11 September 2017

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.
Photo published for The Handmaid's Tale: Night, episode 10: what will happen to Offred?

"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.

01 September 2017

. '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.


"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 ?"