: the artificial womb. This concept, otherwise known as ectogenesis, according to Zoltan Istvan is inevitable.  It's estimated that ectogenesis will become possible in 30 years, but it is imperative that we embrace a truly futurist future and invest in becoming the best version of humanity we can possibly be, however that's only remotely achievable if we stop feeding into the myths of misogyny and motherhood.

Are you willing to put your religious fueled gender-engineering aside for the human-engineering that's required for humankind to not go extinct?   

Because these odds don't look so good:

   

Kylie Jenner - The Real Issue Behind The Wheelchair ***NSFW***

Everyone is freaking out about this Kylie Jenner Interview photo-shoot, from Tuesday.  The most outrage being generated that an able-bodied Kylie was posed in a wheelchair for the magazine cover.  

What is disturbingly lost in the echo of outrage is that all of these photos were designed to be risqué and blatantly objectify women.  Kylie Jenner wasn't posed in a wheelchair as a spoof on people that use wheelchairs, she was placed in a wheelchair because she's being portrayed as a sex doll - NOT handicapped.  

Don't believe it?  Well take a gander at other pictures pulled off the internet that are two to four years old of a creepy ass dude pushing his sex doll around in public on a 'date' at the zoo:

Pulled from Reddit.

Bystanders in disbelief snapped these candid shots. 

Since all three of these photos are of the same guy from different years, he obviously thinks this normal to do. 

There's even creepy ass dudes in wheelchairs that totally dig sex dolls!  This guy put one on his lap and took her to Wal*Mart:

If that's his grandson...

Then there's a guy in the background of this sex toy symposium that's in a wheelchair:

Can you spot him? He's right above Andy Campbell's name, lower right corner.

So what's more disturbing?--an able-bodied young lady being photographed to look like a sex doll or a handicapped man riding around in public with his fuck toy?  The correct answer girls and girls, is the disabled creeper taking his cum dumpster for a...'stroll'.  You dig?

Because this shit is a *thing*.  Look:

Every single 'woman' in this shot is a fuck doll.  These men are reinforcing their abnormal behavior as normal when they meet in 'support' groups like this.  Or shop together and touch the artificial skin:

This doll is produced by TrueCompanion - she's called Roxxxy and costs approximately $6,995.00, you can order her off their website and choose from about 30 different hair styles and about 40 different hair colors.  Her makeup can be customized, including the thickness of her eyeliner. RoxxxyGold is TrueCompanion's premiere full size sex robot (which means she comes with arms and legs). RoxxxyGold can hear when spoken to and she does not just do "sexy talk".  She can listen, talk, carry on a conversation and feel touch as well as move her private areas inside all three of her anatomically correct holes.  She can orgasm!  RoxxxyGold is A.I.!  She has a "personality" but in addition to her base personality, RoxxxyGold comes with these additional preprogrammed personalities:

· Frigid Farrah – reserved and shy (aka rape victim) 

· Wild Wendy – outgoing and adventurous (aka slut)

· S&M Susan – ready to provide pain/pleasure fantasies (aka sex slave)

· Young Yoko – oh so young (barely 18) and waiting to be taught sexual explorations (aka underage virgin) 

· Mature Martha – sexually experienced and can teach the men a thing or two (aka MILF)

New personalities can be created out of the pre-existing A.I. Sickly the site boasts:

 "Share your girlfriends with your friends by swapping them back and forth online! For example, you lend your custom built girlfriend “Sexy Sally” to one of your friends online – but he can only “use” her until Sunday morning and then she needs to be returned to you! Until Sunday morning, he can “engage” your girlfriend by using your Sexy Susan personality with his Roxxxy sex robot! You also have the option of sharing your girlfriends with everyone in our forum if you would like. You will also have access to everyone else’s girlfriends, if they allow them to be shared!  This is the same as wife or girlfriend swapping without any of the social issues or sexual disease related concerns!"

I guess the social issues these fucking pervs are referring to is consent and self-respect, love, monogamy and having a real actual personality and soul???!!! 

Roxxxy also has a heartbeat and a circulatory system! The circulatory system helps heat the inside of her body.

