the sadness of history
now i mary eng cannot be presumed to be more honest than any of the other liars out there lying their way to infamy and power.
when thorhammer ruled, i might be bunkered in a WC contemplating cutting my hair or something else self-destructive.
male violence, or female violence become inextricable, as the gender binaries fade.
other people's misfortunes sound greater than my own.
i escape the horrors of 54 hours ago relatively unscathed.
permanent hearing damage from being screamed at by my dear friend?
a severe concussion when he nailed my left temple with his backpack.
if i enumerated every chaotic dangerous thing that has happened and begged the question, why no one cares, i know the answer already: we are in america.
the Violence Against Women Act doesn't apply to me, because i am in Oregon, which is only sort of in the USA.
is there a Violence Against Amorphously Gendered Persons Act as well?
we are in america and no one cares he smashes a wooden door off the door jamb at me.
threatened to smash a mirror.
threatened to zip my fingers up in his hoodie.
grab my car keys.
hot wire my car.
told me i was like the woman who was killed, or her killer.
we are in america and no one cares he attempts to barricade me in a room.
we are in america and no one cares he unplugs my computer as i search for police non emergency number.
we are in america and no one cares i've called multnomah crisis line 50 times or more. and they don't care.
we are in america and no one cares he slammed the door on Monday, Wednesday.
we are in america and no one cares he smashed a windshield.
slammed the pizza. threw the jars of jam, shattering glass. slammed the hot tea everywhere, cursing.
we are in america and no one cares he threatened to break the house windows.
we are in america and no one cares he threatened suicide off the cliff of cape disappointment.
we are in america and no one cares he threatened to scream until police come. over and again.
we are in america and no one cares he berates me over the telephone on delusional fake 911 calls.
we are in america and no one cares he threatened to call police on me for despairing when he abuses me.
we are in america and no one care he broke in my window. broke the door down. locked me out.
we are in america and no one cares he follows me every time i leave him.
we are in america and no one cares he smashed a picture frame at me.
we are in america and no one cares he held a bottle over my head.
we are in america and no one cares he cracked his belt at me.
we are in america and no one cares he waved a knife at me.
we are in america and no one cares he walks the streets at night deranged.
we are in america and no one cares he is assaulted frequently by people he picks fights with.
we are in america and no one cares he jumps out a second story window.
we are in america and no one cares he runs into traffic as if to kill himself. over and again.
we are in america and no one cares he is blind in one eye, and so braindamaged as to continue on thusly.
this just goes on and on.
i cared, but was overpowered by the grief. the spectacle of inaction. other people's malaise.
they are so busy cashing their own government checks, pretending everything is fine.
i am overwhelmed by my own cruelty to terminate the contract.
overwhelmed by everything i have learned.
overwhelmed by my own propensity to love, compensate, conceal, enable.
overwhelmed by the poverty, child abuse, domestic violence, drug culture, and medical system, and social security culture which gives rise to american subsistence third-world dynamics.
the people in 1500 dollar condos in downtown Portland act as if the Meth Apocalypse doesn't await them around every country road.
the depression has not fared poor people so well here.
as more and more of us are priced out of the city---a culture clash will ensue in which the overeducated poor will meet the undereducated poor.
class warfare begins at home.
if this is what we now call civilization, help me, dear Washington D. C. understand my way around the squalor, the suicides, the meth pipes, the sexual predators, and the good christian misogynists who don't beat their women, but merely scream at them all day long.
if the cokey methheads of california moved up the coast, bringing their Child Protection Services kids out of the clutches of foster family---into the ultra-wilderness of rural child abuse in Washington, forbid me from blaming the State of California for the BLINDING of Benjamen Pickering.
If the State of California's Child Protection Services had stuck to their guns about the CHILD REMOVAL project, the beating of the children over the head with hair spray bottles, or lysol cans, in the hotel of California----might have induced less maiming disability already before it got to the level of skull fracture and blinding.
he told me he remembers he might have been pushed.
he always wondered if one of the other kids was trying to hurt him.
but the motley chaos of America's patchwork jurisdiction, leaves career criminals jurisdiction hopping as a way of life.
and the Child Abuse Victims were taken by their abusers to the dreadful hell of Washington State, to start all over, isolate, and intensify the abuse.
and the wreckage i experience, is the fruit of their labor. and the rapist grandfather's demon inhabits the generations.
no exorcism can dispel the terror.
