Day Eleven–I believe I did a post like this before.

Tell us about the home where you lived when you were twelve. Which town, city, or country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home? An airstream or an RV? Who lived there with you?

I have already done a post like this last year.  As I read it, I noticed sentence structure.  I had too many small sentences.  For awhile, writing with many small sentences was “cool” I think, in maybe the 1990s.  I mixed it up just enough.  This time I will just relate what the house looked like, not personal history from age 11 on like I did in that old post.

Today’s twist: pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences as you compose your response about the home you lived in when you were twelve.

My childhood home circa 1977 was the epitome of Middle America.

We had a medium-sized house with 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms.  It came with a jumbo kitchen and a semi formal parlor and dining room and 2 dens.  It had a large yard front and back and even a side yard.  It was built in 1961 by an architect who was leaving to go live in a bigger home he had built for himself.  This man became very rich later.  The house oozed ’60s with Avocado carpet and orange yellow and green linoleum in the kitchen.  I believe he was responsible for the Shag carpeting in some rooms and also the Avocado, Pumpkin and Yellow curtains for the den.

I lived there with my parents and my younger sister.  We didn’t have pets until later.  By 1977 we had lived in the house almost a decade.  We still had much of the original look.  My parents upgraded the kitchen, the carpets and the paint in the 1980s.  The house had a large front porch but no one sat on porches in that neighborhood.  My folks added a patio in back so they could barbeque.

The master bedroom was pretty small but had an attached bathroom in green.  My parents had to buy furniture for the new house since they had moved from an apartment.  A lot of it was cheapo until my mother added nicer pieces in the 1980s in some rooms.  The old bed with the metal frame lasted until my father moved into his own condo in the 1990s.  We had 3 dial phones.  One old beige box phone in the bedroom, an Avocado slimline for the den and a Wall Phone in tan for the kitchen.

Our bedrooms were even smaller.  Mine might have been slightly larger than my sister’s but it was also the coldest room in the house.  It was about 60 degrees there in Winter if I closed the door.  I would have to go under my comforter with a heating pad to keep warm.  The main bathroom, in pink, was nice with a large vanity and drawers and 2 sinks.  I spent a large part of my childhood/adolescence in the large pink tub falling asleep.  My mother upgraded the floor in the 1980s with ceramic tile, which wasn’t that much in use yet.

Some of carpet was in mustard puke yellow as well.  The house had lots and lots of windows.  The kitchen was very light as was the parlor and dining room.  The 2nd den was all windows on its East side.  It was never used as anything but a playroom and later a rec room.  My father could have requisitioned it as a home office/library but he didn’t.

Gardening was not priority with my mother.  She planted a few Annuals in our Rock Garden and a few Perennials came up every year including a large Yucca that came with the house.  She refused for some reason to plant bulbs which disappointed me because the Spring flowers are from bulbs.  She also did not keep Roses or Iris like Grandma.  We also did not have fruit trees.  My mother spent so much time watering the lawn on our huge lot that gardening took a back seat.  I also have a feeling she did not want to be outside amongst the neighbors even back then.  When my father and I left the house I put in bulbs for the next owner by digging up an old garden spot on the side of the house.  There were no flowers there the last time I checked and the grass had grown up over the spot.

There were only the bushes and 2 evergreens including a huge Blue Spruce when we moved in.  My father planted a tree for my mother’s 50th Birthday.  I guess it is still there.  No one knew how little she had yet to live.  My parents put trees in around the backyard but the beetles got them.  The house also came with bushes and an evergreen tree in the backyard.  I was very jealous of the neighbor girl whose parents had put a fish pond in their backyard.

I went back to the house of my bad childhood (see other posts) a few times.  It looks as if the Monster Bushes in front had been cut back and the house looked a little spruced up.  Nothing major.  Of course I didn’t go inside.  I wonder if the marble entryway is still there and if there is still that weird ironwork in the kitchen and dining room that came with the house.

As the years go on, the house becomes a memory.  My sister lives in a home of her own (more than twice as big according to Zillow) with a circle drive and 5 bedrooms.  I live in a Section 8 apartment in the ‘hood or former ‘hood as it’s getting to be.  When we moved my father told me to take a last look through the house for anything we missed.  I found one of my Mother’s wedding portraits.  It “lives” with me in the ‘hood today.  I was the last one in our home that day.  Thirty mostly miserable years had passed on.  I doubt I will ever have any kind of home of my own due to being gangstalked already for most of my life.


