Proud to be a N*gga

My cousin Kenny is proud to be a n*gga, because he's told me that more than once, even singing it to me like this: "...bee-cause I'm proud to be a niggggaaaah!" His cellphone used to have a recording of him singsonging "Kennndaahhhl!" every friggin' time it went to voicemail, which drove my ex-boyfriend crazy, because John would need help at the yard and "Ken Doll" couldn't be bothered; exactly what we'd come to expect from a fat, bald, 6'1, Celtic-Jewish-Indian like him.

He never wanted to fit in with the 9-5 crowd, and for years, he struggled to find work that was inoffensive to his cocktail party persona, before he finally settled on joining a pipe-and-drum band near the beach. He's good at it, too! He and his then-girlfriend (now wife) played together at the biggest parades 'round the way, turning their alcoholism into a somewhat respectable McOpportunity. It wasn't what I'd want for him, but he's made a life from the broken shards of his rough Brooklyn upbringing that's left most of his family dead, and he's not even 50, yet.

I just hope someday he'll realize he doesn't have to jettison parts of his identity that he feels he needs to hide in order to fit in with typical American society, because I personally know of a clan that would dearly love to have a musician with the heart of an Irishman, the beat of an Indian, with the soul of the faithful play at their tartan-clad family gatherings on a certain New Scotland beach. We pay with real money, too. My father always used to tell us as kids that we should be proud of who we are, because it's not like we had a say in the matter, and he's right. We don't. It's already happened.

Remember, my Americans: the freedoms you take for granted have not been equally extended. Some of us can't even walk on ancestral lands and feel proud about it, without someone else looking to take it away to sell it back for a fee. Think about that while you bitch about the line at the polls, or your simple black-and-white racism, or any of the other issues that you think take precedence over basic human rights like dignity and equality. We're not there, yet with this country, but some of us would really like it to be. They're colored, too, just not like you.

Smear

 

Women's healthcare (and women's bodies) have long been demonized by an extremist sector of our society who continually struggle with their sexual identity, gender, and maturity level, which means that the rest of us have to be subjected to their continued insanity as it relates to those topics, and I want that very much to stop. Like, today. It came to a sharp point for me through the pet adoption process I did with a couple of high school drop-outs not of my social set; like, not even related to someone on the bottom rung of my family, ya dig? 

As such, they were so far off from reality and where they should be as human beings, that I found basic communication with them difficult, which means they're psychotic, especially when it's when combined with all the scientific evidence someone like me can drum up with a team of ethical experts like myself. What I'm saying to you in plain English is this: me and my mom always knew Angel and Dom were fucking nuts, but they were crazy enough to take care of a beloved family pet, and that's what we needed then. Anything else, like their false sense of friendship towards a woman like me, was entertained with my promise to Teddy in mind, like any real mother would do.

It's not that I particularly disliked them as people, it's just that they're the kind of people working behind the PetCo counter at the local strip mall who handed me my change, or the woman handing dental instruments to my dentist while I got a routine exam. Angel never attended college, nor did her ex-husband (although several prior ex-husbands could have been college educated...who knows?), and neither did any of their children, or children's children, because they way they kept their freaky "lifestyle" intact was brainwashing their young with their half-ass theories of life that cannot be supported in higher learning institutions (from the sheer volume of its madness), nor out in the world at large, or even in the wider social circles among their rather unhealthy inbred set of mountain folk, a place where child birth by uneducated teenage girls is considered an acceptable practice, which is about as far from me and my family as you can get.

It made for some strange bedfellows, like Angel's vehement support of gay lifestyles and gay marriage (really, anything "gay" at all), that she combined with her rather pedestrian view of women's healthcare that her wacko father taught her, that meant killing babies in secret satanic rituals the rest of us call "clinics" or "hospitals" or "the ob/gyn" or "doctor's offices", because her fucked-up dad told her that the tissue we generate—that may or may not grow to full-term in a woman's uterus—was, in actuality, fully gestated already at the beginning of the fertilization process, which means that women everywhere transport a tiny-size human shrunk down to impossible proportions that's pushed through her egg sack into the Fallopian tube, to attach to the uterus like an astronaut with an air-line floating in outer space looking to attach to the hull of a speeding spaceship. And I'm a sci-fi fan!

She used her rudimentary skills as a barely-educated dental admin (six-month certificate, tops) combined with her rigorous pet store training to tell me that they had "pictures" to support her point of view, which means they go to some quack who bought an old camera from a defunct doctor's office on Craigslist to sell made-up pictures to other crazy pregnant women who want a photo to put on their fridge of their "baby" to brag about to other nut-jobs, and they're also highly Photoshopped recreations that are not based on any particular scientific reality, other than keeping the insane somewhat gainfully employed. Out of this weird cocktail of half-baked ideas and rigorously-guarded ignorance came about Angel's special blend of the next generation of fucked-up bipolar bisexuals, like her porno-appearing daughter whom she touted to me and my mom (on the one visit we had with Ted at one of her exes houses) as a real beauty, and that was also not true, in addition to all of her bad medicine.

