Remember when you wrote down the first thought you had this morning? Great. Now write a post about it.

Oh God, what time is it? Is it time to get up? I hope you aren’t mad at me God for how I acted yesterday….Good Morning, or afternoon…

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Murphy’s Law says, “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.” Write about a time everything did — fiction encouraged here, too!

Try my life. Everything did go wrong (see last post) by the time I was 16. By the time I was in my early 20s I was just getting it back together. I was back in college getting good grades for the first time since, um, middle school? I had a major as well. It was the end of my junior year I first noticed the perps. I was out at a restaurant doing my homework and writing to pen pals as I did usually because I felt I got more done in a restaurant than at home for some reason. I got up to leave and paid and noticed a whole table full of adults much older than I was staring at me in a weird clinical way like they were OBSERVING me. I freaked out a bit but forgot it.  That was in November of 1987.  Reagan was president.  25 years ago.

A few months later the rude treatment began and about 3 years later my gangstalking was in full swing with perps everywhere I went. I always heard the voices but they got much worse in 1995. Every year since it started, my stalking, harassment and voices have gotten worse.

Even if I do not leave the house I get almost nonstop voice to skull and mindreading–even in the shower. As a matter of fact they like it if I don’t leave home so they can intensify their effects on me to the point I go crazy. Every morning, I get voice to skull saying “you are staying home today. We won’t let you leave.”

No one has stopped me yet but who would protect me if they did imprison me?

The Rabbi,or, Post 119

Or, you are only as Sick as your Secrets

1 Samuel 26:19

Or, the Post that could get me killed

 A.  Come with me back in time back to when I was a child growing up in Suburbia with a housewife mom, a 9 to 5 dad, wood paneled den and 2 battleships for family cars, one new, and bigger than the old one.  It was 1977.  We were not rich, nor poor.  We had enough.  That was enough, then.

B.  We had 1 huge white square dial phone, a avocado green “slimline” phone and a “modern” looking “wall unit” that the architect of our home (we had an original home not a tract home) had installed in the 1960s.  We had no microwave, watched black and white TV on 5 stations (one PBS) and had avocado green shag carpeting.  I was 11 and my sister was 8.  I had flat feet, wore glasses full time, and was all elbows at that awkward age between childhood and adolescence.  Just a typical Midwestern childhood?  Well, maybe not.  We were Jewish, for one.

C.  We had just changed synagogues the year before. My parents did not like the rabbi at our present synagogue or that fact that the synagogue seemed more Orthodox than Conservative in that women were considered second class citizens.  I had been yelled at by an old timer at the old “shul” for playing with spare change on the sidewalk on the Sabbath.  Plus, the services lasted forever.  My mother never attended.  Of course, I was getting picked on in cheder (Hebrew School).  My troubles started early.

D.  Back in 1975 or 1976, another Jewish girl in my class at public school told me about the synagogue she went to and said the kids were nicer there.  I went home and told my mother about it and my parents looked into it.  The synagogue had a more relaxed attitude towards women and girls–they were allowed to read Torah in the congregation and were called up frequently.  So, with my parents’ OK, we changed synagogues.  My Grandparents already went there, so the transition was smooth.  In those days my grandfather was already suffering the ravages of Alzheimer’s disease, which would ruin the life of my Grandmother for the next few years.  I was a kid, and not that concerned–what did I know?

E.  What I didn’t know is that what would happen at that synagogue and what would happen to me over the next two years would probably ruin my life forever.

F.  First of all, the kids were WORSE at the new cheder, including the girl that led me there in the first place.  I never forgave her for this even though I should.  She would try to nicey nice herself up to me in shul years later even unti the 1990s and I would never give her any attention.  By the Spring of 1977, towards the end of the year, I had had enough and complained to my parents who complained to the school.  It even went all the way up to the rabbi at this small shul.  There was a lot of talk and tears, but no one did anything, not even the rabbi.  I still remember him sitting in his chair in the office impassively.  No one would volunteer to “talk to” the offending kids nor protect me from them long enough to get my Bat Mitzvah or even more, my confirmation, at age 15.  I dropped out.  Of cheder.  At age 11, the year before the bnai Mitzvah preparation.  Now I belonged nowhere.  The kids at public school were just starting to mature and enter early adolescence (we call it tweenhood) and I wasn’t, at least mentally.  The girls in cheder were preparing for their Bat Mitzvahs, I wasn’t.  I drifted.  I started to notice how odd my Grandfather was acting and I was disturbed.  My Grandmother, usually full of good cheer, was tired and sad.