Shabbos–Day Ten

Tell us about your favorite childhood meal — the one that was always a treat, that meant “celebration,” or that comforted you and has deep roots in your memory.

Today’s twist: Tell the story in your own distinct voice.

“Aw c’mon dcms, there must be SOMETHING comforting from your childhood!”

“Well, I already told you about Passover and what a comforting tradition that was so I guess there’s only Shabbos, or Friday night dinner left.”

“Okay, tell me about it.”

“It was one of the most enduring traditions of my childhood.  It happened every week!  Ya couldn’t escape it!  Friday was Shabbos!  When I was very young up to about age 13 it meant going to Grandma’s across town to eat what she made.  It was just us four, Grandma and Grandpa, and the dog.  It was always good.  We always had Candle Lighting, except in Summer when it was so late, then the family would gather and we would do the prayers over the Challah and Wine.  My Grandpa and Dad would take a piece of Challah and say the Motzi and then put some salt on it and eat it.  Then we started eating.

There was always a first course.  Usually it was chopped liver or cold turnip salad with Challah.  I didn’t like either much, but the liver was better for me because the turnip salad was bitter.  Of course I loved the homemade Challah with white raisins.

Then we’d get to business and the main course.  It usually was some kind of chicken but Grandma also baked beef sometimes and occasionally did a “milk” Shabbos with tuna casserole as the main dish.  We’d also get cold salad and a hot vegetable and kugel.  I liked every kind of kugel except potato.  Sometimes it would be rice kugel or noodle kugel which were both sweetened with fruit and cinnamon.  Potato was plain and there were no condiments to put on it.  Sometimes we’d get pickled green tomatoes my Grandma put up from her tomatoes.

After that there was dessert, the best part.  Most times she would bake some kind of cake:  either banana or marble cake or even a pie.  With a milk meal it would be coffee cake.  Sometimes there would also be fruit salad or even in summer, Grandma’s version of ice cream made with Coffee Rich, usually strawberry flavored.  For a beverage, it was usually Swee Touch Nee tea and sometimes coffee.

The best part however, was being together at the end of the work/school week and talking.  If it was Summer, we’d retire to the patio to talk till it got dark.  If it was Winter, I’d go with the ‘rents and my sister would stay over and go to shul with Grandma.  I had allergies at her house and could not stay the night even though I tried a few times.

After the dog passed I would stay at her apartment she later got for the whole weekend for a few years.  Then it would just be Grandma and I eating the Shabbos after my folks got into it with her one Friday.  My sister came to these dinners also if she wasn’t out of town at college or at her job.  At the end it was just Grandma and I.  The food would not be finished so we would eat the rest for lunch the next day.

All those days are gone now.  Everything is gone now.  Only my sister and her family are left alive and she does not talk to me.

“Wow, dcms, Shabbos was a real stable part of your young life.”

“It sure was.  I probably turned out better than I would have if not for those family traditions to keep me somewhat grounded.”


The Park???

It’s been awhile since I’ve been to “the park”. I used to go almost every day, but after almost being arrested for giving a dirty look to a cop, having dead animals put into my path, skitted and scammed with fake little dramas and then to top it all off seeing my OLD landlord at the park who made me homeless back in the 1990s and finding out he is trying to take over a large part of the city…..ugh, a nightmare.

Here’s an old one from a few years ago….

Wow, what a great way to make money!  This has to be the best untapped way to make a buck!  Making money off the backs of the homeless!  I supply the drugs and they sell it to their homeless buddies!  All I do is sit here in the parking lot and rake in the cash!  And the cops do not bother me!  It’s almost like they want me here!  Like I help to “keep order”.  I am a feudal Lord!  Some ugly bitch over there keeps giving me dirty looks and I think she’s on to me, but, she is one of those targets and can’t do a damn thing.  Plus all my guys keep staring at her and giving her dirty looks as they constantly go back and forth to my car!  What a sucker that woman is!  I bet she comes here to get away from the “neighbors” if you know what I mean.  If this keeps up I won’t have to go back to work!  I’m afraid when the weather gets colder though the bums will go inside and I will lose income.  Better think up another scam.  Maybe I should be a stalker….