So the wheelchair is a gimmick?  A potshot on the disabled?  Honeychilde, I really don't think so and it's because I really do think.

SHE IS SUPPOSED TO BE A SEX DOLL, that's the real outrage!

She's in a wheelchair because sex dolls can't walk--yet--so they get rolled around, because they really do get rolled around, in a chair that has wheels because that is how creepy dudes move their fuck toys around in public or just from place to place.  Probably because if a life like woman was being carried around someone would call the police, hopefully.

The indignation isn't that real women are being objectified (the process of becoming an object) but that objects are now becoming "real" women.  Think back to the original Stepford Wives, or in Soylent Green how kept mistresses were called "furniture" - even think of the recent film Ex Machina.

Is the perfect face truly airbrushed and lifeless?  

Please, read this excellent article by the fabulous Chris Hedges on how porn is the capitalistic perversion of love.  I saw an interview on him once, and he commented on how women nowadays in order to be found sexually desirable have to resemble a corpse, a face void of emotion and personality, crop-dusted with makeup.   

That's the true offense.  Even models complaining about how they can't get gigs because they're in a wheelchair on Twitter...it's not a dis on the fact they're in a wheelchair, it's a dis on them not being the epitome of the ideal woman.  It's all about looks, it's all very shallow.  It's all extremely disturbing.

She's chapping your ass for all the wrong reasons.

ALL of the Kylie Jenner Interview pictures are super disturbing but people are primarily upset she's in a wheelchair?  Seriously?!  Clearly the bigger issue is she's literally styled and shot to look like an inanimate sex doll?

I personally found the photo where her hands were in high heels the most disturbing and offensive:

This is like fetish occult S&M porn!  The biggest message conveyed by these images is that women are handicapped and are only empowered through sex, it shows that women have to be modeled, molded, and manipulated by men, to the extreme degree where men want sex dolls to fuck.  All of these photos are so intensely insulting to ALL women, whether they're in a wheelchair or not.

Kylie Jenner's literally a serving waitress in a few shots, the whole thing reinforces that women are only good for their looks, sex, and servitude to men.  It isn't making fun of handicap people, it's making fun of women, implying we're disabled in some way and are unable to fully take care of ourselves so men have to carry us and literally push us around.

The Big Turkey - (poem)

The best of the worst,
thickly or thinly,
in last you're first,
gruesome grimly,
grimy & slimy,
lackluster shiny
I finally
state so blatantly,
             so calmly_____


     She'd go to a funeral, but not a wedding.
I'm an Impact, she's more of a Wing-Ding.
     She all Sing Sing, I'm all bling-bling,
I'm a Ring Ding, she a Ding Dong.
     I'm Koko, she's just King Kong.

But hey, we might be, a double wrong...

Nawh!--we rightly don't get along.

From Bike Face To Breast Cancer - The Psychological War On Women

I can't give you an exact date, the slow, painful, and still in process emancipation of the American female hasn't been adequately documented by the patriarchy.  That should really come as no surprise to anyone.  In the hashtag zeitgeist of "black lives matter", "all lives matter", "not all men", "yes all women" it can be daunting to the intellect and mournful to the soul, that even though our society is having truly passionate discourses in the only public domain we have left, "all female lives matter" is somehow slipping through the cracks.  Our story isn't told, it isn't elaborated on, the youth aren't rallied to fight against male oppression - let alone question it, the youth are taught stripping, makeup, and promiscuity is emancipation - it is so not; abortion clinics are getting shut down all over this country, Planned Parenthood is painted villainous, in media the Bechtel Test is rarely passed let alone a realized concept, The Smurffete Principle is still too often found.  This is not merely a world of men composed of men designed for men where women are reduced to maids, mothers, whores, and sex slaves continuously.      

So as such, since this world has dribbled on in its pre-cum myopic manner deluding itself of possessing rationalization and equity, somewhere around the 1890s chicks started riding bicycles and holy shit, did all the dudes freak the fuck out.  

That hat is awful.