G.  Weird things (the usual stuff) were happening to my body.  I grew up and out.  I looked much older than I was literally overnight.  I did not feel much older inside.

H.  In the Fall of 1977 I decided to fast “like the other girls” even though I was not destined for a Bat Mitzvah.  I got through the fast OK with one small slip.  After that, the school year progressed as usual–the normal round of weekdays, weekends, holidays, Sabbaths went on in their stultifying banality except for Grandpa getting worse and worse.  It was my first year of Middle School.  I went from having to 2-4 friends in 6th grade to 0 friends in 7th grade.  I liked a boy and made the mistake of telling him and he brought out what seemed to be 1/2 the 7th grade class to make fun of me over it.  Nowadays, a girl would cut herself, get an eating disorder, or kill herself on the Internet.  I just coped. (Sort of).

I.  Life, for me, was chaos by Spring 1978.  My body had betrayed me.  My mother kept calling me names about my newly developed buttocks and thighs.  My pediatrician made a crack about my body during an exam.  Clothes would gap 3 inches at the waist and be tight in the butt.  I felt ugly as hell.  I had glasses and buck teeth and now a fat ass, fat thighs and small boobs.  I felt like a MONSTER.  I was merely pear shaped but never heard of that.  I had no friends at public school and now my former classmates at cheder were turning 13 one by one and having Bar and Bat Mitzvahs.  Girls and boys started “going out” together.  There were talks in the halls of parties.  My harassment at public school was worse than ever.  I had no one.  Then, one day, my life changed again.  This time it was MUCH worse.

J.  It was a day in late April–it must have been a weekend or a 1/2 day because I was outside in the field behind our house.  It was warm and sunny instead of snowing.  The sun shone its golden light as I walked from plant to plant popping early wheat kernels into my mouth.  I felt happy, carefree.  There were no mean kids, angry parents, or crazy Grandpas out here.  The sun finally got a little too hot.  I walked slowly home, over the neighbors fence, across the grass smelling of Spring, crossed the street and went into the unlocked back door.  I took a large glass of OJ since in those days my mother forbade soda, and sat down on our black leather couch in the wood paneled den.  The room was shady and cool compared to the golden paradise outside.  I picked up one of my mother’s Time magazines and opened it.  My life changed forever.  That day was the last day of my life on Earth as I knew it.

K.  I turned the page and before me was the man I thought I would marry.  It was an article on a rock group.  I read the article and the band became a part of my life forever.  If I could go back in time, I would have chucked the magazine in the fireplace, found some matches on top of the fridge, and burned it, but young and naive as I was, I had NO idea what I was getting into.

L.  After that day more and more of my time was spent thinking of the group.  I collected magazine articles and records of theirs.  Soon ALL my free time was spent in my room thinking of them especially HIM.  I learned a new trick–to live inside of my head.  I guess it is now called dissociation.  I would listen to the radio or our old record player that had FOUR speeds (what was speed 16 for?) and the world fell away.  I was not in my body.  I was there, with them, living inside millions of little dramas I created in my head.  It became real.  A parental knock on the door or the clop of my dad’s shoes in the hall sent me reeling back to Earth, my life, and all its ugliness.  It was like falling out of the sky to Earth.  I had an experience of this as late as 2010.

M.  I thought of the group night and day.  I started to hear voices, started to have ideas about this one and that one in the group.  “My” guy was the hero, while the “other” guy was the zero trying to literally take him out.  The other guys were bit players.  The voices told me my group was a “consolation prize” for not getting the Bat Mitzvah.  The voices always sounded like older adult men.  “They” told me to “grow” my obsession for the band and “make it a big thing”.  The worse life got on the outside the more I lived in my head.  Were the voices early V2k?  Witchcraft?  Was I already a target?

N.  I would scour magazine racks in stores for articles on them.  If they were to be on TV I would feel sick and anxious the whole week before.  Nights I would hug the pillow and imagine it was HIM.  I would dream walking in an open field and he would call out to me.  I would dream of being in outer space in a space capsule “searching” for him hearing the old song “Wishing on a Star” in the background.  Milestone after milestone passed as I grew into adolescence, and every time I missed something, my fantasy life and overeating became the “payment” to kill the sting.