It can’t be!  That bastard is dealing drugs out of the park and destroying the only peace I get at all!  His “men” keep staring at me as they walk back and forth all over the bridge.  Not one cop in sight.  Where is that cop I keep seeing following me around everywhere?  He zips past me on the bike path, he “meets” me in parking lots, once he even kept speed with the bus as I was on it!  I even see him sitting half a block away while I wait for the bus!  I see tire tracks on the grass sometimes but if those belong to cops they aren’t messing with this operation.  They follow me on the street when I walk home from the park turning and driving past me dozens of times but these guys deal drugs out in the sunlight just like my “neighbor” does.  The cops tell my landlady that there’s “nothing they can do”, but, I watched an interaction with him and the cops one evening and it’s obvious he’s a snitch even if he’s not a well-liked one!  He was trying to demand respect from the cops and they were laughing at him.   But they won’t arrest him even though he does his dealing in front of everyone.  Why are those asshole bums staring at me like they want to beat me up?  I’m not interfering with their “business”.  They know I can’t call the cops because they won’t do anything but accuse me of being nuts and trying to force me into a hospital or on psych drugs.

Wow what a niiiice awesome day for me to ride my bike!  I look awesome in my tight “bike outfit” Cowabunga!  I hate all the poor people walking on the path, they get in the way.  I want to go fast!  A guy like me needs to stay in shape to get girls in bed!  My current girlfriend is a drag and is getting demanding so I’m gonna have to trade her in–matter of fact I’m already cheating on her ass!  She’s gained like five whole pounds and a yuppie like me cannot be seen with a fat girl.  I hang out with the guys from work and I’d lose social cred if I’m seen with a needy fat chick!  Here’s the park!  Sometimes my buddies and I come here for a few beers or to pick up some cheap chicks–like slumming!  Usually, I just ride past here as fast as I can since there are bums everywhere!  This summer, it’s like weird.  They seem to be walking up and down the path near the bridge every time I come here.  I almost ran into one.  Ten points!  Can’t they see they are getting in the way of my fitness goals?

Chasing adverbs away

Go to a local café, park, or public place and report on what you see. Get detailed: leave no nuance behind.


Today’s twist: write an adverb-free post. If you’d rather not write a new post, revisit and edit a previous one: excise your adverbs and replace them with strong, precise verbs.

After a long and warm walk we reached the river to be greeted by a cold wind and high water.  The cold water rushed over the man made waterfall making cold foam and splatters as it went.  Leaden clouds came and went without producing more than sprinkles.  A lone heron hunted for fish in the rushing water.  I was sorry I had not brought a jacket.  Today was a spring day not a summer day.

The usual trains going by were out of sight.  I could not see the graffiti today.

I saw one starling fly across the river.

It was a dull day on the river.

A few homeless people walked by and some lycra covered bicyclists zipped around us.

The clouds got darker later on and it looked as if a deluge was coming.  A few drops fell hard as if it would rain for real but it was soon over.  Once we got back it rained just enough to wet the street and that was it.

So much for exercise.  I prefer a sunny day, a shady tree and a book to read.





Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else.

Poor Polly!  Had she only known what awaited her on this visit to her cousin she would have stayed home!  She still had 99 scarves to knit for the poor Newspaper Boys and 200 shirts to make for the orphans at her sister’s Orphanage.  Plus she was on 76 committees and had 3 children and twins on the way.  Her husband said it would be good for her to take a break but Doe, now Lady Doe due to her marriage and title, had changed.  Oh, the wonderful times they had together as children!  But now all ruined…..

Today’s twist: write your post in the form of a dialogue. You can create a strong opposition between the two speakers — a lovers’ quarrel or a fierce political debate, for example. Or you could aim to highlight the difference in tone and style between the two different speakers — your call!

Here is a shameless takeoff of Margaret Sidney’s books on the “Peppers” when Polly is a bit older——Sidney followed the “Pepper” family from youth all the way to adulthood in her many book series.  I hope it’s ok to do a takeoff of her characters.  The book is no longer copyrighted.