 

The menfolk at the time were terrified of female autonomy. Freedom of movement.  Ladies began venturing out on their own.  The bike seat and road bumps were perhaps stimulating our clits, so worst of all, women were potentially experiencing sexual arousal independent of a man.  Bikes were the original vibrator. It also inspired change of dress for females, most likely due to design functionality but men took it as an officious affront. 

Because we started wearing pants. In what was supposed to be a man's game.            

The backlash against women for wearing pants and venturing outside the home by their own design and vehicle resulted in PSAs starting around 1895 in various publications cautioning women of the dreaded 'Bike Face' they would inevitably suffer from, making them bulging eyed hags. Unlovable and unwanted by men everywhere.

This episode of QI XL summarizes the Bike Face propaganda nicely at minute markers 17:02-21:35 and is, unfortunately, also a great example of The Smurffete Principle in action:

     

It's absolutely fascinating to know that women have been wearing pants for only about roughly 120 years, 12 decades, and that the impetus for women's liberation was the bicycle.      

Men may have invented the wheel, but women rode those wheels to their destiny.  

And the response to it...was BIKE FACE!  The male ego appeals to the female vanity to bend it to their whims, to this very day.  The patriarchy completely contributes to the foundation of female vanity which for women get repackaged as beauty, health, fashion, interior design.  There is a War On Women, a lot of it is psychological warfare.  That needs to be recognized and reckoned with.

Today women are harassed with all sorts of bogus bullshit propaganda, telling them what they should look like and aspire to be.  Thinking the best of us are the ones that manage to act like men.  But that's not true.  Females are left disembodied, disenfranchised, discarded, disregarded.  Continuously.  Almost internationally.  The human female has not been allowed to self-actualize because she's reared in the misogyny of men.  In that dysfunctional atmosphere, she learns to self-loathe and serial rapists are permitted to continue on their way to serial sexual killers aka serial killers.  It creates a market for porn where the female fantasy is hardly ever represented.  In which you get reduced to fetishistic orifices and focused hatred.  In the world of porn, nobody's really making love.        

But I digress. 

Females are told today that they have to have their pseudo-periods while on birth-control, are kept blissfully ignorant of continuous cycle and that male birth-control is a denied option.  Females are told today that abortion will give them breast cancer and infertility--both of which are not true.  Females today are taught that they better learn to suck a dick and take it up the ass if they want to keep their man, which is disturbing.  (Learn how to suck a clit and not maul a breast if you want to keep your woman).  But these physic threats against women, they are all in the same category of Bike Face.

It wasn't until just recently that masses of women started to know--as well as question why--that numerous photographs and adverts contain PhotoShopped imagery.  Literally creating unreal standards of sexiness and beauty.

  

These things that happen to us collectively as women, are done by those that have no true knowledge as to what the human female experience actually is.  Many young women today, once their hearts are broken, when they are walked out on, stuck caring for an unwanted child, when they get denied basic reproductive rights, and most, merely when they start to age, they slowly begin to seethe over the unspoken but blatant differences between mankind and womankind.  It's laughable when men state women rule the world, like this whole awful mess we're in is solely our faults, dudes, you've made it abundantly clear that when we stop being cute and fuckable, we're completely discounted.  Usually labeled crazy.  Laughed at behind our backs for our wrinkles and back-boob.

Once you realize the true surplus of violence is man against woman, typically men known and loved by them..

Just gets overwhelming sometimes.

But this fear of allowing women control over their reproductive rights, especially under the useless guise of religion that by default worships a patriarchal god, has less to do with what defines personhood and more to do with female autonomy.  This is about excursion of will. When a lady finds herself unintentionally pregnant, that's not an act of god, what it is, is a very expensive life-changing accident, one that could give her a pregnancy induced disease, she could birth a defective child, only adding to her burden, guilt, and expenses; her partner may not be a provider and her family may not support her.  She may even be poor or underage.  When a lady gets an abortion, she's not a murderer, she's a damned realist, that's what she is.  That is the single most sane thing a woman in dire straits could do.  Section 8 Housing is not a luxurious lifestyle.  The bravery involved to atone for a mistake is nothing for anyone to judge, it is a private singular conversation.  The mistake is not avoiding motherhood, the mistake is motherhood for some women and they should be allowed to express that freely.  To choose to self-actualize, should not be a crime or a sin. They free themselves from the shackles of their genitals.