What it did produce was this: Angel's gay daughter—who self-describes her education on Facebook as "the school of hard knocks"—attached herself to a strip mall BJJ dojo because I'm a fighter, to rub up against other weirdos who have mental patient fetishes, then turn that legitimate martial arts scene into bad, amateur online porn by frequenting underground sex clubs with rubber mats and no lighting but lots of body oil, to get knocked up out-of-wedlock twice by a gay Brazilian instructor at her dojo who needed to establish residency here in the U.S. (and a kid would do that for him), in between her day job as, yep, another dental "assistant" from some certificate program for high school dropouts. 

But, "abortion" was "murder", and over that, her and her fucked-up daughter were vehement, vicious, and very vocal about, which must be a great hit at every Pride Day parade, you know, as a place where people are dependent on "straights" like me and my men to provide eggs and semen for them as couples, then carry their kids for them (for the guys), or adopt our kids when something goes awry in a pregnant teenager's life, and it will. That was wrong, but everything else they did was OK. How's that for a smear campaign? It's one heck of a crazy cocktail. People, you have to vote to be heard in this country. That's it. So, do that. Vote for for sanity. Vote for reason. Vote for education. Vote for healthcare, for all of our citizens, because you're worth it to me. That's what civil rights is all about, kids, even you assholes in the back of the room who will fail out at 14 or 15. Imagine how the president feels? That strongly. And that well-educated.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Labor_induction
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medical_abortion
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Misoprostol
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cervical_dilation
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Childbirth
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obstetrics_and_gynaecology
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gynaecology
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obstetrics
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obstetrics_%26_Gynecology_(journal)

http://similac.com/pregnancy/3-weeks-pregnant

 

TMI "Poopypants"

As the bargain program I packaged for the largest U.S. book retailer in the country wound down (after years of brutally hard work and unusually long hours), I finally found myself enjoying some free time during the day, even contemplating trips to the beach over long three-day weekends like any other publishing employee accustomed to summer hours. It became, dare I say it, a  more genteel and congenial place to work, much more like my way of doing business, with organization and efficiency built right into the workflow, which increased the mental static of the severely disordered around me in almost direct proportion as a contrast, because now I had time to explore the neighborhood at lunchtime and walk around the office. Oops.

I began surfing the web for longer and longer intervals, even becoming a "starred" commenter on a trendy media site geared towards the workaday lesbo, which was tremendous fun for me. As the assholes at work became increasingly rabid amid the next economic crash, killing each other off in violent work conflicts that matched their growing unease, I simply put on my headphones and went to work on another site. I'd put up "Illuminations" over one slow summer hour day before the weekend started, as a way to keep a focus on my personal work and achieving my artistic goals. 

At first, I established myself artistically through posting my photographic and design works to advertise my credentials, with a link to my extensive online portfolio to seal the deal as your new publisher, and it worked. In my business, when you don't receive a lot of negative criticism, you know it's time to go ahead at full speed, which I did. But, the rabid "Politically Correct Police" at this newsy dyke site hated me so fucking much, I immediately knew that I had struck online gold. Every single comment I posted, even the most harmlessly obvious observations, were vehemently denied and attacked in a way that meant those boy/girls knew I didn't strap on a fake plastic penis after office hours. No, it was far worse than that. I preferred the real kind, the fleshy one that comes attached to a man. Ew!

They must have sensed a beautiful hetero woman attracted to males in their midst by my writing alone, but because my comments were so good at generating buzz on the site and drawing attention to their shitty pieces (plus, I helpfully followed the site's rules by not answering their hysterics in "Common Cave Troll"), I was allowed this free pass through online lesbianism, with some temporary restrictions applied. They were boring, in their own bitchy out-of-towner type of way. Do you know the country queer moving to the city looking for an exotic good time but hopelessly inept? That! That was the annoyingly whiny tone of every overly emotional crybaby who went "wahwah" about New York City and its inhabitants; how unfair and cruel the city was to them and their "poopypants" interests.

I'm not joking, either. One of their biggest features was written by this bland WASPY bitch from the 'burbs who decided to unleash her inner "alternative" goth lesbian on all of us unsuspecting readers by publishing photos of her dirty vibrator covered in old period blood stains as it compared to her new one of the exact same model. So fucking interesting, troll. Here's my mucus in a tissue! Get a life, bitch. Every weird hick who has ever tortured me on the job came bubbling to the surface through these inane puff pieces designed to attract dykes in such a brutally obvious way, I found my smarter commentary striking lightning quick responses to their fucking bullshit as fast as I could type it, edit it, and post it, and guess who won? 