his father spoke of a contract murderer to bring the rapist grandfather's head in a bag.
another method arrived instead.
was a restraining order set to backfire?
ila rose of the DA's office warned me against Mayhem. but i feared the retraining order might escalate the violence?
am i free now?
or will i always watch my back?
when are women safe?
jaime larson's brother wrote me yesterday.
the killer was sentenced.
her killing haunts me through my years and days.
i have survived another two years in dubious circumstances.
my head hurts less, but still a lot.
i am too sensitive to be abused by men, or manarchists, or trailer trash, or gutter punks.
there is something beautiful about all humans.
i can't bear to be insulted by the professor's rich son either.
trash exists in every echelon.
i stepped out of the internet to exist in three dimensions.
i do not like the real world, and would like to come back to the ethereal worlds.
i have turned off my phone, because i do not want to be harassed.
the woman must have the phone to call for help in the event of being attacked.
but the woman will be stalked to infinity by telephony, etc.
all the years of NO CELL PHONE here and there---i walked through worlds less scathed by the constant demoralizing tethering---the put-downs, the obsessions.
three days after i met that other poor fellow---he was scolding me over skype about a relationship we didn't have.
sometimes i am amused by other people's delusions. sometimes i want to help them.
sometimes i shut the door.
i feel like a rich lady with too many boxes of tea and not enough love.
i never wanted the slightest material gain so much as i wanted love.
i could be happy in a cardboard box tonight, with someone sweet and kind.
but sweetness is nowhere and kindness is out of style.
machismo has made it up the coast from Texas, and the Texas of the North houses one more man som hatar kvinnor.
it's not enough to simply not beat your woman.
until women are treated with kindness, grace, or elegance---i expect humans to go extinct were it not for all the rapists.
women stand your ground.
seattle crisis helped me get this phrase "this man"
you have done a lot for "this man"
you are compassionate for "this man"
but ultimately what are you going to do to stay safe?
it was nice to see biancini. he didn't look surprised.
god it could have been worse.
i have been crushed to the ground and had my head kicked and stomped by a man. how dare they ask anything more of me ever.
i was the bisexual dating the bisexual. and his hetero tyrant wanted to suppress the last shred of femininity in me down.
what a joke.
when he came out, after six months, it was no surprise.
but the chains of christian homophobia have a shackling effect.
it's ever so brokeback mountain everyday here.
and i am the only gay-friendly influence---the safety zone----and somehow getting stereotyped as the abused woman here.
it's just more complicated to have hetero relationships between a bisexual male and a bisexual female.
there is always too much going on mentally and in gender role play.
every bisexual man i have ever dated has also been my gay best friend at times, in ways.
not to mention all the many incompatible mental illnesses trying to coexist under one roof.
i'd do well to leave it alone, and stop falling in love so easily.
i would say: his intermittent explosive disorder is incompatible with my post traumatic stress disorder.
his constant verbose mania is incompatible with my depressive quietism.
his possessive jealousy is incompatible with my free thinking.
his masculine dominance thing is incompatible with my feminism.
his screaming at me offends my sense of peace.
his screaming at me violates my inner jainism.
his constant destruction of property offends my jainist spiritual sense.
---
now beauty does have a way of twisting your arm behind your back, doesn't it?
at the end of the day---i admit that i am just the most superficial aesthete---and was such the sucker for his beauty---i'd tolerate almost anything.
almost anything < smashing mother's car windshield.
now: world: go and be free.
i accept the joy of our many photography and film and dance projects.
may never have again so intimate a muse, or so passionate a love.
will there ever be a stability: through medication or meditation?
i am very very wary.
is there a men's studies program?
or such a thing as a Domestic Violence rehabilitation program?
there should be.
but thirty years of culture is hard to erase in a day.
while i rarely disagreed with my dad---i did sometimes quietly think to myself what was silly about his belief system, or how he was subtly shaped by 1950's sexism.
overall, he was most encouraging of women, and incredibly civilized compared with average american barbarian men.
my brother #1 accuses him of exploiting my workaholic mother.
i don't think he could stop her. from working, or from having too many children.
surely, we should have had a better domestic life.
but i do value the harmony around father whose mantras "never raise your voice" and "never say an unkind word" and "never judge. there is always more information" would be carved in the marble of my mind---in the memories of his inner office sanctum, by the typewriter, where i blared frank sinatra as i worked on his research files.
it is sad that i write this history: the sadness of history, when others who have no writing have untold stories.