Maybe start distributing male birth control as free and mandatory unilaterally?--and then shut the fuck up about abortions so we can move on and finally progress as a real society?--can we do that now?  May we please do that finally?

Do you know how fucked up everything is right now anyways?--why bring a baby into it, if you legit don't want to.  And to hammer it into people pure lies, meanwhile sex sells everything from hamburgers to wine, like fucking get over being brutes already.  Seriously.

You want a better society?--stop protesting in front of abortion clinics and go do some real productive shit mothah' fuckah'.

Since this all just descended into an unstructured rant, I just want to touch upon in conclusion, how fucked up it is that so many women disappointingly embrace makeup and interior design.  Guilty of this myself, I still know that symbolically that small allowance of influence limited to the face and living-room is a big fuck you to our intelligence level ladies.  Your mind is in a box that you're allowed to decorate.

Call me Pandora.             

"Daddy Issues" Episode #2 - The Cold Case of the Comic Book

Just got done reading Nancy Kilgore's book 'Girl in the Water', it's about sibling abuse.  Her sister Sherry sounded awful and so many parallels were present between them that were present between my father and I it was a discomforting comfort.  

Someone once told me to read 'A Child Called It', I did and it struck me as a very insincere memoir.  I didn't identify with that person in the manner I did with Nancy Kilgore (excluding her descent into insane-o fairyland) and unlike Nancy, I did ultimately assert myself and stood up to my father.  But I did that about 12 years too late.

I don't recall being molested.  I know I had a real fear that it could happen, mainly because of my mother.  Her angle in the divorce proceedings was the--false--accusation of child molestation against my father.  But you can't really blame my mother for thinking the way she was, quite frankly, there was some compelling circumstantial evidence.  And he did practice what's called "covert incest" very regularly.  That's not what I want to write about today though you pervs.

Even now my abdomen feels bloated and achy, almost like a period cramp.  I don't get periods anymore.  I do what is called "continuous cycle" because that week of shedding on birth control is completely unnecessary.  I am a woman and I don't want a baby nor do I want my period, so I take the required steps to ensure this will transpire for me.  When I was younger, I used to believe that that's all life really was, was taking required steps.  Filling out documents, turning them in in a timely fashion, a linear process of paperwork.  I learned about bureaucracies at a far too early age.  I also learned about how the callousness and inefficiency of others involved in a process that seems to ultimately be completely out of your control can screw up all your well plotted paperclips and reasons for endeavoring to advance in a system that specifically creates stagnated suffering, it doesn't alleviate it.  I learned that at an age too young as well, despite learning this I've continued to plod along in a system that I know is abusive, broken, and inept, hoping somehow it'll change one day.

I think of the US Government, the reining oligarchy, the corporate lobbyists acting in a confused collision killing us all very softly every day.  And I know that hope, it's like a small precious flower, maybe like the rose in 'Beauty and the Beast', you hope for freedom, for sanity, for fresh air (literally), you hope for sunshine and glad winds, you hope for peace, health, and prosperity for all, not just for a mere few.  You hope various technologies will liberate us from tyranny and bureaucracy.  But it's been a slow sad change.

I could go on but I am limited on time and am getting grossly off topic.           

What I'm trying to say is that our system, The System, is exactly like an abusive authority figure.  We're born into it like hapless children (literally) and get our minds turned into creamed corn, some of us are so abused--they fail to even recognize what is happening--as being immoral, unethical, unconscionable, evil.  While these corporate vampires get our money, our blood, our health, we get problems, and all we have to combat those life problems sometimes is prayer, wishes, and hope.  We all have all kinds of problems but The System, instead of acting preemptively and with ownership consistently blames us for our own problems.  For instance: poverty, homelessness, domestic violence, childcare, healthcare, those are our own problems to navigate blindly through, not unlike a neglected child that doesn't know how to operate a stove and is reduced to eating cold bologna.  Your problems are your own problems because I assure you, nobody is going to help you out of the goodness of their heart anymore.  I feel like I'm in a warped world, surrounded by fun-house mirrors that stretch reality, it gets stretched so much, there's no more measure on what real reality is anymore.  The elders know what I'm talking about and the youths are stupid to think that something similar won't happen to them.  Eventually the font will be too small and you'll be too tired too.  Information overload?--oh, well, there's an app for that.