O.  People in “real life” became less important to me, dealing in the “real world” became painful and was to be avoided as much as possible.  Life was in my head, real people with all their rejection of me became GHOSTS.  Anyone who acted like they liked me was only feeling sorry for me:  I loathed them.  My schoolwork began to lag:  people who thought I would turn out brilliant now thought I’d only be ordinary.  I saw my first shrink in 9th grade.  At 15, I overheard my parents say right in front of me at a food court of all places, that they were going to give all their attention to my sister from now on.  They had already been giving her all their love and me none.  For that, I ran away for the first time.  Still, I lived in my head.

P.  The year before, my Grandpa, then a Great Uncle, then Grandma’s dog died.  I was miserable.  I read the book “When Bad Things Happen to Good People”.  I did not understand it.  Only the rock group mattered.  I experimented with promiscuity and stopped.  I hope all the men who tried and sometimes succeeded in picking me up then are all dead or rotting in Hell.  They were nothing.  Only the group mattered.  After I came back from my first run, things got worse.  My parents took me to a new shrink who prescribed pills that sunk me so low I attempted suicide.  The hospital saga began which predates the journal.  My aunt gave me that blank book never thinking it would make it around the world on the Internet one day.  (I had it on my old blog.)  For a little while I tried to give up the “friends” in my head by attending a support group but came running back to them after a particularly bad day when I was an inmate in the hospital.  I literally said to them in my head “I need you, it’s too hard”  It was like returning to a lover.  After being locked up like a criminal for months I ran away from the hospital on pass.  By 16, I had dropped out of school, had slept with strange men, tried drugs, alcohol, and started smoking.

Q.  After a 3 week run, I came back home and saw my life for the first time.  Some miracle (from God) prevented me from having to go back to that hospital.  I was a wreck.  What happened?  Where had it all started?  In that synagogue.  In that rabbi’s office.  I must take some “credit” as well.  The rabbi who didn’t care whether I dropped out of cheder or not.  I was DETERMINED to go back to that rabbi to claim what was “mine”–my Bat Mitzvah.  The rabbi did not seem to be that excited.  He handed me a book on Baal Teshuvot, or those who come back, much like coming back to Christ after backsliding for Jews.  He told me to read it and tell him what I thought.  Because of all the years of fantasy dissociation, my reading level had slipped and I barely understood the concept of the book.  When I reported back to him he was less than impressed.  I wasn’t going to get that Bat Mitzvah. even though I’d see 30 and 40-year-old women get theirs on some Saturdays when I’d go with Grandma to shul.  After the service, I’d eat the milche tuna salad and pastries for Kiddush and go home and disappear back into my REAL life, the band.

R.  In 1983, during a run, I went very far.  I met some of the band.  I wrote down the experience, but shredded it in a perp-based fear cycle probably in the early 1990s.  At that time I gave away all my albums, articles, etc…of the band.  When I came home, (which I always did) for some unfathomable reason, I still did the fantasies.  I decided to get serious with my life on the real plane, at least.  I was almost 18.  I got a GED and had high enough scores to get into community college.  Once I got in, my grades fizzled to nothing.  My years of dissociation PLUS the entire year of High School I missed made me too slow and stupid for the work.  I became pen pals with other fans of “my” group for the first time.  For some reason, they “loved” the “bad guy” in the group and dismissed my “hero”.  I decided to let bygones be bygones and “like” the “bad guy” whilst still “loving” my “hero”.  I dropped out of college and worked a variety of low paying jobs and even moved to the city where the band lived for a very short time.  I met my “hero” at last.  He was attractive but I felt “rejected” by him.

S.  Meanwhile, at home, trouble had been brewing at the synagogue.  The rabbi and his wife wanted to build a new shul on the rich side of town and the members did not see why it was necessary.  A mini war ensued.  My Grandma, who was all excited to be invited to a “special” luncheon by the Rebbetzin (rabbi’s wife) came home enraged to find out it was about the building fund, and that she had been “handpicked” to make a DONATION for the fund.  When I went to the shul (more and more seldom as the years went on) I would walk the hall down the outside of the Social Hall to look sadly at the picture of “my” Confirmation Class.  I would start at the photo of the first confirmation class way back when with a picture of a strange rabbi I did not know go through to my class then on to the newest picture.  It was a sad ritual I did every time I went to shul.  Finally, the building war came to a head, and the rabbi decided to leave.  I went with Grandma to “see him off” at an evening service and reception.  After the service the congregation stood in line to say their personal goodbyes.  I stood in line and watched as people hugged him, shook his hand, blessed him…my turn had come.  I looked the rabbi in the face and said, “YOU’D BETTER WATCH OUT”, yes, I said it.  I insulted and threatened a man of the cloth.  I committed a huge faux pas and sin.  My anger had come out.  Nowadays, I would have been escorted out by security or even arrested, but the rabbi merely chose to act like I did not say anything at all.