but as they say we all must "speak our truth."
when thorhammer ruled, i might be bunkered in a WC contemplating cutting my hair or something else self-destructive.
male violence, or female violence become inextricable, as the gender binaries fade.
other people's misfortunes sound greater than my own.
i escape the horrors of 54 hours ago relatively unscathed.
permanent hearing damage from being screamed at by my dear friend?
a severe concussion when he nailed my left temple with his backpack.
if i enumerated every chaotic dangerous thing that has happened and begged the question, why no one cares, i know the answer already: we are in america.
the Violence Against Women Act doesn't apply to me, because i am in Oregon, which is only sort of in the USA.
is there a Violence Against Amorphously Gendered Persons Act as well?
we are in america and no one cares he smashes a wooden door off the door jamb at me.
threatened to smash a mirror.
threatened to zip my fingers up in his hoodie.
grab my car keys.
hot wire my car.
told me i was like the woman who was killed, or her killer.
we are in america and no one cares he attempts to barricade me in a room.
we are in america and no one cares he unplugs my computer as i search for police non emergency number.
we are in america and no one cares i've called multnomah crisis line 50 times or more. and they don't care.
we are in america and no one cares he slammed the door on Monday, Wednesday.
we are in america and no one cares he smashed a windshield.
slammed the pizza. threw the jars of jam, shattering glass. slammed the hot tea everywhere, cursing.
we are in america and no one cares he threatened to break the house windows.
we are in america and no one cares he threatened suicide off the cliff of cape disappointment.
we are in america and no one cares he threatened to scream until police come. over and again.
we are in america and no one cares he berates me over the telephone on delusional fake 911 calls.
we are in america and no one cares he threatened to call police on me for despairing when he abuses me.
we are in america and no one care he broke in my window. broke the door down. locked me out.
we are in america and no one cares he follows me every time i leave him.
we are in america and no one cares he smashed a picture frame at me.
we are in america and no one cares he held a bottle over my head.
we are in america and no one cares he cracked his belt at me.
we are in america and no one cares he waved a knife at me.
we are in america and no one cares he walks the streets at night deranged.
we are in america and no one cares he is assaulted frequently by people he picks fights with.
we are in america and no one cares he jumps out a second story window.
we are in america and no one cares he runs into traffic as if to kill himself. over and again.
we are in america and no one cares he is blind in one eye, and so braindamaged as to continue on thusly.
this just goes on and on.
i cared, but was overpowered by the grief. the spectacle of inaction. other people's malaise.
they are so busy cashing their own government checks, pretending everything is fine.
i am overwhelmed by my own cruelty to terminate the contract.
overwhelmed by everything i have learned.
overwhelmed by my own propensity to love, compensate, conceal, enable.
overwhelmed by the poverty, child abuse, domestic violence, drug culture, and medical system, and social security culture which gives rise to american subsistence third-world dynamics.
the people in 1500 dollar condos in downtown Portland act as if the Meth Apocalypse doesn't await them around every country road.
the depression has not fared poor people so well here.
as more and more of us are priced out of the city---a culture clash will ensue in which the overeducated poor will meet the undereducated poor.
class warfare begins at home.
if this is what we now call civilization, help me, dear Washington D. C. understand my way around the squalor, the suicides, the meth pipes, the sexual predators, and the good christian misogynists who don't beat their women, but merely scream at them all day long.
if the cokey methheads of california moved up the coast, bringing their Child Protection Services kids out of the clutches of foster family---into the ultra-wilderness of rural child abuse in Washington, forbid me from blaming the State of California for the BLINDING of Benjamen Pickering.
If the State of California's Child Protection Services had stuck to their guns about the CHILD REMOVAL project, the beating of the children over the head with hair spray bottles, or lysol cans, in the hotel of California----might have induced less maiming disability already before it got to the level of skull fracture and blinding.
he told me he remembers he might have been pushed.
he always wondered if one of the other kids was trying to hurt him.
but the motley chaos of America's patchwork jurisdiction, leaves career criminals jurisdiction hopping as a way of life.
and the Child Abuse Victims were taken by their abusers to the dreadful hell of Washington State, to start all over, isolate, and intensify the abuse.
and the wreckage i experience, is the fruit of their labor. and the rapist grandfather's demon inhabits the generations.
no exorcism can dispel the terror.
his father spoke of a contract murderer to bring the rapist grandfather's head in a bag.
another method arrived instead.
