MY OWN 11 September in y1990, NOT in y2001

Happy Birthday, Daddy !

Lordy, Lordy, Daddy's 40 ...

5:42 PM – 05 Jan 1986

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Inside a little county courtroom --- just like within a bagazillion of them across this USA --- my own 11 September O U T R A G E began.  11 September y1990.  Also a Monday morning.  As today's. 

y1986 on 05 January resulted in the 40th birthday of MY three children's sperm source.  We Four, the Three Boys and I, hung a homemade (out of a white bedsheet !) and colorful banner stating the above couplet upon our 2408 Braemore Road residence's entry.  Columbia, Missouri.

The sperm source ... ... when he came home and initially viewed it ?  The sperm source became so enraged that ... ... not only did he tear the banner down and rip it up in front of Us All but he also threw me over his shoulder like a bag of rubbish and waste, carried me out of my own home, tossed me down upon its concrete sidewalk, strode back inside my house and locked its front door.

It was icy and cold.  It was January after all.  I was locked out for two nights and two days.  Locked OUT of MY OWN home.  Because ?  Because ... ... he CAN.  So ?  So he DOES.

That violence ?  That one, of many, did not matter.  The e x a l t e d sperm source still got from similarly violent and, as well as the sperm source himself, woman - loathing judges, all patriarchs, ... ... sole custody of the three minor children whom I alone risked my own body's health and well - being http://www.thelizlibrary.org/liz/004.htm  to actually grow Them ALL in to ... ... Their First Selves.

I, The Handmaid.
And, Nothing More.

.N e v e r.  .f o r g e t.


"What is wrong w you?
How can you do this?
You're deranged.
You're fucking EVIL, you know that?
Heartless. Sadistic." = 

= You are a terrorist,
a savage,
a smug thug and
... ... a criminal.

. 'scent' of a t r u e story .

"Do you want to learn ?" he queried.

"How to kiss ?   Do I want to learn how to kiss ?" she clarified.

"Yes."

"Aaaah.  Well.  Maybe.  I dunno.
It has been so, so long.  Likely I cannot learn ... ... it has been soooo long," she deadpanned.

"But you were married, Legion.  Three yellow - haired, blue - eyed boy babies !  Surely he ... ... ?"

"NO !" she interrupted him.  "Noooo, that never happened.  Kissing never happened.  In fact, he never one time even --- zero is the number of times --- he said to me, 'I love you, Legion.'  Not even before we were married did he tell me that.  Those four words.  Let alone, afterward.  I just up and came down preggers.  So that was that.  And then ?

I was pregnant again.  And again.  No.  No kissing before or after marriage.  Romance ?  Romance ? !  O no.  No.  I have no idea what that 'd be.  Romance.  And kissing ?  Not even at the formal ceremony.  That 'd 've been, ... ... ah, aaaah, 18 December y1976.  Zane was already by then, ya' know, four months old."

"Yeah, I do know that.  Almost seems unprecedented. 
That.  That much passive aggression.  That much violence.
I can teach you, Legion.  If you would like ?" he offered her his services.
 
"I don't remember kissing ... ... from before him.  From when I was much, much younger.  I did.  Cuz I can remember the men.  Actually, I can remember all of the men.  So I did; I know I was a kisser, but I don't think I can relearn kissing cuz it has been so, so long ago.  That's what I mean."

"I can figure out a way," he more or less promised.

"I don't think I am being quite heard.  I mean there is the touch thing.  I do not touch people any more.  I was never touched, ya' know, with, ah, with a tenderness actually.  I was only touched when I could ... ... except if I could be, ah, to be made ... ... well, to be made impregnated.  Multiple times he was, well, giddy and gleeful ... ... he was gleeful when he inserted a medical penlight into my vagina so that he could see its shine come through my skin.  Up through my pubic hairs.  Only he called it my pussy; that one was his favorite term.  Or another one he liked to call it, twat.  Or my cunt.  I don't think ... ..., no.  No, I know that I never heard him ... ... ever ... ... say the word vagina.  And I was supposed to like that.  To like having that done to me.  Just like the spring we first met.  Our second, well, I would call it, ah I guess, an encounter.  March y1974, it was.  I was supposed to like that, too.  He wanted me to come meet him at what he told me was a bar so I said okay.  It wasn't just a bar.  It was Mr B's Lounge on Main Street, a strip joint.  I'd never heard of it, let alone, ever been inside a strip joint.  Not even when I lived in New York City.  I walked in; and in the noise and the dark, I tried to see him in there somewhere.  I couldn't.  Its spotlights were aimed onto the stage.  Within seconds I'd had to get out.  To get out outside, I mean.  I vomited beside a parking meter right there on the sidewalk.  At the joint's entrance.  Soooo I, ah, I kinda want to not be touched like that again.  Or, ya' know ?  Not at all, actually.  I just cannot be, ah, ... ... handled again.  I do not touch others either.  Cuz I know how that feels now."

