Class Consciousness
Tag: family
Poppy/Fuck Father’s Day
There has never been a Happy Father’s Day for me. There has never been love. When I asked why he always loved the children in his Morocco Shrine parades so much, I was told it was because they were poor. He could not stand me, because of his money. And I look like his mother. Born in Paris and lied to by his father. Brought to Bainbridge GA. She killed herself in 1957. The year, they played the most popular song, The People Of Paris.
I have always had a pain in my heart for her.
I was born as she died. It was not a happy time.
He was mean and brutal. But he made a lot of money. Yeah, money.
Fuck Father’s Day ~ Every year I have to look at it. Happy Father’s Day.
My first husband lured and lied to me, to get married. He wanted in on the money. Our daughter suffered. She is no longer living with us. I believe she sings with Skynyrd in Riverside Memorial. As an engineer, my ex could not help to support her in her band achievements. She was a good musician and a great singer. I look for his obituary, every day. —- Keith Edwin MacDonald, loser.
My father cared for all his children but his own. (except for Deena, I like Deena too. Most of the time. She has been the most sibling of my siblings. We created hilarious stories. We call her Hollywood. For a reason.)
Keith (my x) zeroed in on another woman, from a wealthy family. He drives a Lexus.
My daughter craved his love and got none.
And that’s why there is a psychology 101.
If money is what you want. The man was a success. If love and care was what you needed you were just born in the shit house, with no toilet paper.
Eagerton Plumbing Co. Since 1954. I do know how to install a toilet and turn a wrench dad. Thanks
Til next year.
Echo
Narco – See – Sissy created Echo. Bullying was his pleasure and she was his choice of experiment in all things. Her little body used for his curiosity. For his grandiosity, in the neighborhood. She was his choice of experiment.
Her mother knew, her nervous system froze.. like the ice..that she chewed..
Like the ice box, that she kept by her side. For life. Until death took her. Iceless.
One holiday, showing visitors the homestead, Echo walked amongst the pines and shrub. She looked up and NSS scowled at her from his elevated position on a pony. His frontal cortex, dark, due to DNA and environment. He charged the 700 pound pony towards Echo. She ran as fast as she could, Filled with terror. She saw the silver bit as it collided with her cranium. Her head slammed into the pine, she had intended for cover.
The impact…
Another trip to the hospital.
She cried to her mother. “Why did he do this?” Her mother replied, “He didn’t.”
Cards. They all played cards. Echo was winning. Amazed. – He pinned her down with his threats, until he took all of her money. He put it in his pocket, smiled, big white teeth. Their mother loved his teeth. He left the house. Echo’s teeth were hidden.
Echo said nothing. She his her teeth.
Her mother said, nothing. Because Echo said, nothing.
She listened.
Fatty, Fatty, two by four. Can’t get through the bathroom door. So she did it on the floor. Licked it up and did some more.
Echo had become mute. Repeating here and there. Thoughts traversing her mind. Then buried. She hiccuped.. responses. – When in the presence of NSS, she repeated. No response to the abuse. Until……..
Onlookers viewed NSS and Echo as friends.
Echo’s only friend was Celeste. Celeste cared for Echo. If it was cold she found her a blanket. If it was hot, she found a fan.
Echo – echoed.
Celeste – nurtured.
She protected Echo.
Maternal.
Iceless…finally…iceless
I’m Back
Good morning y’all. It’s 3:30. A good time to write. I have been absent, due to the fact that people were reading this blog.
And AI’s interference. They are demeaning. I get enough of that walking in the street. I don’t need to be bothered, and I don’t want to be told by them about my writing.
I know people are loving it. They’re writing books left and write. This is dangerous. The dumb down of America.
Ok, enough of that.
I am going to have to re-familiarize myself with my blog. An entire gallery widget was removed. And I don’t know what’s happening with my photos, but they keep tagging them screen shot. That might mean that someone has stolen them and it looks like they are the photographer of my photos. That’s what I get for being so damn good.
I am full of complaints.
My family….hahaha. Now that people actually read this shitty blog. I have to think about what I say differently. Yes, I will be censoring my mind. A self monitoring, censor. Not AI coming at me. Go figure. – Me censoring. This is a bold statement I just made and possibly untrue. As some of my stories might be. Not all, but some.
It’s a new start. Difficult, but worth it. Many of the best things in life are earned. Trudging the road to our happy destiny.
Putting this post together is difficult. I have to read. I have to think. It’s good exercise.
By the way. Have you ever tried Pilates?
Noir – are you out there, buddy.
—– add on —- I’m searching for my categories – Dates and years. AI has prompted me to choose The New You. I guess they mean the new me. noOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
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No pic for this
Yesterday morning I woke up at three o’clock and ran out the door. I visited a family friend, It was the eighty fourth birthday of a Ticano matriarch. I consider her a mentor. I have always favored wise people.
I enjoyed myself, driving on the road from Potrero to Negra, remembering all of the years that we were the only gringo’s on the road. I could see the night stars. A rare occurrence in my life now.
Construction here is insane. It takes hours to drive a forty-five minute distance.
I found out after leaving that they were cutting my path off to get home. Construction 7-7. Oh great!
So, I circumvented and went through another route. Of course, they were working on the road too, I had to leave the road to go around them. Their equipment was antiquated. Their process silly. The first rain will wash away their work.
I hit something. It broke something off of the bottom of my car. I stopped and picked it up. I had sounded like I had a flat tire. But that was not the case.
Thank God, I broke down in front of the nicest people’s home. And we have a motorcycle for extra transportation.
Rooster, who is an expert mechanic drove the car home.
I had fun with the family. Speaking my Spanish.