I did! It spurred me to write a lot more during the day, which was part of the point for me, and in the process, I pulled into the fray the unsuspecting crazy dykes who worked with me (or around me) to stop their work and read my posts. It became such a huge distraction in an office that conspired almost daily against me, that their publisher was forced to ask me to stop writing during the day (over his bullshit editorial staff), which I duly ignored. You can't legally censor creative output at a publishing company. It's that tricky "Freedom of the Press" and/or "Freedom of Speech" thingy we have in the Constitution. Duh. And so I typed on, in response to an injustice present in an unfairly skewed media world that sought to push me out, when they actually lived and breathed on my fucking land, on my fucking turf, earning on my fucking say-so through my design works that actually earned a lot of money for the house. If you don't like it, get the fuck out!

And so, out of those excruciatingly irritating tourist bitches with a zest to treat our fair city like a lesbian cruise ship on their "vacay", arose my desire to write more and more about my interests, which are a lot like yours, right? "Outsider" culture became no longer hip to practice, because how fun is it to read about changing a baby's shitty diapers? You know, the ADHD couple with the already fucked-up kid dancing around your cocktail party bare-ass with a stained diaper in their hands to show off? You crazy fucking bitches were that for me: so egregiously wrong in your hatred for us as a society (and your complete inability to adapt to normal human life) that I found it easy to despise a group of supposedly "marginalized" minority voices who used media to get attention, like any other spoiled football star overdosing on hookers, booze, and blow, except without the talent.

I took away their privileges at hating us for nothing more than simply being here and being healthily normal, but more importantly, for loving our lives and daring to love the city that gave rise to us. I stood fast in front of their searingly misdirected anger at me, and through the power of my words, I channeled them back into their backwater channels where they belong. And do you know why? Because this is my real prime time, bitch. I am your fucking "Major League" woman-in-action, dyke. You just didn't know it, yet. And now you do. You can thank this here mama the next time a woman gets voted into an important office, pigs. I probably voted in their primary election while you were too busy online "roasting" some plebe you wrongly perceived to be more powerless than you, and isn't that like every single prejudiced dyke who secretly hates women that you've ever met? It sure is! Who's the traitor now, bitch? Yeah, that's what I thought. Go fuck yourself. Without airbrushing, losers.

https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/TMI

Miscarriage of Justice

Like the history of modern medicine and its marginalization of traditional home-based herbal remedies that used to be the expertise of women (http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2016/02/bad-medicine.html), women's healthcare has been similarly co-opted by disordered interests, rife with harmful hidden agendas. When was the last time a prominent urologist (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urology) was murdered for performing a vasectomy (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vasectomy) on a man, or his patient publicly vilified for receiving such a procedure? No? There you go! That's all the answer you ever needed.

When I was in school, we studied the intricacies of debate and logic to dismantle false constructs as quickly as possible, given the normal mental capabilities of the particular human we would be in conversation with, or maybe not. Even at my teacher's college in upstate New York, "Special Needs" and "Special Education" were separate coursework from the regular curriculum, designed for average Liberal Arts students, that formed the basis of our freshman and sophomore years, before the student chose a Major (and/or Minor) to specialize in.

In short, we're taught to tell a normal person about the flaws in their perceptions as grounds for their re-education, even in extreme cases of the most cult-like indoctrination present in the minds of the people who've been brain-washed (perhaps in social isolation), manipulated for someone else's benefit besides their own. That's unfortunately where healthcare for women has ended in America: stuck in the worst minds we have as human beings, creating bizarre social distortions that feed public fears about the human body from a steady diet of ignorance and hype that's typical of mentally ill households. Who holds sway there? The biggest strongest douchebag, that's who.

Even worse for most average American families were the men who loved their women enough to take care of them, or speak up for their human rights. Every single intellectual argument I've ever had about women's healthcare that's still seen as "controversial" I have won (and I mean, EVERY SINGLE ONE), so this is not an open invitation to you, as my reading public, to become a right rotten cunt to me about something that I solved using ancient Aristotelian logic at S.U.N.Y. Oneonta, at 19-years old (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Term_logic). 

It was such a huge victory for me that the entire class came up to me to talk about it, because my boyfriend and I had planned to argue "pro" and "con" sides of any argument we had within class beforehand. Like I'd written before, we were so good at masking our romantic relationship that the entire class was fooled, though one cool homeboy from 'round the way in Brooklyn told my boy to tap my ass, " 'Cause she's feelin' you, man! You got her all worked up tho', bro!" After which time, at the end of our very last class for the summer, we told him the truth: that we were boyfriend-and-girlfriend all along. He. Freaked. Out. "I knew it! I knew it!", he shouted out to the rest of the class.

To reiterate old scholarship from my teenage years, let's go over some key points ONE MORE TIME (for yo' dumb ass, and not mine): Roe vs. Wade* will not be overturned by The Supreme Court, no matter how many partisan games are played. Okay? Time to grow up about "icky" female bodies, because they exist whether you like it or not. Women are not sexual slaves for public consumption, and I expect you to understand that as clearly as I have explained it here, again. If you do not, and you respond to reason with artificially-heightened rhetoric at any point in the future, I will immediately understand that you have mental problems, just like you've read in my prior works on this site. 