But we all hope that The System doesn't mean it.  We all hope that He'll change one day, He really loves us back, after-all, it's the only System we have, He's got to provide and reciprocate some real love eventually someday.      

It's not going to happen.  The System, not unlike my father, is a malignant narcissist.  The System doesn't care about you.  The System is toxic, poisoning you, and letting you die.

My dad cared about money way more than he ever cared about me, it's the primary reason why I have never gotten around to reading 'Rich Dad, Poor Dad'.  He made that clear on very many occasions.  Just as evidenced in the many social strata of America, money is paramount, not your welfare.  Our governance is that of an abusive parent.

After reading 'Girl in the Water' I felt inspired to write, not some fancy poem or some wannabe article, but really write, about real pain.  Because her story helped me, maybe my story might somehow help?

Lately I've been trying to pin down the exact moment my abuse started.  It's hard to do.  I can therefore identify with the women that claim there were no red flags in their adult romantic relationships for them.  Or the red flags came far too late in.  To those women, I believe you.  And sure while Sherry Kilgore did some very awful wretched stuff to Nancy Kilgore, I don't even know where to begin my story.

My father was awarded custody of me when I was six years old, he was a towering man at 6 foot 2 inches.  I loved him so very much as a child.  I thought nobody was smarter or more talented or funnier than my daddy!  He was everything I wanted to be: smart, creative, an awesome storyteller...  

He posed himself as someone that rescued me from my crazy mother, all throughout my life I was reminded of this.

I don't mean to downplay Ms. Kilgore's childhood traumas, I too readily identified with her but there is a difference in a family dynamic where there is literally only one adult father and one child daughter.  When the man is a towering pillar of flesh, almost like a demigod custodian of life and he displays what I now know is called 'narcissistic rage' but I didn't know this until recently.

Narcissists don't view children as a regular person would, a child is an extension of their own ego, a refection of self, a way to reflect themselves.  In this manner you are more a mirror than a child.  In their rages, you are a mirror that can become broken repeatedly with terrifying ease. 

I've narrowed down my first red flag that something was wrong with my father's disciplinarian approach not long after I moved in with him.  He didn't like me reading comic books while shitting because I'd take longer in the bathroom so he forbade me from doing so.  It was more like a sharp conversation so I didn't really think what he ended up doing would happen.  At this point in my life reading comic books while pooping was a type of habit so it was difficult to honor his request.  I was also a child and would forget things sometimes, that's how children do.  We got back from church, I still remember my outfit, have no idea how or why, it was a light blue velvet peasant dress, with some yellow embroidery over my undeveloped chest, white opaque stockings, black patent shoes with breather holes and silver buckles. I think I had a headband in my hair but I wouldn't have put it there, neither would have my dad.  His old live-in girlfriend Janette must have put it in my hair but she was absent for this incident.

Anyways when we got back from church I had to go to the bathroom and I foolishly took a comic book in with me to read.  I was almost done doing my thing when my father inquired on the other side of the door if I was taking longer than I should due to reading a comic book, my heart sank, I was already afraid of my father and of displeasing him.  I had forgotten this new decree of his already and was too scared to admit my transgression so out of fear I lied and indicated that no I was just about done and had brought no comic book in with me.  Then while the toilet flushed and the water in the sink ran, I shoved the comic book up my dress and down my pantyhose, the tights serving as a type of internal pocket, the dress covered the rectangle perfectly with its design.

I came out and stood proudly in the hallway, I was a good girl that wanted to listen to her daddy, what was a white lie to get his adoration and approval?  I swore to myself I'd never do either again: lie to him or read a comic book in the john.