"I know what you mean, Legion.  The violence.  But, sometime, if you would like to give it a try,
why, um, ... ... why don't you give it a try, Legion ?  Sometime maybe ?  To try ?"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2zTd_YwTvo

" ... ... but if you wanna learn how to dance !"

and " ... ... if you wanna be h a p p y, just watch your " ... ... Grandpa Willard and me.

" ... ... just a good ol' boy" = Grandpa Willard !
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T6kl_Ivzs-4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iArCHz-MbfQ

" ... ... from this day in time," My Dearest Children, thus:

You are my children, my gifts to the world
You are the lights of my life
You all have your good hearts, you have your own strength
So I know you'll all do all right

As I look to the future from this day in time
The truth is, I don't have a clue
There are modern day wonders I don't understand
So I'll leave that all up to you

But if you wanna learn how to dance
Just watch your mama and me

Just a good ole boy and his lady
Nothing too fancy to see
If you want to be happy
Just watch your mama and me

There are so many changes, changing too fast
Things I know nothing about
But some things remain, just stay the same
And that's where I might help you out

So if you wanna learn how to dance
Just watch your mama and me

Just a good ole boy and his lady

from Our Darlin' Forever Singer of Sad Songs, Mr Waylon Jennings


b u t ... ... 

but this ?  This --- hunger --- has broken my heart
since I was 18.  And truly, then, knew of it ... ... firsthand.

1 in 9 persons inside this whole World live on
LESS than $2.00 per day.  Today.  y2017.  
Inside ALL of this technology and science.

My heart continues beating ... ... but broken. 

http://www.cbsnews.com/news/living-on-one-dollar-a-day

09 April 2017

Living on one dollar a day

However serious your money problems may be, would you willingly trade them for the challenge of living on just one dollar a day? 

For millions of people, that’s their reality EVERY day. Tony Dokoupil has the pictures to prove it:

Think about this: One out of every nine people on Earth gets by on less than two dollars a day. 

29 Photos

Faces of the world's extreme poor

Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist Renée Byer has spent years capturing stories of those living in poverty, for a new traveling photo exhibit...

“I want people to go and look at those images and immerse themselves as if that was their reality,” said Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist Renée Byer.

“It just begs the question ... ... why.”

Byer has spent years photographing a world we don’t often want to see. Those photographs and the stories they capture are part of a new traveling exhibit, “Living on a Dollar a Day.”

“The most important thing for me was to preserve their dignity in these pictures,” Byer said.

And how does she do that? “Show how hard-working they were, to let their life unfold in front of me, and to document that life.”

Jestina Koko, 25, with her five-year-old daughter, Satta Quaye, in Monrovia, Liberia. Crippled since the age of three, Jestina survives by doing laundry for others, selling cookies on the street, and begging. Both of them suffer from malaria. She wishes for a wheelchair, a private room to live in and for her daughter to go to school.

She does it by documenting not just their lack of food, clean water and healthcare, but their smiles, too.

“If you were to take that child out of that scene, that’s just like an everyday slice of life -- just running, smiling,” Byer said.

Globally, the poorest of the poor total more than 800 million.  “One of the myths about poverty is that people who are poor are lazy,” she said. “And I have to say that in all of my travels through four continents, that that couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

To get to the truth, Byer took time off from her newspaper job at the Sacramento Bee. She traveled to 10 countries, taking 15,000 photographs.

In Ghana, children in flip-flops sift through the burning fragments of old computers, searching for metal they can sell. “You can see the fire here -- even his eyelashes are singed from the fire, from working so close and digging with his bare hands in this toxic waste,” Byer said.

That’s where she met Fati, age eight, stricken with malaria and crying as she worked.  “I said, ‘What’s the matter? Why is she so sad?’

And they said, ‘That’s because she wants to go home with you.’ It broke my heart.”

The number of people living this way is actually dropping; it’s down more than half since 1990, thanks to foreign aid and new investments in health and education -- and, yes, thanks to some of Byer’s photos, too.

All of these children at left are now in school, helped by people inspired by her photographs.

Fati (top right), is now at a boarding school. “She has the most amazing smile,” Byer said. “Her life has completely changed.”