Sexuality is not a crime in these modern times, and as such, it is not actionable as a just cause on its own. You still have to prove malicious intent, which you will not, because women are not always aware of their inner workings (like a man isn't), because we do not come with specialized, high-end, digital-imaging equipment, nor do we have an instruction manual attached to our bodies (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Obstetrics_and_gynaecology). We do, however, come to the table educated nowadays, because health and hygiene classes begin in grade school. If you have a fifth-graders knowledge twisted, once again, I will know (as will many others) that you are sick-minded.

Here are some simple numbers that even a high-school drop-out like you should be able to process: "Unlike men, who produce new sperm daily throughout most of their lifetime, women are born with all their eggs in one — okay, two baskets (ovaries). To be more precise, a woman is born with about one to two million immature eggs, or follicles, in her ovaries. - Jun 12, 2015" (Columbia University)

If you continue prejudices against nature, you must then also include (in this era of civil rights) legal actions against men who choose not to reproduce: "...the average male will produce roughly 525 billion sperm cells over a lifetime and shed at least one billion of them per month. A healthy adult male can release between 40 million and 1.2 billion sperm cells in a single ejaculation.- Jan 24, 2013"

That means, every time a man knowingly prevents a pregnancy, he must be held accountable in the same way a woman is, because even though our biologies are different, our human rights are not. It's worth nothing that men have not been legally accused of murder for birth control in this country, ever. Given your (new) understanding of the numbers involved in our human reproductive systems, it then stands to reason that women are not "murdering" fertilized eggs during its earliest reproductive process, just like "Plan B" and other types of early-induced miscarriages are designed to be: not harmful to a later-stage fetus or the woman, but to accurately simulate the earliest stages of human gestation, a time when most women naturally miscarry anyway (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miscarriage). 

Truthfully, any woman will tell you that she's had as many miscarriages as she's carried full-term successfully, if you bothered to ask to her. It's absolutely nothing to be ashamed of! In fact, there are typically no real bodily signs for most women who miscarry, whether intentionally performed by their doctor, or without us even knowing it, because material rejected or expelled by women is usually incorporated into our next menstrual period. In which case, we didn't even know it happened, which is what we still insist on calling all "abortions" today, like the mischaracterized horrors certain sick minds want it to be, when it is so clearly not that (http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2015/10/bride-of-chucky.html). We know you know that, by the way.

So, what will happen? Well, "welfare queens" will be rightly prosecuted for using their natural child-rearing capabilities as an excuse to make money from their children, just like selling a man's sperm without his consent would be actionable in a court of law. Then, the healthy women living happily among you, who voluntarily had minor medical procedures designed to keep their lives intact (and who care so much for all life on this earth that they willingly chose to become excellent women first before becoming mothers), will be given the credit they both deserve and earned for being socially responsible citizens. 

It also means your that bloodily-staged shows of the past will become the trite comic fodder it's always been for enlightened minds like mine. G-d wants us to be happy, healthy, productive, and (most importantly) part of His Loving Family. Planning parenthood wisely is about the most beautifully humane gift any woman can give her future family. You were wrong. You are wrong now. Adjust accordingly. That is all.

 
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reproductive_rights 

* https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roe_v._Wade

Free the Internet

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frederick_Douglass

In typical twist of fate, today is the anniversary of Frederick Douglass' birthday. It made sense to me when I explored the graphic on Google's search engine, because I created the title for today's piece last week, in another bit of fortuitous timing that marks vocational life. It's the type of head-space that has no quirky coincidences for us, only excellence. We live our lives deeply through intelligent design, the harmony that thrums through the universe or, in the words of the now-immortal Carl Sagan, “... the nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.” 

We are all made of the same stuff, so it makes sense to me that we would align ourselves accordingly, in harmony and perfect agreement. Mr. Sagan also noted the necessity of variation among life as essential to our shared successes: “Every one of us is, in the cosmic perspective, precious. If a human disagrees with you, let him live. In a hundred billion galaxies, you will not find another.”
― Carl Sagan, Cosmos 

Did we not at times share living spaces with humans so vastly different in perspective that we fought our most heart-wrenching, bloodiest war over it, so much do we believe that all men are born free as a manifestation of G-d's will that His children live together well? In fact, He tells us that if you do not fight hard enough for the lives of your women and children, then it is also your fate to accept gladly your rightful enslavement at the hands of your victors, because you have not properly defended what is yours by rights, and that is also what I ask of you today: to give more, because it's not enough. 

Yesterday I was talking to my father, a man of another generation who struggles with change before he converts to the newest technology and who was, at the onset of my career, a staunch anti-technologist made more so by his avid desire to preserve what he felt was his precious toehold over me in my work as an apprentice desktop publisher, by refusing to participate in this "New World". I could understand it, even as I worked to make the change from the hand-made to the digital easier for everyone around me, as it was not available to me, because I hadn't initially signed on for computer science, but here we are, and yesterday he (finally!) agreed with me that the Internet is the greatest advance in worldwide communications that we have ever seen, because he finally adopted the very technology I cut my teeth on as a young leader in business. Only after finally giving in to my greater expertise did he see how all the pieces fit. Aren't they beautiful?

