Tuesday, September 30, 2014

"Thrown Away. Ignored. Forgotten."*

Whoo. I need to just sit here for a minute and stop shaking. I've just been on an emotional roller coaster after reading, 'Finding Me,' by Michelle Knight, one of the young women held captive for eleven years by a madman, one she called, "Dude," because to her he did not deserve a name.

She went through hell, readers. She was the first of Dude's (Ariel Castro) victims. Knight does not get too graphic. She doesn't have to because what she describes is so horrifying I had to put the book down several times and just breathe.

Her life was a living hell from the day she was born, but somehow she struggled and managed. She was raped (family relative/friend) as a child until she left her crazy dysfunctional home when she was fifteen. She knew Castro's daughter so one day she accepted a ride one day from "Dude."

Eleven years. Just think about that. Although there were two other women in the house, Michelle was Castro's target most of the time. Amanda Berry, who was Castro's second victim and favorite, managed to escape and call 911. And the rest of the world was introduced to the monster who held these women hostage for so long.

Yes, the book is depressing, but somehow through all the awful, awful, experiences Knight went through she seems to have come away with a positive attitude. Knight did have help writing this book although Knight relays her traumatic personal past as more of a child than a woman in her twenties. Her story is simply written. It's not surprising given her past family history where she missed so much school because she had to care for siblings and cousins. She has not gotten in touch with her family since her release from Castro's house, which is understandable given that not one family member gave a damn when she went missing. Not one call. Not one flyer. Nothing. Even the police admit they did little in trying to find Knight.

So how does this brave woman go on after a life of brutality?

I don't know, but she is a fighter, a survivor. Knight was the only one of the three to stand before a judge and silent courtroom as Castro sat in defiance and listened as Michelle spoke and forgave him. Not for his sake, but for her own sanity.

Brava, Michelle. May your future be bright and filled with joy.

Quote by Michelle Knight, 'Finding Me.'

Monday, September 29, 2014

Rest Here for Awhile

In the Autumn of our lives, we all will come back,
Uncle Louie sings the loudest as we build another shack.
We've seen the green of envy on other side o' the fence,
it is back to our homestead, this is where we commence-
seeking shelter amongst falling stars of yellow, gold and red.
Hipsters dance under the Harvest Moon, nothing to be said.
We live each day in wonder as the mist begins to fade,
and share a glass of cider among burnt sienna's glade.
End to one more beginning, raking sad quotas as they pile,
breathe in the scent of ancient loam, we shall rest here for awhile.

Friday, September 26, 2014

Life of Brady

Forgeddabout today an' all it's troubles. Let's go back to the good old days when kids were brainwashed into thinking other families in their hood lived the life of Brady. Ha! says me. Man, that show screwed up a whole generation of kids. Now they run Congress and vote to keep same sex couples from marrying. Alice would put on her game face but inside she was crying a river of Jan tears.

 And, who let the dog out?

Paul Newman died on this day back in 2008. He sure was handsome. I think people don't give pretty actors the same respect as the ugly ones. Walter Matthau, Tommy Lee Jones probably got more awards. Who cares, eh? Newman was a cool guy and a good actor. And, very hot.

Ah, the Hollow Men- the only poem I memorized. Great for party talk. I digress, or digest that vegan meatball. Ugh. And now, presenting, T. S. Eliot. He was born on this day way back in 1888.

'We are the hollow men
    We are the stuffed men
    Leaning together
    Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
    Our dried voices, when
    We whisper together
    Are quiet and meaningless
    As wind in dry grass
    Or rats' feet over broken glass
    In our dry cellar
    Shape without form, shade without colour,
    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
    Those who have crossed
    With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
    Remember us-if at all-not as lost
    Violent souls, but only
    As the hollow men
    The stuffed men.


    Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
    In death's dream kingdom
    These do not appear:
    There, the eyes are
    Sunlight on a broken column
    There, is a tree swinging
    And voices are
    In the wind's singing
    More distant and more solemn
    Than a fading star.
    Let me be no nearer
    In death's dream kingdom
    Let me also wear
    Such deliberate disguises
    Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
    In a field
    Behaving as the wind behaves
    No nearer-
    Not that final meeting
    In the twilight kingdom


    This is the dead land
    This is cactus land
    Here the stone images
    Are raised, here they receive
    The supplication of a dead man's hand
    Under the twinkle of a fading star.
    Is it like this
    In death's other kingdom
    Waking alone
    At the hour when we are
    Trembling with tenderness
    Lips that would kiss
    Form prayers to broken stone.


    The eyes are not here
    There are no eyes here
    In this valley of dying stars
    In this hollow valley
    This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
    In this last of meeting places
    We grope together
    And avoid speech
    Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
    Sightless, unless
    The eyes reappear
    As the perpetual star
    Multifoliate rose
    Of death's twilight kingdom
    The hope only
    Of empty men.


    Here we go round the prickly pear
    Prickly pear prickly pear
    Here we go round the prickly pear
    At five o'clock in the morning.

    Between the idea
    And the reality
    Between the motion
    And the act
    Falls the Shadow
                                   For Thine is the Kingdom
    Between the conception
    And the creation
    Between the emotion
    And the response
    Falls the Shadow
                                   Life is very long
    Between the desire
    And the spasm
    Between the potency
    And the existence
    Between the essence
    And the descent
    Falls the Shadow
                                   For Thine is the Kingdom
    For Thine is
    Life is
    For Thine is the
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    Not with a bang but a whimper.
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/The-Hollow-Men#sthash.8gnd9gHg.dpuf

Speaking of Eliot- he had a nice signature. I love Queen Elizabeth, number 1's John Hancock as well.


Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Tuesday Frickin' Art Day!


This is so terrific. I'm going to try this with my Moon Pie.

*Three weeks later... Gosh, so frustrating. I've been trying to add my own artistic endeavors to my grandchild's drawing. I want to smash this mouse and Picmonkey- you suck lately.

Anyhow, this is my version. Go to the link. So much better. Still, it was fun and when I have more time and the planets align I will try again.

BTW: All the pencil drawing was done by my Moon Pie (18 months young) I saw a bee right away.


Grandchild's drawing


Phase One


Complete. Sort of.


This better?

Monday, September 22, 2014

Tigers to Bees to Elephants, Oh My!

Well, I have spent an hour and one half trying to get a post ready. Nothing is working. Blaaargh.

Were you in line to buy a new phone? Does it make your food for you, wipe your arse, anything new, better, bigger? Really, I'm still writing using IOS, Tiger.

I got stung by a bee yesterday. : ( My Moon Pie was tickling my belly, then I felt this burning sting and WTF! I guess the bee wanted to play, too. He lost.

Iron and Wine. It's one guy. Hmm... A friend recommended this and since I can't post what I wanna post this is what you get, dearies.

Watched, 'Identity Thief,' and, 'Bad Words,' over week-end. Love both actors, but both pretty bad movies.

Oh, and speaking of identity. Wisconsin now requires a picture I.D. when you go to the voting booths. I don't have a problem with that, it's just the timing. Two months before the Gubernatorial election!? Yeah, sounds like a Koch deal to me.

*Oh, and if a post shows up later today, ignore the elephant on the post.


Wednesday, September 17, 2014

I Piss on Me. Wee-wee

Dated: September 17,2014...
Gerard Depardieu, the titan of French cinema and renowned bon vivant, claims he sometimes drinks up to 14 bottles of wine a day.
Even a quintuple heart bypass operation 14 years ago does not seem to have tempered the actor's drinking, nor a serious motorcycle crash while over the legal limit.
The 65-year-old Frenchman’s fondness for wine is such that he runs his own award-winning vineyard in the Medoc.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2758988/French-actor-Gerard-Depardieu-65-admits-drinking-14-bottles-wine-day-despite-having-quintuple-heart-bypass.html#ixzz3DbKT16Tr
Follow us: @MailOnline on Twitter | DailyMail on Facebook

Dated: August,17,2011.


I am Gerard Deparieu, I shall piss on you,
I have no control of discretion or bladder,
oh be quiet, you silly girl, I am Gerard Depardieu
If I must go with the flow, what is it that is the matter?
Oui, oui, I am a star, a beloved star like Jerry Lewis,
we can piss on planes, piss of floors, and piss on you,
Do you know who I am!? The Great Cyrano de bergeriish 
and other French things, I like my croissants and vin blanc, too.
I am a bon vivant without a bottle, you wannabe me, fool.
I charm you with my crooked smile, because I am, Gerard Depardieu,
so I shall whisk it out and relieve my french tool 
I am Gerard Depardieu, therefore, I piss on you.
Wee, wee

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Ring the Buzzard for Alfresco Dining

Death. It's a touchy subject. Some people prefer not to think about it. Many try to make the inevitable easier on their sensitive selves by believing there is something beyond, and better than this vast Universe.

Hmm.. Perhaps. I choose to believe this is it and you better enjoy every moment. Seriously, this, what we have now is quite amazing. But, I wouldn't mind locating to another dimension or what may be beyond.

I pondered on this subject after I had read, 'Stiff,' written by, Mary Roach. She wanted to know what happens to cadavers after their lights went out. Oooh, I love this kind of stuff! Yes, it's a tad gruesome - mostly because people are afraid to face the grim reality of nothingness. She writes of alternatives to the traditional burial. You know, casket, embalming, rods, fluids, stinky flowers, muzak... Going out that way never seemed that ideal to me.

My preference would be to be tossed upon a Himalayan yak (sky burial) and let the buzzards have at it. Reality must win over. It won't happen, but their are some other alternatives I find quite interesting.

Don't cringe. Face the reaper. Help out the planet a bit as well.

Roach writes about Susanne Wiigh-Masak, who runs Promessa. here you can be freeze-dried, then your bones are crushed and used as mulch. Stiff was written in 2003, and Promessa still ahs not had it's first customer. It may not happen, but don't despair- there are plenty of other ways to rid oneself of a body.

You could be part of a reef. Your cremains will be mixed with cement and lovely little sea creatures will use you as a home. Very nice.

You could be liquefied. Not sure what they do with that liquid, though.

How about going into outer space? Totally cool. For $3,000, Celetis will shoot (it won't hurt a bit) you into orbit where you will be forever dazzled. (Not really, cause your dead)

Old school mummification? No thanks.

Oh, and this one- Plastination. It's tough looking at these plasticized humans, especially pregnant women. I don't think I want strangers looking at my body (although I had no trouble with that in the late 70's (Rah-rah) It's fascinating, but icky.

But, hey, many choices. Greener, cleaner, cooler.