T.  Thru the “magic” of Google I found out he went on to another shul to live and thrive and finally retire.  One of his children is a rabbi.  He himself is a sought after teacher and speaker to this day even though he is quite old.  He lives but 100 miles away from where my band used to live as I continue to rot up here in perp hell.  God did NOT punish him for denying me a rite of passage–but He and the perps got me!!!

U.  The next year, my gangstalking began and the year after that, my life fell apart (again).  A new rabbi came, got into a scandal with a woman, and left.  His successor arrived and is still there to this day.  The old small building still stands.  The congregation stays small.  I used to go on the bus and walk by my Grandma’s house and the shul from time to time but no more.  The nightmares of my Grandpa running senile and crazed in Grandma’s house lasted years.  I still dream of being by the shul or standing on the hill to the south of it to this day.  I still dream of being in that office.  The place haunts me.  The last time I was inside the building was Yom Kippur 1996.  The current rabbi was there.  He was the one who had to scramble up a funeral service for my atheistic mother.

V.  What happened that day at 11?  What did the rabbi see in me?  Why did he still reject me at 17 instead of compassionately mentoring me to make my parents proud?  Did he see evil in me?  Is there evil in me?  Am I evil?  Is my Christianity that I converted to an empty profession?  Am I batting for the wrong team?  Would I do better on the “other side”?  Could I have the things I always wanted?  After all the perps keep saying  I lost my Salvation.  My hero is dead.  I still fight the fantasies.  They are harder to kick  than crack.

W.  Nowadays, Bar and Bat Mitzvahs are merely a show of money and glitz.  I almost had a nervous breakdown whilst dying laughing to see that dogs and cats have bark and meow Mitzvahs!!!  My cat can get a Bat Mitzvah and I can’t!!!!!  That’s very funny, Jesus.

X.  As a weird aside, my sister, who no longer speaks to me, had the best Bat Mitzvah the shul had in its history.  Later, probably in the mid 1990s, the rabbi came back to town to meet some of his old students.  My sister went.  He did not REMEMBER her–the perfect one, the LOVED one.  Was it his very underhanded way of saying “sorry” to me for what happened?  Poetic justice?  Brain fart?  I’ll never know.  The next to last time I attended a synagogue service was Yom Kippur 2007.  All the congregation were in on perping me.  The whispers and looks went on all day.  Later, it seemed OBVIOUS that the congregants were PROUD THEY HAD FASTED.  They were “super fasters” they had “made it”.  They had fasted a DAY.  The crafty and wise rabbi there DELIBERATELY ran the service a mere 1/2 hour over the end fast mark whilst watching them madly scramble at their watches.  I could have died laughing.  The rabboni had outfoxed the Pharisees.

Y.  I relate another anecdote–it was probably 1979–of the rabbi featured in this post.  He once GAVE IT to our congregation on the “break the fast” matter.  The “official” end time to fasting had come and people had started to wander back to the Social Hall to get juice and cookies before going home to a big meal.  The Maariv, or Evening Service, still needed to be recited.  He gave an impromptu sermon on starting off the New Year right by staying put thru the last 10 minutes of the day-long service.  He kicked their asses, figuratively.  For some very strange reason, at 14, I was proud of him that day standing up to all of them.  I learned the difference between real religion and hypocrisy.

Z.  In my lean years before I got benefits, about 1998, I got a temp one day gig as a food prepper/banquet server.  It was at a local synagogue.  It was the only position my father ever got me.  Turns out it was a Bat Mitzvah of a profoundly retarded/autistic? girl.  As we waited to serve the banquet, it was related over the loudspeaker to the congregation that the girl had just injured her mother a few days before.  I think she bit her and broke her arm–but the show must go on with the mother showing up in a sling and stitches.  The retarded/autistic girl had several rabbis COLLABORATING on how to get this girl her rite of passage.  One of the rabbis on the panel was GUESS WHO???  Why me?

P.S.  Since I have written this I have found out the Rabbi has passed on.  Three days after my “hero” did.  More weird.

“And they lived happily ever after.” Think about this line for a few minutes. Are you living happily ever after? If not, what will it take for you to get there?”