He cooed approval at me and for some reason patted my belly.  The way you'd pat a dogs belly with approbation.  There was obvious paper resistance and a crackle that only newsprint paper could make.  His entire demeanor changed in an instant.  I can no longer remember the exact wording and this was an extremely dormant memory, one that required digging around in my mind palace to even find.  But it was like a sunny blue sky day immediately became boiling over with black clouds.  You lied to me?  No, go take it out, I want to see it.

I tired to apologize and explain that I had accidentally forgotten, I had only fibbed out of self preservation. 

I don't think he let me close the bathroom door to remove the comic book so it was extra humiliating.  I had to only turn my back to him and lift up my dress to remove the Duck Tales comic book from where it was stashed but he was fuming mad. My dad has hazel eyes and they would turn silver like mercury whenever his temper escalated to white hot rage.  I didn't know at the time that it would become a novel and predictable precursor, it would become an omen for his wrath.  

I think I buried this memory because of how uncomfortable this pseudo undressing in front of my enraged father was.  I think in my child mind, as I had double disobeyed my dad with a lie and infraction, this was an unshakable deserved punishment.  Reexamining it as an adult I now can finally recognize his gross overreaction.        

He was yelling at me about the double disobedience.  Insanely demanding my comic book, I wasn't moving fast enough for him.  Unlike Nancy Kilgore that entered a fairy land, I went underwater, the world was slow, I was calm, my father was fast, my father was angry, I just shut down, I didn't feel anything other but a dull curiosity over what helped create his outbursts and when they would be over.  I learned it was best to not move, look around, look at him directly, not to cry in an obvious or loud fashion.  I cried quiet for years after obtaining freedom.  The loudest moans you could imagine on mute.  I would let snot run out my nose, wiping away snot, or snorting or sniffling was a sure sign of crying.  He did not like nor allow me to cry during his rages and I learned this early on, but not on this day.

I handed him the comic book, he angrily and very snarky lectured me on the virtues of honesty.  Him and the entombed cartoons hovering feet above me.  His head wildly bobbling, eyes gone silver - and this part fascinated me most, distracting me from the full realization of his anger, I mused over how it could happen, the bright shining chrome of daddy justice.  It felt supernatural. 

He bowed down to my level, but not how a good father would on one knee speaking kindly to me, but leaning over, bending at the waist, his upper torso with his head forming more of a backwards 7, holding and shaking the comic book in my face, spittle flying--as it often did--the familiar colors of his eyes, the brown, the green, the grey, replaced by this metal.  Demanding complete honesty from me always and my entire obedience to all of his degrees, as he was my father.  And much to my horror, as I still wanted to finish reading my new comic, he started to rip it slowly and methodically to shreds in front of my face, so close to my face his actions were making me flinch despite my not getting hit yet at this point ever by him.  He stood up and proceeded to shred the comic only more quickly, he balled up the comic book, walked to the kitchen, threw it away, and went into the living room.

There was no discussion, no time to apologize, to reason, no love in that discipline, I learned nothing other then to be terrified of my father that day.

I had never been spoken to in such a manner by him or anyone else, I was floored.  I had never seen anyone so very enraged, nor have I to this very day, to the degrees of violence my father could achieve. 

I remember how dismayed I was over him destroying a prized possession, I remember feeling like small meat he could easily pickup and tear into so many strings.           

Now I realize what occurred was a narcissistic injury, I greatly despite how unintentionally offended the mighty ego of my father.  I lied to him, I almost even outwitted him and that I think all these very, very many years later, was the real culprit that a child almost outwitted him is what led to that particular fit.  The daughter he told his ex-wife to initially abort.      

I despise I am his descendant.  Often throughout my life, I've ached for amnesia.  I wonder what person I might really be if I hadn't endured about a dozen years of total humiliation and denial of self needs. If my father had never decided to call me a stupid dumb little bitch or cunt like they were nicknames.  If he didn't insist on urinating while I was taking a shower behind a semi-translucent shower curtain.  If he wasn't so enamored with my wonderful tits or weight gain or loss.

The human female condition is still a pretty awful condition to be in overall.

This song reminds me of my dad.  His fluctuations. 

My head is killing me.