What became his avid denial about my greater gifts became his grateful acceptance in old age, which is none too soon. Pride goeth before the fall*, and as someone who was tasked with excelling in business while learning impaired, he often made do with his challenges while he struggled to reconcile himself with the worlds I trafficked in, varied universes unto themselves that he doesn't always understand, but that's my job to bear up under. I want you to join us as an "early adapter" to a movement that's actually quite old, and free the Internet, just like you did with t.v. networks. As the astonishingly high price tag behind our superior technology initially frightened off the non-artistic layperson (as it rightfully should), then so has this initial phase of tool usage passed into worldwide acceptance. 

We will always have cheaper machines to do small tasks for minor chores done by smaller people than you and I (as is appropriate with any truly sophisticated social hierarchy), but for those of you who want to soar with us in the skies, then come along for the ride. Make the Internet free for all people, regardless of price. That's what Frederick Douglass deserves. A place where freedom reigns.

http://everyoneon.org/

“ If there is no struggle, there is no progress.

Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.

It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men. ”

* http://biblehub.com/proverbs/16-18.htm

 

Traitor

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Designing_Women

Unlike carefully guarded work-flows, my "daily bread" is a kind of open warfare that takes place publicly in the real world, for anyone to see. It's weird, but I've been famous all my life, which sucks. I actually don't seek it out, which is very odd for some people with self-aggrandizing types of mental illnesses to understand, who seem to take the content that they see as some sort of confirmation that we, the makers of such content, have the easiest lives ever, when it is often the exact opposite, but hope (and a raging disassociated disorder greatly aided by booze, drugs, welfare, and daytime television) springs eternal.

In every environment I go to, there's someone who has a problem with my existence, in a daily re-enactment of an age-old bias against me and my people that remains unsolved nor properly addressed until this very day, when we, the people, strike back against it. As it is for every beautiful woman of the world we live in (no matter how modest, hard-working, unassuming, or brilliant she may be), the freaks come out in full force, in a stalking aggressive way that marks the deranged and violently aggressive among us. For me, the first perpetrators of violence in any environment are typically gay women, which is strikingly different from the typical "pro-woman" posture that has incorrectly infected the modern Feminist Movement as some sort a gay girl's club, over an actual bid for civil rights that it is truly intended for, but such is life.

Public spaces are rife with indiscretions and planned attacks, and my life is no different as an openly "out-and-about" woman in society, which makes for enemies I didn't even know I could make, like the deranged lesbian secretly harboring death threats against me alone at her office desk, whispered as insults made out the side of her mouth, as she finally strikes up the nerve to pass by my workstation so as to insult me better. Well done! I guess feminine beauty that is loyal to a man's wedded touch in publicly exchanged sacred vows is a majorly capital offense against gay people everywhere...oh, wait a second...yep, this is 2016 and Federal Law grants the legal right to marry to any mature, healthy, adult American citizen, so fuck you very much!

Leigh was just such a dyke: bullish, mannish, Southern, arrogant, petty, ugly, and crazy. She hated me on-site, when she came over to our book design studio the first week I was working, to "play" with "her girls", who were actually my boss and the other professional book cover designer for a prominent sci-fi division that I knew from my time at St. Martin's Press, and which was an integral work connection that formed a favorable impression verifiable through that network, because the owner of the studio was a well-known hand-letterer for several award-winning science fiction book covers, now working on kid's content with me as her assistant. Oh....kinda different when it's legitimate and respectful, right?

Well, she breezed in with her gunmetal-colored man's do in a button-down long-sleeved shirt and men-styled corduroys to interrupt our problem-solving meeting at the owner's computer station, aping around playfully with my new co-workers as she recounted some weekend dyke tale that involved her fat girlfriend (also with the standard men's hairdo that's not dyed, so deal with that, asshole!), her gay crew, and an Indian restaurant with belly dancers that she mocked in front of us, in case we were in question as to how she felt about us as "straight" women working together without her daily involvement.

Her behavior grew worse with time, as it always does with me, because I am just as open with my life references that she set the tone with, in that very first introduction when she aggressively let me know about her sexual preferences, and which she hated as well, because my fiancee at the time was an actual beautiful man, and not a fake one. I called her out after awhile, and to which my boss told her other designer that she'd never have the guts to do, which I already knew through her well-known "deer-in-the-headlights" stare that was her trademark way of handling stress in conversations that were way over her head.

My boss couldn't protect me as a worker, not that I needed her to, as the better artist, and that was part of the ongoing attacks against me, too. I already knew all about daily hate from my own life and self-defense, but what I did do is give my boss every weapon she needed to discipline and edge out the offensive editor of happily-made children's books on the sly (without acknowledging my prowess as a skillful workplace operator), because I knew Leigh wouldn't be able to stop herself from attacking me, crazy as she is. After her repeatedly weird non-issue complaints that I used "too much tape" to put together my book mechanicals (so not earth-friendly), I knew she was that desperate to "out" herself with a career suicide sponsored by workplace harassment and unemployment benefits, which was exactly what she did.