I hate, hate, hate this daily prompt. I am NOT living happily ever after. I have the polar OPPOSITE of everything I ever wanted: Independence, love, health, attractiveness, and FREEDOM, FREEDOM, FREEDOM. What would it take to get there??? A worm hole. One that leads to another galaxy that the perp manipulators and the govt style perps have NO TECH to access. The only place a ti could safely start over is in another galaxy OR if the records of their birth were completely extirpated and they moved their spirit into the life of another human being that was dying (a walk on), or, perhaps if the ti’s life were extirpated and their spirit was able to move back into time about a century or more to live a more simplistic life. Still that ti would have to keep their head over their shoulders at all times since the people who run these programs are expert in the occult and technology and are able to time travel. PLUS, the personality traits that get one targetted would either have to be hidden or the target would have to retire into a very isolated lifestyle where the “good old boys” who run these programs do not go.  A target is a target for a reason and the reason is spiritual and the evil ones can smell the people on the other side coming a thousand miles away.

Clichés become clichés for a reason. Tell us about the last time a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush for you.

I thought it over and there was never a time in my life when I had such abundance and choice to actually HAVE something and have TWO OTHER choices to mull. In my life I had what I had (usually not what I wanted) or did without. I never had a choice of 3 cars, 3 jobs, 3 boyfriends, etc…never.

Dig through your couch cushions, your purse, or the floor of your car and look at the year printed on the first coin you find. What were you doing that year?

2007. I saw 3 cents on the table. The first coin I picked up said “2007”. Ugh I HATE 2007. So I picked up another coin. 2007, AGAIN.  So I pick up the third coin, “1972”.  ’72!?!  What can I relate about ’72?  I was so young.  Nothing major happened in ’72  My dad got a new car that year that is now considered a “classic” collectible in beautiful Avocado Green.  Nixon was prez, Watergate had not happened.  In my school pic my I had convinced my mother to cut a bang for me. zzzzzz

2007.  It sucked on all levels.  I was already online as a ti and on ti message boards and I had a blog on another platform no one read.  I was newly estranged from my family.  I already found out personally that ti’s would switch out and sell out other ti’s for a nickel and slightly better treatment.  I got a new puter in 2007 from a government back check since they had “lost” my re cert papers for food stamps and medicaid for 2 years and now were required to pay back what they owed me.  The puter was a dog from the start.  I did not know Best Buy was perp central or I would have ordered a Dell in the mail or something.  It died in 2010 after a long illness.  I got my first MP3 in 2007.  The first 2 MP3’s I got actually took BATTERIES.  I decided I needed to keep something playing in my ears full time as the V2k had become pretty constant at that point.  My big old Walkman would not do.  I could not find where they sold cassettes anymore.  I got my first online subscription service.  I listened to rock all the time for the first time since about 1992 or 3.  It led to my downfall.  The fantasies started again.  I worked a volunteer job in 2007 along with a micro job at a place that catered to poor people like myself.  I would also volunteer there.  I guess I volunteered total about 10 hours a week.  I was already walking at the park almost daily but I had gained weight and ordered (gasp!) diet pills online.  They were very expensive, took months to get there and were not the real thing.  This was after begging my Dr. several times.  I lost about 30 or 35 lbs over the next 2 years.  Ah, 2007!   😦

P.S….at the end of 2007 I started my first blog here.  Boy I wish I had saved a copy.  The perps scared me out of it.  Had me scared every time I closed my eyes I would wake up in Hell.

Oh, I forgot, my weekend was an ALBUM….

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Are you seeing double my friends??? SEE your eye doctor

By: The Critic

The Critic’s Corner

Dcms2 has finally come out with her new album after a too short 2 year hiatus called “The Weekend”.

I’m frankly very dissappointed.  The album was so execrable I could barely listen to its puling whine over 15 looong tracks.  Every song delivered over a gospel rap beat (dcms2 switched from her dynamic dark metal format two years ago after a spiritual crisis) was an endless plaint over her miserable life with nary a track nor even a line of hope.  For a Christian album this cannot even be said to reach even the low bar of its genre.  If the said album had been put to a metal background with loud roars and power chords I could give it a “C” after 7 pots of coffee, but, as you see a CANNOT do it now.

The album starts with a sick cow bleat called the “Call of the Old Man”, then, two, V2k rap, and the worst of all the tracks, three, “I’m Worthless”.  The next exciting track is called “Daddy called me a Housekeeper” which could be used as an emetic, then track five “I Introduced You” could be used as a potion in our modern execution chambers to kill criminals faster.  Six is the lovely pap called “No Fun”.  It was no fun.