“Take a look at him,” said Doe as they sat in the park by the tennis courts at the country club.

Polly looked quickly at the handsome muscular young heir with the racquet and looked down.  Doe was way too old for the boy.  Wasn’t her new husband the love of her life?

“I don’t see much of anything,” replied Polly, he is still wet behind the ears.

“Oh, if only I could lure him to my boudoir for an afternoon,” she said giggling.

Polly was speechless.  Alas this was only the beginning of her troubles visiting Lord and Lady Cake on the Upper Hudson.

Polly dressed with care for dinner.  She came down into the Cake’s drawing room to be led into dinner by Horatio Swinefellow, a leading industrialist from Pittsburgh.

“You must try some more of this pudding,” said Swinefellow, shoveling up bites of it as fast as his little mouth could swallow them.

“Oh, I am alright,” returned Polly who carefully selected and ate her dinner slowly through the 20 course meal not wanting to overfill herself in her tight-laced gown.  How would Jasper feel seeing her bursting out of the expensive wardrobe he had bought for her tall but delicate frame?

” I insist” continued Swinefellow who took the platter from the servant and dumped it all in Polly’s plate.

She gasped.  Chocolate mousse with whipped cream and cherries were all over her dress!!!

“Excuse me,” gulped Polly, as she ran out of the dining room to her room to hide under the bed.

As she exited the dining room, Swinefellow was eating all the mousse off Polly’s plate.

In times past Polly and Doe had such good times together shopping and today they were going into New York.  Polly had a few things she needed to get but mostly she liked to look as Jasper got her everything she wanted.  As she followed Doe through the city Doe bought shoes, got fitted for new gowns, and bought some diamond earrings–all charged to Lord Cake’s account.  Everything to be delivered, express to Cake Hall that day.  All Polly had so far was some cloth for a winter cape she would have made at home and some stockings. Finally after 4 hours they stopped for lunch.  Polly was panting with dehydration.

At lunch, while Polly nibbled on a salad, Lady Doe got a huge filet of salmon with French Fries and a huge piece of cake with 3 glasses of ale.

“Just LOOK at that ring,” choked Doe on some fish.

Lady Sparks had walked by with her new ring glittering on her finger along with her large group of friends all chatting and snorting in Lady Doe’s direction.

“Lord Cake didn’t give me half of that for our engagement,” fumed Lady Doe, “and he can well afford it.  Look at that little slut!  She was his nanny you know,”

“I feel sorry for his wife,” murmured Polly who was acquainted with her.

“Oh the BITCH deserved to be left,” railed on Doe, “she was meaner than a ball of snakes,” she hissed, her eyes glittering.

Polly slowly turned purple and asked to be excused to use the ladies room with the new flush toilets just installed last year.

Sunday morning Polly was up early in her beautiful amethyst silk church dress waiting for the carriage to take them to the little church that only served the exclusive people in the neighborhood.  Lord Cake was up in his Sunday suit yawning and picking a piece of sausage out of his teeth while he waited with her.

“Where is Lady Doe?” asked Polly.

“Oh she doesn’t get up Sundays,” replied Lord Cake whose name was Theodore.

“She does not go to church?”

“No, Sunday is her day to relax”, replied Lord Cake, “she spends the whole day with the paper and solves all the puzzles takes a huge nap then gets up and has a pot of coffee and a pound of chocolate and paces the grounds all night talking to herself.”

“I think it would behoove her to come to church,” said Polly.

“Not really,” drawled Lord Cake, “she has the hots for the minister.  I’d rather she didn’t go.”

Polly just hung her head to hide the tears that were coming.  Oh WHERE was Mamsie???  Polly was now 35 years old but still liked to wail in Mamsie’s lap.

Only 1 more day to go, then the big ball Lady Doe was invited to, then HOME to Jasper and the kids….

Polly and Doe prepared for the ball together in Doe’s huge suite she kept separate from her husband.

“Hold on Polly,” said Doe, “Aimee will now tighten your laces.”

Doe’s beautiful little French maid pulled Polly’s laces so tight she gasped.  “Eighteen inches!” Aimee proudly announced, and for a woman your age!  Mademoiselle can only lace to 20!  Doe shot Aimee a look that said “you are fired” and Aimee ran from the room.