After my gorgeous live-in boyfriend paid a visit or two to the office when she was visiting from the office across the hallway that we worked with for children's packaging, I knew she would boil over with seething hatred, never taking the time to know me, my life, or him (all far from perfect and marred with abuses), which was just what I wanted to prove publicly. As I went through the engagement and wedding process that my also-married co-workers knew intimately, too, she couldn't stand to hear us talk about it, even as we spoke of our hardships as ethnic women of New York; Carol as an Italian-American designer in the prominent, male-dominated art and design book studios of the 70s, Carrie as a Jewish woman forced to live with her mother again for financial reasons after her divorce, and me, living a far from perfect life.

When I knew she'd keep picking at me, even after censure coolly done by the higher-ups when I wasn't around to take notice of it (or feel a sense of closure and/or validation about), I pushed her over the edge by harmlessly remarking in front of her that "most of my friends were men" while I talked about my wedding plans made with a good friend of mine from school, which made her visibly gnash her teeth in front of the three of us. Oh, goody! It was just what I wanted to see from a hate-filled bitch like her, over-her-head as she was even in the shallow margins of our real book world, working at a small and relatively unknown book packager as a minor piss-ant who sweated over each typo like the insanely power-hungry bitch she really is.

She sputtered for a moment in distress, not instantly glib and nasty as she usually was, with this piece of offensive "hetero" content unfairly introduced into her heavily guarded, she-male world. She turned red, spitting with anger at me, in this minor revelation made over wedding arrangements, "WHAT?!" She struggled to assimilate my love for the men of my life, normal as it is, and real as it is, too. "MOSTLY MALE FRIENDS?!" Uh, yeah, bitch. No one for you to work over on me, in a secretive "lesbian underground" kind of way. No dirt for you! I smiled a little, as always taken aback by my devotion for the men who have loved me in my life. Yeah, I said. I have three brothers and a father! Who do you think I spent most of my time with, growing up? I made it as odd for her to question me, as it was (and is) natural for me to love. 

She couldn't deny that to me as my birthright, so she took one of her last weak shots at me, made right in front of the woman who cut my paychecks every other week (and without paying me for health insurance, full-time onsite freelancer that I was back then, that's now illegal for companies to do in New York City, so "you're welcome" for that, kids). "Oh, yeah?", she snarled at me, "Well, that makes you a traitor to me! YOU'RE A TRAITOR TO YOUR OWN SEX!", this, to a social advocate like me working at a design studio of women, at a time when that just wasn't done. "Yeah, that's what you are! You're a traitor!" And with that, her fate (and her end) in our industry was sealed.

After I left the small company out of boredom and my own prowess, I stayed in touch with the owner of the studio. Sure enough, and true to pattern, the offending editor left for points south after I left the company, never to return to the professional, big city, major league world of book publishing ever again, kids. How's that for a "happy ending"? Nighty nite, and nice knowin' you! But, not really, bitch. Not really.

This one's for you today, Carol and Carrie: real "designing women".

Lord of the Flies

All across the nation, American voters cast their ballots in hopes of voting into effect those necessary changes that will help us reach what we define as our "Manifest Destiny*": hopes that each and every one of us have about the future world we want to live in, by passing those values onto the next generation through our right to vote, even if we don't live to see those helpful changes put into place. We see this vast land that we live in as part of G-d's sacred covenant with man, an unbroken promise about delivering us into "The Promised Land", so that it's more to us than some petty pissing contest or ego trip. 

We are actually crafting the very world we live in. It's a very active culture to participate in, one that has defined us as being the world leader for freedom in action, by granting every citizen the exact same vote of "one". Today, all across America, you are an "Army of One", as holy and united as any other land that has come before you, or that will exist into the future. With that in mind, I expect you to rise above the phony posturing that has defined media culture in modern times. You are not voting for "pretty", although you should look to pleasing human symmetry as a sign of good health. You should not vote for "rich"; you should vote for someone who is willing to reach deep into their own pockets to do what they say they will, just like I do.

It goes without saying that your votes should count towards our shared visions of good health and happiness for those who come after us, and if you know of people on the ballot who do not openly share those hopes about a shared good future, don't vote for them. If you have only one option to vote for, then ask yourself why more people haven't come forward to put themselves in the spotlight with the money required to become a candidate: how bad is the corruption around you? Are you passive? Do you do nothing in the face of corruption? Then, you are the very problem we seek to address through these public acts of voting and legislation. If you are too incompetent to vote, then you have to ask yourself why you are even an American citizen, so lazy and complacent as you are in the face of citizenship.