Of course, there are still millions out there who aren’t as lucky, which Byer hopes to change … one photo at a time.
     
GALLERY: Faces of the world’s extreme poor
     
For more info:

• reneecbyer.com 
• Exhibit: “Living on a Dollar a Day” now at Western Kentucky University in Bowling Green, Ky.
• “Living on a Dollar a Day: The Lives and Faces of the World’s Poor” by Thomas A. Nazario, with photographs by Renée C. Byer (W.W. Norton)
• Follow Renée Byer on Twitter and Facebook
• How you can help (The Forgotten International)

06 and 09 August y1945

MAY the events of these two days ... ...
06 and 09 August y1945 ... ... never happen ever again.

blog.nuclearsecrecy.com/2013/08/09/why-nagasaki

Why ?  Why --- at all --- Nagasaki ?  Too ?

Our killings could have, as well --- save for a dude named Hank Stimson, included next after Nagasaki's annihilation then ... ... another pogrom also:  Kyoto !

Then - US Secretary o' Warring ( 'ith Those 'Others' Different Than Us Folk ) Stimson had 'personal' reasons for sparing the Different Folks there in Kyoto.

Yeah.  Yeah:  personal reasons.

Mostly those personal reasons are, aren't they, for w.h.y. --- with another individual or 'different' group --- for why ( her or his justification and 'rational'ization re ) anyone's ... ... warring ? !

For whatever else is done --- because of "your personal reasons" --- make certain over and throughout all of that:  to gut the bitch in the belly.

As per some o' Those in Power w Dominion Over Her of The Contender:  http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1100998-contender and http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0208874/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1 .

But, most especially, this statement near its end:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlioUeIUuts&list=PLuPQ67nPIEBA-x88H6p_V-7J__0pX_kCI =

" ... ... because of half - truths, lies and innuendos "

" simple as that "

wetherjeff

Posted August 6, 2017 at 5:55 pm | Permalink

I’d like to echo what others have said about it being impossible to know how people thought and felt at the time. I can only speak from a British perspective, and Truman was obviously not British. He wasn’t even a normal member of the public, but he no doubt shared many of the same emotions, experiences and fears. This is a bit of a long reply but it’s a matter close to my heart. I also have no answer to whether dropping the bomb was right or wrong. But here goes:

I live in a relatively small village in Yorkshire and every Remembrance Day (11/11) a ceremony is held at the village war memorial. I’m not one for ceremonies at all but I nearly always go, as do hundreds of other people, I also take my kids as I think it’s important that they understand what their great-grandparents’ generation had to endure. During the ceremony an announcer reads out the names of people from the village that died in the world wars and for such a small area the number is truly staggering. It takes about ten minutes to read them, and from the names it is obvious that many are from the same families. I’m not a very emotional person but I find it incredibly moving.

It’s not like they had a choice – they were either forced to go to war, or felt compelled to because losing the war was unthinkable – Hitler was only 21 miles away over the Channel after all. Almost all of these soldiers would have suffered horrible, painful deaths while terrified out of their wits, and their families knew this of course. By the end of the WW2 virtually the whole of society was traumatised by, and desensitized to, organised brutality. Within just my own family my grandparents suffered many bereavements – my maternal grandmother, for instance, lost her father in WW1 and three brothers in WW2 (her mother died when she was an infant).

I saw the film Dunkirk the other day, again with my kids. It’s an excellent film, but quite intense and a difficult film to watch at times. It does a fantastic job of showing the nastiness and pointlessness of war though, which I’m glad my girls picked up on. The film also conveys the terrifying existential threat that people in the UK felt at the time. After defeating France in three weeks Hitler was just a short boat ride away. Can you imagine the reality of Nazi troops stomping down your street, raping your daughter, or wife or mother? What about you and the rest of your family being dragged into the street to be shot or hung because a fellow villager shot at them? I can’t, but this is the reality the British public lived in, it was a very real threat. As we know it actually happened in much of Europe. The situation did change by 1945 but all the carnage, tragedy, fear and grief was either very recent or still going on.

Fast forward a few years to the firebombings of Germany and then Japan. We would rightly regard these as hideous atrocities if carried out today; they were truly horrific. There are countless dreadful stories from Dresden or Hamburg, or Tokyo: families cooking to death in German bomb shelters, families trying to escape a firestorm only to become stuck in melted asphalt where they would burn alive in sight if each other, hundreds of women and children jumping from bridges in Tokyo to extinguish their burning skin and flesh in the river. This sort of thing was happening to tens of thousands of innocent people in every allied fire bombing raid – the Tokyo raid of March 9-10 1945 is reckoned to have killed over 100,000 people, most through burning to death. The German and Japanese governments were fully aware of these facts. However, the regimes never showed any concern for their citizens, even when it was obvious the war was lost for them, and they never hinted at the possibility of surrender. All the while Allied soldiers were dying by the thousands every single day.