Doe threw the curling iron at the door as she left and uttered a line of words better left out.

“That was my seventh maid this month!” she fumed.  “They all HATE me!”

Lady Doe was resplendent in her green ballgown that sat off her shoulders and swept the floor.  Her nails were painted green as well and she wore makeup.  She had even put red hairpieces in her hair for a huge elaborate style.  Polly was simply beautiful in her pink ballgown with flowers in her hair and ringlets by her face.  She put on her pink slippers and watched Doe put on gold shoes with high heels with emeralds sewn in.  When did Doe become like this?  Her letters were always kind and chatty.  Polly was beginning to see that wealth had ruined her old friend Doe.

As Lord and Lady Cake and Polly with her escort, Doe’s cousin Stanley stepped into the carriage the moonlit night was warm and flower scented.  This would have been a perfect night to have a little walk with Jasper and the kids and maybe invite Phronsie.

In Mrs. Brown’s new Ballroom with electric lights the couples danced and danced.  Polly had more dances than her card could hold and not one dance for her husband!  She wondered what Dearly Departed Mr. King would have thought about the company she kept this week.  Grandpapa would have been furious!

Finally, breathless from 20 dances in her 18 inch corset, Polly got Stanley to bring her an ice.  He was good for THAT at least.

Doe had three ices in front of her while she espied a corner of the room with slitty eyes.

“There is Lavinia!  OOOOOh, it’s just not FAIR how good she looks.  She’s our age, you know.  She must have made a deal with the devil.  I could just spit,” growled Doe.

Polly looked at Doe like she might at a rabid dog on the street.

“I’m sure the Good Lord just blessed her with extended youth, said Polly.

“NO ONE looks that good at our age!”

“Oh, we are not so bad,” said Polly.

“Well at least YOU have your children, I have NOTHING NOTHING,” she whispered, angry tears welling up.

So this was the problem after all, thought Polly,  Doe never discussed children in her letters and phone calls and Polly thought the couple was just happy on their own.  What a miserable visit!  Maybe they should adopt?  Maybe not!

After another 20 dances for Polly the party finally walked into supper.  It was a grand affair with even more courses than dinner at Doe’s house.  Polly wondered what that new invention the scale, would say when she got home to Jappie and the kids.  Stanley talked on and on about how he was building a mechanical maid to wait on him and how he was going to use helium to take his cat to space.  Polly listened with one ear and observed Doe.

Doe was angry again and biting her lip.  She shook with rage.

“You’d think we were upstarts,” hissed Doe.

“This was just the seating arrangement,” soothed Lord Cake.

“Why were we moved down here?” she said.

“This was our assigned place,” he continued as if he talked to a child.

“I think we deserve to sit higher at the table,” she spat.

“Mr and Mrs. Doohickie are the Browns’ best friends from Montana,” whispered Cake

“Well, we deserve the best, we are better quality than the Dookickies,” she sniffed.

Lord Cake sighed and cast his eye across the room to Mr. White’s daughter just 17.  Doe was ALMOST as pretty once….

What had gone wrong?

Nights like these, Polly resented her family’s wealth and rise into society.  She would trade 1000 balls like this for one night sitting around Mamsie in the Little Brown House with the bad stove and everything listening to her stories without snoopy maids or clanging bells or electric lights.  Just a little piece of a candle on a summer night and Us Five and Mamsie….




One new person introduced into a life that loathes change

Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’ve met this year?

It would be hard to say I met anyone “new” this past year since I rarely meet any new friends.  I don’t work so I don’t meet new co workers, I don’t go to the same coffee-shop so I don’t see the same baristas, I don’t even ride the same bus much.  Even my cat has been with me 2.5 years.  I don’t volunteer even anymore so the few people I would meet that way I don’t anymore.  That leaves very slim pickings.  The new interesting person I’ve met this past 18 months has been my now soon to be ex therapist.  All my life I have been in some kind of therapy or another starting with a psychiatrist at age 14.  Every therapist, psychologist and psychiatrist I have had all these years have been older than me.  This time, for the first time, my therapist was younger than me. In the beginning, I was sort of angry.  I didn’t think she could do the job.  I was wrong.  Not only was she a good therapist, she was very intelligent, mature, and wise.  The discomfort over the age gap was soon closed as I was able to see her more often during tough periods of my life these past 18 months.  I think she even (sort of) understands what I go through even though she has not completely bought it.  She said: “I don’t know about the stalking but I do know people do not treat you fairly and let’s leave it at that”. Very simple, yet respectful.  I’m going to miss her


Today’s twist: Turn your post into a character study.