Many people have lived and died on much less than the principles that you are putting into action today. We have been instructed by His Holiness in Rome to vote into office those officials who actively support our unified goals about the preservation of our Earth, as our birthright from The Creator. You do not have the right to destroy this planet, or any of the lifeforms on this Earth. Witness this: I have an infestation of fruit flies in my current apartment, in part due to the noncompliance of the law by those people in my direct environs, in part due to the natural biochemical process by which organic matter breaks down, because that's exactly what happens when you recycle all the plastic and metal that you use. You only have food garbage leftover as trash.

So, answer me this: why am I the only person who cares enough to follow the law in this household that is not exactly of my choosing? How can a supposed "wealthy" man be foolishly considered a prominent business owner, respectable enough to own property, lording this power over his tenants by using them as puppets in his mental games that openly flaunt the laws we live by? How can he be considered "rich" in our society?! He stands for everything we despise: he's arrogant but illiterate (I had to talk him through his own business contract, which he then breaks), he's delusional and cowardly, he hides behind the people he depends on for money, like mocking the openly drunk mentally ill women who pay him Section 8 money from the state every month: how can he be better than them? He can't be.

And so, just like the representative from the sanitation department at Pearl River Day who stonewalled me by not giving me any straight answers about composting** in New York State, this one lowly man is deceived into thinking that he can openly disparage my efforts at recycling by myself without censure, when he and every other tenant does not recycle according to our very own laws, every single week, right underneath your noses. If you do not enforce your own laws, you are part of this corrupt system that we will replace. And make no mistake about it: you will be voted out, because today, on this day in November 2015, we (the truly elect of this world you live in) have drawn a dividing line between the rotten and the righteous that cannot be undone. Take comfort. You are not alone.

http://www.dec.ny.gov/chemical/8799.html

*    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manifest_destiny
**  http://www.dec.ny.gov/chemical/294.html

Bad Brains

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brain

Believe it or not, New York has always been ranked first in healthcare and medical research, because as one the biggest metropolises ever to exist on this planet, we have populations suffering from an enormous amount of illness and disorders, with many that are still unnamed, untreated, and undiagnosed. Because we live such public lives, real working lives that revolve heavily around public spaces, New Yorkers are pragmatic about the world we live in, rather than pretending that bad things happen somewhere else, because if it's weird in human, it's probably already happened here. We've seen it all, barring gross inhuman criminal activities that are clearly not supported by the average American lifestyle.

We support the right to pursue happiness*, so much so that it is written into our most powerful document called "The Constitution", in our united "Declaration of Independence" given to Great Britain many years ago. We DO NOT (and this is a key concept, one central to our lifestyle) support lying drunks who spit in our faces, because we never have, and we never will. You'd actually be surprised how many people discover that they are, at heart, not actually American after they emigrate here, because fighting for freedom is really hard work that requires near-constant maintenance. You have to, for instance, vote, if you want change, and that means you have (at the very least) a child's understanding of the key issues of the day. It's, like, work, you know? In a way, each private citizen is a "publican"** who serves the state's best interests, and if you violate the basic tenets that govern our society, we fucking hate you, almost.

What I mean is this: we really (REALLY) don't like the type of fuck-ups other countries tolerate routinely, so if you are, say, a corrupt alcoholic schizophrenic warlord who likes siphoning off charitable relief funds and gunning down little boys, we tend to really really frown down upon that. That would be an example of not pursuing happiness. Easy, right? An yet, each and every day, we have to safeguard our society against the worst influences the world has to offer, because that's exactly what the world ejects into our harbors, sending people fleeing across borderlines, risking life and limb. Would you float on a flimsy wooden raft across a wild ocean, if you had a shot at happiness in your homeland? No! You would not, and neither would I. 

Which brings me to today's point about psychoses and the world: how exactly did your people become so inbred and fucked up as yours that brings you here, under my nose, today? We are passionately curious about your disease(s) and we want to help, even if that means wiping you off the face of the earth, if need be. Witness this: every day in my hometown, we have the same handful of dumb rotten drunks committing crime in broad daylight, day after grueling day. They have absolutely nothing to do all day but cause problems, but what to do? I'm not their shrink, and they don't put money in my fucking pocket, so what do I get out of policing them, except as a private citizen? Pay me to tame your fuck up, and watch me fly right through it, with brilliant results. Position me on the sidelines without an army of funds to fight with? No, that I don't do. Nothing in it for me, beside my own personal safety, which I most certainly ensure wherever I am, using the laws already on the books that govern the day.

But that creepy toothless bitch blowing cigarette smoke right into your kid's face? Uh uh, fuck up. You handle that. You birthed those kids, they're your problem. What does anyone get out of enabling other people in their own lives? We just don't do that here. Freedom means you are responsible enough as a mature adult that you tend to your own health (and that of your family's), with the understanding that very smart people like me will help you out in any way we can, without actually holding back your greasy hair as you vomit into the bars' bathroom toilet, bitch. I don't do that kind of social work. Ever. I don't know anyone who does. It's like asking the President of the United States of America to grow organic wheat to spread on all those peanut butter sandwiches he made over the weekend, if he wants American children to eat healthy lunches every day (like our former President Carter***, one-time peanut farmer). Well, he better get started right now, so that your kid eats a good lunch today, right? WTF?!