The “best” and I use the word very sparingly and ironically, track on this album is “The Shoes” at position 7:  at least I got a mental picture of what was going on.  She wails “here he was, expectantly looking out–my bile rising up to my mouth–at least it rhymed.  “Store Whores” at eight sounded like Bonnie Raitt and Celine Dion groaning mixed with a dying goat over a soundtrack of cans being stacked (no offense to the fine artists listed above).  Nine, “The Pennies”, made me think of the obvious question at this point: WHY DOES DCMS2 MAKE ME BUY HER STINKY FETID CD?  She should be PAYING me to listen to it.  Radio Head at least offered it’s fine listeners to have their work for FREE.  Ten, “They Still Hate Us” made me want to reincarnate Hitler as a gospel singer to take her down–the charts that is.  (Now I might lose my job as a critic being so Politically Very Incorrect).

Eleven, “The Money They Leave Me” begs the question–“where is MY money for buying this cd”–and twelve, “Broke Now”, made me scream and rip out a piece of my Love Patch.  Thirteen, “My Diet” was NOT food for thought.  Fourteen, “Death at the Movies” was the VERY WORST musical take on the movie theater shooting I have ever heard, actually the only musical take on the movie theater shooting I have ever heard.

The final track and the album’s longest, coming in at a fatal 23:20, DOES SHE NOT UNDERSTAND THE MEANING OF FOUR MINUTE TRACK????, is called “I was only vacuuming, Lord”, rounds out this terrible album with a sick death rattle.  Merde, my friends.  I give this album an F-

Available in Stores Everywhere.  Bonus track:  “My Pills” is available to Fan Club members only

Write about what you did last weekend as though you’re a music critic reviewing a new album.

F minus. I don’t even quite remember what I did. The days run together. It’s all the same. I spent Sat. night away but I get perped there as well. Where I stay, a perp comes down the hall and whistles about every 10 minutes day and night, doors keep slamming and I hear the same kind( but with different voices) kind of V2k.  All that crap about what a horrible person I am and that I’m not saved blah blah blah..along with all the threats that if I do this that the other I will be punished…la la la.  The person I stay with orders me around like a maid.  I am worthless to people.  I have no intrinsic worth.  I ask God how I can possibly serve Him being a ti.

Once when I was at my father’s I answered the phone and when I gave it to him he told the person on the line I was his “housekeeper”.  Once when I was forced to introduce my father to someone I knew I could not keep the sneer out of my voice as I introduced him as my father.  Well, at least I did not introduce him as Jeeves the butler.  I am sorry for that because you are supposed to honor your father and mother.

Nothing happened fun last weekend. I remembered going with someone to pick up shoes but that I waited in the car as the staff at the place…makes me uncomfortable. Let me see…then we went to the supermarket (the evil chain that’s been causing me trouble lately) and she mainly shopped and bought a ton of stuff. The perps were all over the store as usual. Later, as we went to her car, some “nice” perpson had put a handful of pennies by it. They always put pennies on the ground wherever I go to show they “know” I’ve been there or that they “knew” I was coming.  Another ti a long time ago said they put pennies in the path of Jewish ti’s because they know we are “cheap” and will pick them up. Of course only the ti’s are racist. I never pick up the pennies or dimes or even quarters they “leave” me.  I’m afraid they have had curses put on them.  I refused a 10 dollar bill on the ground I knew a perp had put there and later a 5 but another time in desperation I picked up another 10.

I bought a few things for the lenten vegetarian diet I’m following.  Broke now.

I did not eat out, go to a club, to a party, go to a movie (why do people still do that?  After the shootings, by a probable ti it sounds very dangerous), go to a park or anything.   I did not go ski-ing, or paintball-ing, or any ing.

On Sunday, while doing another chore I was treated to another cruel perp skit that I thought was going to involve the police but did not.  I am angry at that skit because I was truly not bothering anyone.  I was focused on my work, and I hate being tricked by the blood sucking vampires.  At a ti site that I once read it said the perps can only thrive on your dishonor.  It’s probably true.  To keep cool and polite at all times is the way to keep the “audience”, which is what the perps call the general public from hating you as you angrily respond to more of their shit. It is sometimes impossible for me to do it.

I slept a lot because my new pills make me.  Boo.

“Describe the most satisfying meal you’ve ever eaten, in glorious detail.

Although I’ve eaten in my share of restaurants and things, the most satisfying meals I had were at home with family especially before this ugly nightmare started.