I do not think I know my therapist enough to do a character study as I have only seen her in an office setting.  I did have a therapist that would meet me out of office for lunch and things but that was eons ago.  She seems a young fresh new professional with about 5 years of experience that is now entering yet another new phase in her life:  she has found a man to marry.  She is mid 30s butappears younger.  She looks like a young farm girl. She is not loaded down with heavy hair color, makeup or tattoos.  I think she wears her natural color (which is rare now).  She is not thin but not obese.  Sort of plump but not offensively so.  She will have to “watch it” in years to come or end up looking like me.  😦    She likes to wear cute outfits designed for young people.  She never wears a suit or a dress.  She may be a little old to be a millennial but a bit young to be a gen x’er like myself.  She likes her office to look cozy and brings food items there so she can take lunch fast.  She is quickly becoming a rare sort of person as I can tell she actually cares.  Finding someone who cares these days is rare.  I can’t do a deeper character study of her since I do not know her outside of work.  Maybe you guys will have an assignment where I can give a character study of a person I’m familiar with in a close way,.

Post 5—Brevity. Part II from yesterday

It was a windy day.

I decided to walk another way home to get some exercise because I was new to a weight loss program.  I was in a dark mood already since my life had seemed to have taken a downward turn the past few years for no apparent reason.  I walked slowly and tried to avoid oncoming people as much as possible to avoid the sneers and weird smiles I got all the time.  Each look was a knife through the heart.

Then I saw it:  an envelope blowing in the wind towards me.  It was small and pink but loaded with sheets of paper just as I used to write letters to pen pals–long and newsy epistles.  I was afraid to touch it at first due to my new-found fear of being infected by the evil intentions of others, but it was irresistible.  I prayed for protection then opened it.  It was three pink sheets long.

The letter started:

Dear Target,

You may have noticed that despite your best intentions to improve your life it is not improving.  It is getting worse.  You are not imagining this.  Going to your therapist with this information will not help. You will be drugged.  Neither will going to the police, or the government.  This is your life now.  All hope ends here.  Going the religious route (very common I must say) will not help as we will get other church goers to reject and spew you out of their churches.  Your last bastion–family–will be of no help as they have already been converted to our way of thinking.  You are truly alone.

Even the little you have now will soon be gone.  You will not be able to get a job, talk with your family, go to school, or even do volunteer work anymore.  You will have to eat out of the hand that whips you, there is no other choice.  We are a special secret program to deal with trouble like you.  Going to another state or another country will not help.  We await there too.  Getting a car to escape us even at times is out of the question for your particular case. Try even praying your way out of this–it won’t work.  We intercept your prayers and read your mind.

You are a criminal that has escaped punishment.

“What did I do?”  you ask

It is something you did a long long time ago and you conveniently forgot.  But we didn’t.  We know everything.  We are all over.  You will pay for this crime.  Our client has tons of money and says money is no object.  Your life is his object.  The best thing you can do is kill yourself now and save yourself the trouble of a lifetime of misery.  You think this is a hoax?  It is not.  Years from now, you will wish you took our advice.

See you “later”

Your Stalkers

I took the envelope and the letter and burned them at home. I thought about keeping it as evidence but thought I would be laughed at and told I wrote it myself.  In the 5 years since I graduated College my life had gone from having some hope for the future after a dark adolescence to hell on earth.  I wondered what I would do that night.  Would God come through or would I suffer this life for the next 20, 30, 40 years or end it now?

I stood in the park the next day wind whipping around me as tears formed feeling alone.  A group of people laughing loudly and sneaking looks at me was coming.  Them.