was a restraining order set to backfire?
ila rose of the DA's office warned me against Mayhem. but i feared the retraining order might escalate the violence?
am i free now?
or will i always watch my back?
when are women safe?
jaime larson's brother wrote me yesterday.
the killer was sentenced.
her killing haunts me through my years and days.
i have survived another two years in dubious circumstances.
my head hurts less, but still a lot.
i am too sensitive to be abused by men, or manarchists, or trailer trash, or gutter punks.
there is something beautiful about all humans.
i can't bear to be insulted by the professor's rich son either.
trash exists in every echelon.
i stepped out of the internet to exist in three dimensions.
i do not like the real world, and would like to come back to the ethereal worlds.
i have turned off my phone, because i do not want to be harassed.
the woman must have the phone to call for help in the event of being attacked.
but the woman will be stalked to infinity by telephony, etc.
all the years of NO CELL PHONE here and there---i walked through worlds less scathed by the constant demoralizing tethering---the put-downs, the obsessions.
three days after i met that other poor fellow---he was scolding me over skype about a relationship we didn't have.
sometimes i am amused by other people's delusions. sometimes i want to help them.
sometimes i shut the door.
i feel like a rich lady with too many boxes of tea and not enough love.
i never wanted the slightest material gain so much as i wanted love.
i could be happy in a cardboard box tonight, with someone sweet and kind.
but sweetness is nowhere and kindness is out of style.
machismo has made it up the coast from Texas, and the Texas of the North houses one more man som hatar kvinnor.
it's not enough to simply not beat your woman.
until women are treated with kindness, grace, or elegance---i expect humans to go extinct were it not for all the rapists.
women stand your ground.
seattle crisis helped me get this phrase "this man"
you have done a lot for "this man"
you are compassionate for "this man"
but ultimately what are you going to do to stay safe?
it was nice to see biancini. he didn't look surprised.
god it could have been worse.
i have been crushed to the ground and had my head kicked and stomped by a man. how dare they ask anything more of me ever.
i was the bisexual dating the bisexual. and his hetero tyrant wanted to suppress the last shred of femininity in me down.
what a joke.
when he came out, after six months, it was no surprise.
but the chains of christian homophobia have a shackling effect.
it's ever so brokeback mountain everyday here.
and i am the only gay-friendly influence---the safety zone----and somehow getting stereotyped as the abused woman here.
it's just more complicated to have hetero relationships between a bisexual male and a bisexual female.
there is always too much going on mentally and in gender role play.
every bisexual man i have ever dated has also been my gay best friend at times, in ways.
not to mention all the many incompatible mental illnesses trying to coexist under one roof.
i'd do well to leave it alone, and stop falling in love so easily.
i would say: his intermittent explosive disorder is incompatible with my post traumatic stress disorder.
his constant verbose mania is incompatible with my depressive quietism.
his possessive jealousy is incompatible with my free thinking.
his masculine dominance thing is incompatible with my feminism.
his screaming at me offends my sense of peace.
his screaming at me violates my inner jainism.
his constant destruction of property offends my jainist spiritual sense.
---
now beauty does have a way of twisting your arm behind your back, doesn't it?
at the end of the day---i admit that i am just the most superficial aesthete---and was such the sucker for his beauty---i'd tolerate almost anything.
almost anything < smashing mother's car windshield.
now: world: go and be free.
i accept the joy of our many photography and film and dance projects.
may never have again so intimate a muse, or so passionate a love.
will there ever be a stability: through medication or meditation?
i am very very wary.
is there a men's studies program?
or such a thing as a Domestic Violence rehabilitation program?
there should be.
but thirty years of culture is hard to erase in a day.
while i rarely disagreed with my dad---i did sometimes quietly think to myself what was silly about his belief system, or how he was subtly shaped by 1950's sexism.
overall, he was most encouraging of women, and incredibly civilized compared with average american barbarian men.
my brother #1 accuses him of exploiting my workaholic mother.
i don't think he could stop her. from working, or from having too many children.
surely, we should have had a better domestic life.
but i do value the harmony around father whose mantras "never raise your voice" and "never say an unkind word" and "never judge. there is always more information" would be carved in the marble of my mind---in the memories of his inner office sanctum, by the typewriter, where i blared frank sinatra as i worked on his research files.
it is sad that i write this history: the sadness of history, when others who have no writing have untold stories.
but as they say we all must "speak our truth."
Comments
Post a Comment