My most memorable meal was always the 2 Passover seders our family had each year.  Every year it was my Mother and Father, my sister and I, my Grandparents and later Grandmother, and my great Aunts and Uncles.  I don’t remember there ever being an extra guest but I think maybe in there was here and there.  Passover was such an ordeal the first Passover meal was like the climax of all the cleaning and switching out dishes.

You always knew what was going to happen and what to expect as the meal progressed but everyone acted like it was new and fun.  At the beginning, the men went off to ritually wash their hands.  Then, the prayers started in Hebrew and English.  My family was old school and the men “davened” very quickly in Hebrew but stopped at sections in the Haggadah to let the family read sections in English.  The book would be passed down the table for family members to read certain sections at the prompt of the seder leader, usually the great uncle that presided over the seder at his house, and, later, my father.

My most memorable English part is the Four Sons.  My sister almost always got the Wise Son and I got the Wicked Son, and, later for some reason I got switched out to the Simple Son. Simple son, eh?  Wonder if it was because I was oblivious to what was happening.  No one ever told me why I never got to be the Wise Son.  The most memorable Hebrew part was of course, the Four Questions, to only be said in Hebrew.  We both were required to ask the Four Questions I think and, later, I think I asked them alone even though I was older than my sister.

Later, we would have the Bitter Herbs where everyone, especially the women would pass judgement on how strong the horseradish was this year.  We’d take a stick of raw horseradish and eat it after dipping it in salt water and later in charoseth which is apples nuts cinnamon and wine (with tons of variations) and eat it some with stoic bravery others with coughing and tears running down their face.  Then, we’d do the blessings on the vegetables (or were they first?) and the matzoh (which we’d eat for 8 days afterward) and make blessings over “matzoh sandwiches” made with matzoh and charoset and horseradish.  After that, we’d get hard boiled eggs with the shells on them and play the “egg game”.  We’d smash them against each other and the last person with an uncracked egg won.  Then we’d dip them in salt water (signifying tears) and eat.

After that was the meal, and, depending on which great uncle’s house it was at, how good it was.  One great aunt could hardly cook and the other one was THE cook in the family.  The main course was usually a turkey or a brisket with overcooked veggies and a kugel and various other sides.  I forgot the chicken soup which came first.  The bad cook’s soup came with “sinkers” or heavy matzoh balls that sank and were barely edible and the good cook’s soup came with “floaters” or light matzoh balls that were delicious.  BTW I make floaters.

Dessert was fruit salad and a “passover cake” made with lots of eggs and baking soda and sometimes passover candy and macaroons.  Later, I went to a seder that featured chocolate covered matzoh but that was way later.

After the meal the Hagaddahs were brought out and the wine cups refilled (even us kids got wine) and the later part started.  We kids would be expected to find the afikomen for a “reward” which usually was only a buck at one uncle’s house and 5 bucks at the other.  I think when my father ran it the reward went up to 10 bucks.  We kids, usually the two of us would ransack the house to find the matzoh wrapped in a ceremonial cloth.  Once it was found we were asked what “reward” we’d like for it but the prize was usually the same all the time.  Then, the piece of matzoh was broken up and eaten with a blessing and we could have no other food until morning which was just as well since we were pretty darn full by then.  Also, Elijah’s cup would be filled and the relatives would swear he drank some of it.  I dreamed every year he would ACTUALLY come but of course he never did.  I’m a little weird.

At one point our father had to bless us.  I used to think it was a weird part of the seder and now I know it was very important because if no one prays for you you sink into a life of curses.  I often wonder if my father meant the blessings he imparted to me even though he meant them towards my sister.  Now, that I’m separated from family and have no church to go to no one prays for me and it shows. You can feel the spiritual oppression the lack of lightness, when no one prays for you.

At the end songs were sung which the old men mostly knew.  I remember the one “dayenu” or it would have been sufficient–that God would have performed this or that miracle without all the other miracles and the one about the little goat that got eaten by something and that something got eaten by something else.  After that it was usually about 10:00 or 11:00 and we kids would be sleepy and later as we were teens, half drunk on the four cups of wine.  We would drive home, usually through the SNOW, because back then it almost always SNOWED on Passover no matter what time of year it fell. I was like the snow on Halloween…death taxes and snow were the certainties of my childhood.  Nowadays it could be cold but it could also be hot.  The warmest Passover I remember was at my Aunt’s house way back in the 1980s.  It was a late Passover and it went over 80 degrees.  The lilacs were blooming outside.  I wore a summer dress not the usual woolen skirt and sweater.