My Loss Part 1–life of a cereal killer (sorry could not remove the pun)

My real loss in this life came sometime in 1990.  I had already felt stalked and treated badly since 1988 since I discovered a large group of people just staring at me in 1987 at a restaurant.  It progressed to seeing people sneering at me on the street and feeling watched and followed wherever I went.  I still felt it was just some kind of vendetta from a local person that maybe I had angered.  I was getting “watched” in grocery stores as if they expected to steal.  I got scared and went to my therapist and told her and I was put onto Haldol by a doctor.  I learned to close my mouth and suffer alone for the most part.  Talking about it caused arguments.

One summer I was living in a community of mentally ill people after Mother had kicked me out of the house for a small argument. This was to make me feel as if I had bona fide mental illness…hey, maybe I do now…they drove me bats!   I went there the first time at the request of a therapist and the labelling began.  Whatever I “have” I’ll never know but I get constantly changing diagnoses based on how they want to manipulate me at the moment.

I had moved there the past winter and was struggling to survive and pay the astronomical rent for one room and 6 meals.  One day, I decided to play a guitar a counselor had lent me and I thought I would put some poems I wrote to an easy set of chords.  As I was doing it, the phone rang.  The house phone not a cell phone.  Some strange man on the phone asked if I lived there and what kind of place it was, blah blah blah….no one was there when I came to the phone.  It was a warning not to play the guitar anymore.

That was the day I finally realized that I was being watched and all the rude encounters were probably part of it.  I knew “they” were after me not knowing who “they” were.  It was horrifying.  I knew then my “freedom” was an illusion.  It never got better after that but worse. It was The only thing I had:  freedom from living in America had been stolen from me. I was supposed to be an American but I was the Enemy and I could not figure out why. My family had escaped the Holocaust by coming to this country before the war and now a personal Holocaust was being carried out just for me.

It started off kind of mild so I was sort of able to continue my life and work for awhile but only for awhile.  I had a dark shadow on my life.  My shadow and misery, the perps follow me everywhere.  I could never feel happy and joyous in public again.  I was “on camera”.  My life started to retract and get smaller.

The shadow persists and gets worse every day.

The Hated One

Songs??? Why Songs???

Writing 101, Day Three: Commit to a Writing Practice

Write about the three most important songs in your life — what do they mean to you?

So you want me to write about songs without editing the post?  I’ve forgotten more songs than I ever knew.  I know my favorite songs are embedded in all the rock music I used to listen to.  None would be Christian songs.  Christian songs are OK but I never really got too emotional or attached to any of them.  It’s been so long I cannot think of any.  So there’s one.  “unforgiven” by Metallica.  “Breaking the Habit” by Linkin Park.  “Another Brick in the Wall” by Pink Floyd.  Those are just some I thought of.  I’m sure I could come up with more given time.  I was a huge “fan” of Heavy Metal/Hard Rock.  I have some favorite Gospel artists which I will not mention here.  I spent the first 30 years of my life (since age 10 or so) attached to a radio and later on, when I backslid, I had a “rock party” in my headphones between April and November of 2010 when I emptied my MP3 and computer of all my Hard Rock songs and even Christian Hard Rock songs.  I have an addiction to the rock that makes me live in my own world and fantasize the way no book nor movie nor TV show could.  So now I have no TV, no Rock and only Christian novels.  I have found myself slipping back into Fantasy even though I don’t feature the people I used to.  The Fantasizing is sin and I know it but I need some relief from the relentless harassment and stalking.  I don’t see this ending well if no one will believe us ti’s. 

I think I just felt the Spirit a week or so ago tell me that I should even take the faster/more modern sounding Gospel off my player and computer.  I hope it wasn’t HIm but it could be.  It’s so bad I want to go back to work.  I think my time is nearly up and work would not solve my problems because I was perped out of the Work Force years ago.

Time’s up.

The Answer is Obvious

If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?


The place where gangstalking and mind control do not exist.  The place where technology has not gotten so out of hand that man uses other men as his toy.  A place where if someone would attempt to destroy another’s life they would be arrested and shamed from the community like ti’s are.  They would be shunned from society and have no pleasure in life.  Every day would be a hell to be gotten through and even at night it would be all nightmares.  They would suffer God’s Wrath for their psychopathic perfidous evil.

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