If you go to another country you really should work on learning the language.
We got the vehicle home. Me following the Rexton with our motorcycle.
I can’t wait to sell this place. I would have never, ever been here if it hadn’t been for the Meza’s.
But I have faith in God. He is bigger than the Meza’s and he doesn’t lie to me.
Then I heard something in the night – opened the door and was bit by a bat. Great…..
I will not be daunted.
It’s not what I wanted.The waves are breaking beautiful at Avellanas and I am here in Potrero.
Patience and perseverance is the key to all success..
Hidden Violence (again and again)
Celeste knew from the birth of her death, that the family she had been born in to; the home where she had laid in her coffin, was a place of hiding.
Hide in the room. Run. Hide. Hide in the garbage can. The big man was on his way and a wide path had to be cleared.
When she moved to the pines, things changed. She had been brought to a land of violence, and money. Money Money Money.
The Skinny Boy called her from the desert. In a gravelly voice he abrasively, threatened Celeste.
There seemed to be a problem as to who f*cked who. Now, normally it was a matter of who shot who.
“Don’t you be starting rumors.” He threatened.
Then he carried on about his family. Never mind his own moral inventory.
Celeste thought to herself. And then she thought some. More.
One life, born into death.
In the background she could hear his wife. The 1/8 – Of the purple robes.
Celeste laughed.
What else is there to do?
Hope
Hope can be tricky.
You hope to catch a fish. You hope the rain holds off. You hope your house is still standing when you return home. You hope your mother loves you. You hope that someone will love you. You hope for the health and wealth of your young ones. You hope that your family will find peace and love and fun. You hope that all the finances you have acquired will last you throughout your life. You hope that you don’t lock your keys in your car. You hope that your confidant stays true. You hope that the love you put forth in the world will be reciprocated. You hope that your new found sobriety will bring you closer to your family. You hope people will treat you right. You hope for your safety on the road. You hope to get your work done before you die. You hope that hope is hope, but hope is expectation. Hope in one hand and defecate in the other and see which one produces. Who is hope? Where did hope come from. She lingered in Pandora’s box. A glittery, tingly, flighty, thing. Curious. Don’t open the box. But yet it was. And all the evils flew through the air. They jetted to Mars. They dug tunnels. Once the lid is open it can not be shut. Ever. I hoped for a family. I hoped for a new life. I jumped into hope and summer salted, a tumultuous life. I hope that the good people in the hospital did not pull the plug on my son. I hope he was not alive when I heard him crying in the morgue.
I have dallied and danced with hope. I have been the quintessential fool. I don’t hope. I know better. And yet I hope. Hope whispers in my ear. I hope I don’t fall off that mountain top. I hope I catch that wave. I hope for peace and tranquility. I still see the doctor talking to my daughter, her body riddled with cancer. Like the con man that he is, offering her hope. He won her hope to view her cancer. To get a look into her body
He bought the car his daughter, Hope had hoped for. A BMW.
Hope has wings. Hope flitters and tickles.
Hope – meet work.
Hope – meet patience.
Hope – meet perseverance.
Hope meet God.
Hope – close your eyes.
Hope – step into the abyss Miss.
And KNOW that you can fly.
Good morning – I hope you have a good day.
Rope and Rescue
The rope stiffened
the snake crawled
The man laughed
she was rescued from it all
Lying is an art
kicked back on the couch
or in front of the judge
Save Save Save
your money honey
When the flames rise
and you want to put out the fire
be the best liar
The Winner – NO RESCUE – for you
“my shitty blog”
4mm-14mm – Fisheye – Abstract, creative – a search for truth
I would be amazed at stories, such as, Diary of a Mad Drug Fiend / Alister Crowley – taboo – I had many false starts, living in those beginnings – I thought I was at the end. And it was. Until it wasn’t. Yet another colorful, animated clip. Called life. – Tell it all – Paint a colorful vibrant, spellbinding story. Loving, violent. Gut wrenching, ethereal.
In Black and White.
I was recently asked where am I going to write and publish these ideas. Good question. I started this blog, which is a personal journal in 2011. And I am glad I did. I enjoy writing. It helps me to process. And I have had my share of procession and possession, pugilist, pedantic, punctual and tardy pastimes. I have written them in the moment and events long gone. Vivid memories. Faint recollections. Fights. Court battles. Deaths. Births. Surf adventures. You know every day life. Getting by through writing.
Continue reading “my shitty blog”Crabs in a Big Brown Bucket
Meet Rafa. He has lived with all of his life until last night.
We are in Costa Rica wondering exactly what happened. But really we know. It’s gonna take a while to process.
Rafa’s Dad came to live with us over twenty years ago. He was living in a man camp. And kept getting fired from all of his jobs. I met him when a man building my fence asked to hire him. When I saw how Nestor held a hammer I knew why he got fired all of the time. I took the hammer from his hand. ‘It’s OK.”
He came to live with us. He got married. He had two children. We lived here like a family. Many things have occurred. We have been through a lot together.
Rafa graduated high school and wanted to go to college. I believe Rafa is an exceptional person with a high I Q.
His parents refuse to let him attend the University. We offered to pay for his tuition. He is now working as a laborer. He is now a laborer who belongs in academia. He wants to be in academia. I didn’t make this up for him.
His parents have moved to a Nicaraguan “hood”.
There is much racism here in Costa Rica. The general consensus is Nicas are not smart. Drunks. The women are loose. And they will never get anywhere. I have experienced a lot of racism dumped on this kid. And now I have seen it dumped on him by his own parents.
Unbelievable. They sincerely believe he needs to stay out of school. No education for Rafa.
Continue reading Crabs in a Big Brown Bucket