Truman had no knowledge of the bomb until days before it was dropped, and he had to make the decision in the context of worldwide slaughter and devastation. The US public had spent a fortune on the bomb, and a tremendous amount of industrial and scientific capacity was invested too – at the expense, it should be noted, of reduced resources in other areas of the war. Japan had obstinately refused to surrender, even after the firebombing horrors of Tokyo and other cities.

Thousands of your soldiers are dying horribly every day. You have to end the war. Do you continue firebombing Japanese cities, burning to death hundreds of thousands of civilians, with little chance of surrender? All while preparing an invasion which would kill scores of civilians and countless thousands of your own troops? How would you answer the families of the tens or hundreds of thousands of your troops that died in the invasion you ordered, when the families find out you had the bomb but didn’t use it?

Would you drop the bomb? I have no idea if I would or could, and this is why I would never want to hold any political or military office.

https://whyevolutionistrue.wordpress.com/2017/08/06/sunday-hili-dialogue-170/#comments

my most favored fantasy

My most favored fantasy ... ...
... ... is the same as that one of Ms Sonia Johnson,
housewife and (what fearmongers scream us both as) heretic !

ONLY written by authors who are women

What are you reading now ? 

That is, what are you reading now ... ... with this caveat:
what works ONLY written by authors who are women or girls ?

I see a bagazillion comments here upon this post of https://whyevolutionistrue.wordpress.com/2017/07/29/what-im-reading-and-you/#comments

I see no persons there reading A Thing authored by a human being who is a female one.

I see that in other such websites' posts as well.  ALL of the Time.

Why is that ?  Why is it that folks loooove to recount how it is that they are such terrific and voracious readers.

But.

But.

ONLY are they so widely read of authors' works where said authors are men.

Why is that ?  (This query is rhetorical cuz:  ALLWeALL KNOW the answer, o'course, don't We ?!)

So:  what works are you now reading which are authored by a woman or a girl ?

IF gods 'd had their ways, why, we never would have ... ... been !

"Nolite te bastardes carborundorum, Bitches."

Soooo, I would be dead and
Jesse, Mirzah and Zane would never have ... ...
well, they would never, ever have ... ... been.  Either.

Nor would there be ... ... J'o T, I G, A W or G L !

WAY TO GO, gods (o'a[ny]thing) !

Giving Thanks for the Bridges I’ve Burned This Year

11 July 2017 / John Pavlovitz

 
Many times a day I think about them — the people I used to feel close to, the ones I once felt at home with, those whose presence I used to find comfort in. They are family members, lifelong friends, co - workers, neighbors, former church friends.  My mind shows me their faces and lists off their names, and I begin to grieve the loss anew as I remember what once was but no longer is.

I think about the massive and quickly widening space between myself and these people; the great distance created by silence or hurtful words or simply by me knowing what I now know about them. I rewind through the social media skirmishes, the cold family gatherings, and the incendiary verbal bombshells we’ve exchanged this year, and I survey the bloody fallout.

And I’m keenly aware that I am likely burning bridges between us in these days.
Simply by my steady volume, by my refusal to nurture falsehoods, by my insistence on calling out hypocrisy, by my intolerance to hatred — I am probably forever altering the connection between us.
 
I’m going to have to risk this.

I’m going to have to be okay with the burning.

It isn’t that I find any satisfaction in the separation or the slightest joy in the severing of ties—not even the cheap high of a middle finger flip, mic drop as I walk away. It’s simply self-preservation.
 
I am speaking unapologetic truth about the things that matter the most to me.

I am enduring the collateral damage of full authenticity.

I am clinging tightly to my integrity and my sanity — even if I have to let go of these treasured relationships to do it.
 
I’m holding onto my soul at any cost, because in the end it is worth more to me than even they are.
 
More than appeasing someone else or accommodating their prejudices, I need to be able to look myself in the mirror and to sleep at night.

A part of me still looks for common ground with these people, still longs for restoration, but honestly it is growing smaller and smaller as I see how far apart we are, as I find how fundamentally differently we see the world, and as I hear the sound of my own clear voice ringing out. The more they dig their heels in, the less and less interested I become in making an uneasy truce with the things that turn my stomach and break my heart — even when those things come from people I love and respected. There isn’t time for that.