The last family seder I remember going to was the year my mother died.   All the old aunts and uncles and all the grandparents were dead.  I was out of college and my sister was in graduate school.  My mother was getting over an injury but still was strong enough to put on the seder.  We invited various members of my father’s family then including an uncle and a cousin.  I remember it being a large seder for our family there being at least 12 guests.  My cousin, who turned into a perp, drove me home.

I sure miss the family seders.  It was one of the few times reality did not seem so bad in my world.  The seders and other Jewish feasts and fasts were the glue that kept the family together.  I miss them terribly even if I didn’t relish sitting in “shul” 4 hours every Saturday.  I used to go to the seder at another family’s home but their seder was far less detailed and shorter than ours.  My father remembers seders in his youth that went to 2 or 3 in the MORNING.  The other family’s seder was focused on the food and they used another Haggadah, most of it in English.  I put on a “Christian” seder about 10 years ago where I cooked and overlooked everything but it bombed.  Later, I was invited to another Christian seder that bombed and did not even go off.  I left there in tears wondering if the perps had engineered it.  Most of life today is bitter tears and disappointment now.

I will not be going to a seder this year.  Another thing lost, another thing mourned.  I used to like Easter as a new Christian but I nothing planned for Easter either this year.  The best Easter I had was before I converted when I went to sunrise services with a bunch of people (pre targetting of course).  The last family seder I was invited to was in the late 1990s??? but I had to say no because they had a multiplicity of pets and I have allergies.

My family will be having a seder this year a 1000 miles away as usual and as usual I will not be invited.

p.s.–I forgot the Gefilte Fish which was sometimes prepared by HAND in a grinder along with the homemade horseradish sauce .

“If you could un-invent something, what would it be? Discuss why, potential repercussions, or a possible alternative.”

I know it sounds strange, but, I would un-invent the computer and the computer age and everything that goes with it. I know I use a computer now, but I still remember the day when I heard our school campus had a “computer building” and a thrill of fear went through me.  I had this sudden fear computers were taking over the world and would control everybody and everything.  It was 1979.

Computers did take over our world.  Computers control everything and everybody unless you live in an African village 200 miles away from the nearest city. Computers are used to ruin targets lives and to spy on everything down to our very thoughts.  Even there, I hear in most small African towns the Internet Cafe downtown is the biggest attraction:  I’m saying small TRIBAL village as in huts with no running water.

If I had been a target 100 years ago I might have gotten away somewhere and started a new life, or, at least hid out in the woods.  Also, people had not been dumbed down to soul dead zombies then through television and all the rest of the putrid garbage that makes “culture” now.  I might still have had some people who would have stuck by me despite the evil shit bringers—back then it was the Ku Klux Klan and the Masons and later the Nazis who did this to people.  Policing was not nationalized (except 20th century and beyond) nor globalized so if a particular sheriff did not like you you could move elsewhere.  At the very least a person had their FAMILY and if they didn’t they could make a new family.

I particularly love when perps of color accuse me of racism out in public in front of everyone when they are working for the ones who hate them and burn crosses.  I caught one of the little buggers (he was white but) doing this to me once.  I worked with a man, a very eccentric defrocked priest, accused of u no what, who seemed fun to work with.  Every weekend I’d work the grill with him at a local fast food restaurant until close.  We’d have to work very fast and close together to get all the food out.

One day, months after I quit the job, I heard this voice at the local library.  It was the pedo priest, my former co worker, telling this Asian couple to avoid me, that I hated Communism, asians, blah blah blah.  What Betrayal!  When I worked for him we did talk about politics and everything and laughed and had fun.  I don’t remember telling him I avoided Asians.  He kept screaming avoid her! don’t talk to her!  This was way back in the 1990s.  This man was the last person I would have tagged for a perp.  But, since then, I realize they can make everyone a perp from some kind of conditioning/threats/fake files, etc…even family.  I have seen skit after skit go down in public where people of color will “start something” with me when I wasn’t looking at anyone to “prove” to the “audience” around them I am a terrible bigot/’racist, etc…My neighbor’s mentally ill perp son turned his parents against me by telling them I hated his race and now they and all the other neighbors of his race avoid me like poison.

That post is waaay off track.  The computer has done many wonderful things for people in health care, education, mass transit, etc…but for ti’s, the computer has been their worst enemy from the start–at least the evil people who utilize them to their own sinister ends.