What I can do is exactly this: publicize the most recent research (and results) that we have in the Year of Our Lord in 2015, knowing that I most avidly support the cure to your alcoholism, personality disorder, sexual dysfunction, etc. And you know what, toothless hag with the bad attitude? That's more than your fat ass will ever deserve from someone like me. But that's why G-d loves being an American, just like I do. Deal, bitch! We deal with you and your stank ass every single friggin' day, and you know what? We're tired of it, so much so, I have thus bequeathed the local ugly bitch with the raging brain disease who serves as our neighborhood cautionary tale for children by donating her hideous body and rotten brain to science, after she kicks the bucket through her daily chain-smoking, beer-swilling, junk-food eating, pill-popping habits, so that we can look at her poisonous dark matter safely sealed behind clear medical-grade glass, safe and sound.

That's the best I can for her and the rest of you, out there in the fun up-and-down carnival that is your Bipolar Disorder Land: the world's scariest ride ever, besides watching her die right underneath my eyes. It's time that we put an end to people's suffering by aiding our healthcare providers in their quest to ease families stricken with mental diseases and disabilities. Join my cause! Volunteer as a subject! You'll be well-compensated for your effort, lab rat:http://www.childmind.org/en/cmi-biobank/rockland-sample/. I promise you that.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nathan_S._Kline

http://www.rfmh.org/nki/welcome/kline.cfm

 
*  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Life,_Liberty_and_the_pursuit_of_Happiness
** https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Publican
*** https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jimmy_Carter

History 3x

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Selma,_Alabama

History often repeats itself, which is exactly what my father said to me over and over again. He's learning impaired (Dyslexia), so he's always liked plaques, signs, homey knitted samplers with folksy sayings, mugs, t-shirts, bumper stickers...anything that reminds him what life should be like. It's annoying, but I also remember almost everything he told me, because he's repeated it so often, too, which is irksome at times. I prefer free-form originality and evolutionary progression; he likes the solidity of comfort and the sentimentality of old routines. 

We both like productivity and early mornings when no one else is around, which is why the appearance of hipsters here in Rockland County concerns me so much: if shitheads paid by their companies to relocate to trendy neighborhoods can't afford the city anymore, we're all doomed within the tri-state area, and these are not New Yorkers you mix with. They want conformity and trends; not newness and culture. They are not from here.

It was with this sense of repetition that I saw the events in Tennessee unfold on the evening news for awhile, acting like hicks in these isolated pockets always seem to do; seemingly armed with "the truth" and a mostly white local government armed to the teeth to back her outrageous sense of entitlement. In one of the early scenes from "Selma", Oprah Winfrey's character goes to the county courthouse to register as a voter, a fairly new federal right granted to African-American citizens. She's given a verbal test that even a seasoned historian would fail, a test that does nothing to dim her spirit. That's what hard-won rights granted to free people tend to do.

Armed with the truth, she gathers her community to protest in response to this one illegal act that defies logic, only the expression of a deeply ingrained ignorance that typically signifies inbred ignorance so entrenched, it is nothing short of violent, which is also point of the part. How do you break into the minds of a better, stronger people who use the the very effective tool of passive resistance as a societal tool to create change? You use anger and hatred against them, whipping folks up into a massive mob mentality with no reason or boundaries. That's what I saw on national television: some ugly redneck denying people their civil right to marry, and you must know by now how that goes down with me. It doesn't.

I was reminded of another historical event that affected me greatly; the story of New Yorker Solomon Northup's* nasty capture and subsequent sale south of the Mason-Dixon line, because it was once legal there to buy and sell humans like they're animals. And what can you do to property? Anything you g-ddamn want, which is what a bunch of fucked up retards did, to cover up the fact that they couldn't labor under a hot sun (like an African can), or do it efficiently (like poor folk always do), or turn a profit on a land they emigrated to from another land (like every American immigrant before them has had to do). There's no talking to people that insane.

It's not that the people of the north were always so righteous. Solomon took his name from the upstate farmer who set him free. He was also the gentleman who came looking for him when word got back to his hometown and family that he'd been illegally tricked into capture, like any gentleman worth his weight in salt would. After that, it was on. The Northups convinced Solomon to write down his true account the year he returned home, while it was still fresh in his mind, but also as part of his testimony in a legal proceeding that went on for years, transcending state boundaries, because that's the mindset of the truly righteous in this world: we don't ever give up, and we don't ever give in.

We became their willing collaborators, constructing the Underground Railroad** to help families on their road to freedom, and we fought a bloody Civil War on the basis of those freedoms, rights that are the legal right for every free American citizen, which we will do again, so it is in this vein that I will write this one more time to you, Southerner: Don't tread on me. Ever. Bitch.

Your homework, fuck-up:
*    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solomon_Northup
**  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Underground_Railroad

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gadsden_flag

The law, shithead:  

http://cnn.it/1eM7m6g