And so yes, if condemning treason and calling out men who boast of grabbing women by the p*ssy, and demanding care for sick people — if these things ignite the bridges connecting me and these people, so be it. I’m not reveling in it but I can live with it. I can still even love some of them, but I will simply love them from a safe distance.

I know that in the space made as these tethers burn away, there are other beautiful things being built: connections with people who too are willing to sacrifice comfort in order to resist unacceptable things, a different tribe formed in the affinity we have for all people, a more expansive community of faith with a far bigger table.

Most of all, a truer, stronger version of myself is being formed in the crucible of this new distance — one that refuses to waste a single, fleeting second being silent in the face of a hatred that compels me to speak.

Yes, I suppose I’m burning some bridges.

It happens when you find yourself on fire.

http://johnpavlovitz.com/2017/07/11/giving-thanks-bridges-ive-burned-year
 

... ... Any day now. Any day now. We shall be ... ...

"Nolite te bastardes carborundorum, Bitches."
Any day now.  Any day now.  We shall be ... ...

I made for him, Commander Edinsmaier,
the perfect, perfect, perfect handmaid.
Babies.  Babies.  Babies.

But only in the manner of Ms Atwood's the Handmaid's Tale.

Then ... ... whilst the Commander could not make me actually dead
and himself, though, publicly keep intact his soooo - desired Rolex - life
as was his literal - want,
I was ... ... still ... ... out and gone.

The Pussy Cunt - Handmaid was out and gone.

p 234 - 235, Chapter 27, Mother - Fucking

"What kind of payoff in 1989, is there in it for the 17 – year – old, older brother – Joy Toy Boy Daddee who spends only $67 on his children’s needs but then at the very same time simply tosses down to the nine – year – old, the ten – year – old and the twelve – year – old children just about that very amount to spend as they so choose on their wants for the month?  Well, the bonus, the perk, that payoff is not even subtle:  Herry – Daddee continued to purchase the Truemaier Boys’ affections –– even after the separation, no change in his will regarding this laissez – faire behavior of his here, for sure.  A soooo perpetuating sequel, wouldn’t you say, Jury, to Dr. Herod Edinsmaier’s becoming the primary caretaking parent for my three minor children, for this finally freed potty – brain from out of the Brookside Forest?  

Finally only near the ends of both of these Discovery sets do we come to the inquiries and answers regarding each other’s opinions about qualities or traits necessary to be custodial parents of human offspring!  To be the continuing primary caretaking parent of the babies whom I alone grew and whom I alone birthed.  And was …, from their git – go, trusted to so do!  From a bumpersticker I recently read, “If you can’t trust me with The Choice, then how can you trust me with The Child?”  

But!  But I had been trusted with both! … And times three!  Three perfect, perfect, perfect platinum blonde, blue – eyed Aryan boy babies!  Bada bing, bada bang, bada boom!  Regarding The Choice, too, just wait, Jury, till you know the Good and Wonderful Dr. Herod Edinsmaier’s C H O I C E for … Dr. Legion True’s, for my uterus’s very first fruitful fecundity … … Zane. Huge H I N T here, Jury:  Think … A B O R T I O N.

Beginning with #20 out of a total of 24 interrogatories, we read that a mere five or only about 20 percent of all of the queries pertain to, well, … the characters of the adults, the Truemaier Boys’ mother and father!  Too, these five are not so standard nor routine either.  As a matter of fact, they’re pretty personal.  Or, I should say … personalized.  Worded so that the questions fit me most specifically.  I The Mother, and never the Petitioner, not the father, am decidedly singled out to specifically be put on the defensive right off.  Sexist!"

*     *     *     *

p 229, Chapter 27, Mother - Fucking

"But for the perfectly pillared and countenanced Dr. Herod Edinsmaier the Parent, the ideal of Paternal leadership Himself, the Father who so – oft fuckfully fancied in the Shitbox Dodge whilst motoring us all past Midwest pastures of grazing Holsteins modeling through his full facial hair, his brownish bushy beard and handlebar mustache, its sniggering and snorting bulls’ snouts sniffing after the several cows’ vulvae, … for Daddee – Herry to be so self – absorbed as to believe that he did not even need, let alone think, to tell ‘the Court’, that is, to tell a similarly elevated judge – man, that the primo papa actually loves my three sons smacks of the highest degree in androcentric arrogance and entitlement.  To the actual point that its absolute absence in the situation of child custody! qualifies as hate speech … that silence – genre of thuggery so, so commonly perped by Terrorist King Herod.  … With much more of only the same to come."