WRITING SHOULD BE A CAGE FIGHT
When i was about 4 years old, I remember my 2-year-old baby sister, Elena Maria, bit her own forearm really hard, showed our mother the marks, then blamed me for it. Bewildered about how to even defend myself against a little sister I was then and would always be biologically predisposed to protecting my entire life, I got into big huge trouble for it. I always would and still am.
I was in my 40s before I realized the tiny gap in my own teeth should’ve been proof enough. And after an entire childhood where my sister broke mugs or set me up to be sent away to others’ homes or foster care so that she could be an only child, i realize my mother didn’t want to believe. never did. still doesn’t.
no one did. because i now realize that the entire western feminist devouring mother ideal, the Russia-is-bad narrative, the black lives matter and metoo bowel movements, as well as the hell i am going through with lincoln shaw, dave wasserman, et al, is all predicated upon this manipulative underhanded mind fuckery bullshit feminist shtick i fell for and supported like a shameless house nigger.
just as “white” is a generic meaningless term as it relates to people born of Scots Irish, Swedish, or Spanish backgrounds, it does imply a falsely conferred status, and i’m not wading into the fashionable gender hysteria, but “feminine” here especially devouring feminine, relates to a mode of being, manipulating, and an approach to the world predicated upon squatting to pee and having an extra hole.
because that’s how i am being gang stalked here in Mordor by Lincoln Shaw, Dave Wasserman, Bill Cosgrove and his girly boys, Andre Moreno, et al. I didn’t even see these “men” coming because i’d never known “men” like this; only females like my sister and bitchy girls in junior high i’d avoided.
As I gather my evidences and see what’s going on here with the hell, terrorizing, and fear Lincoln Shaw the despot has incited, I put my occasional panic attacks aside when the threat of physical harm is over (I think they are automatic physical responses to constant terror at this point so my mind waits them out by thinking logically), and I must admit that I am as fascinated as I was when I’d accidentally sliced my arm open when I was working at the frame shop and instead of screaming, I just sat there at the table fascinated by the sight of arm meat slowly being taken over by a growing pool of blood.
When i was dancing outside and was attacked by the tweaker couple and their pit bull, afterwards I ended up being the one consoling all of my neighbors as the olds and the youngs freaked out crying over and over, “why you? you’re one of us!”
I recognized an existential crisis when i saw one, and even as the blood poured down my face, the egg swelled up on my forehead and my eye started to close, i made sure to put my silver hoop earring back on.
i was proud i hadn’t lost my feet, and had stayed upright even as the pit nipped at my belly, and the cops were more worried that i’d scratched the parked car’s paint job. the homeboys were proud at taking video of the entire incident and i knew the magic phones had successfully emasculated the last of the protective nature of men.
tech had taken over san francisco and taught all the men to sit on the toilet to pee. i was on my own. fine…
we know how this story goes. only i’m not into being a martyr. i just wanna be left alone. but just like the girls in junior high, they will crush anyone whose orgasms are too good, laughter too loud.
that is my defiance.
Simon Sheridan first blew my mind with his Devouring Mother treatise. it wasn’t about the vagina or not. it was about the approach.
i pretended i was a boy when i was 7 and we were in Montana on a ranch for a month. Boys had more fun in Montana so we shot guns and wore cowboy hats and dug in the dirt.
Except when he peed an arc that seemed to go over the Grand Tetons in the distance, I lost my mind and cried like a little bitch and ran to mommy.
i lost my mind because even at age 7 i knew that anyone who could pee over the grand tetons was like a space alien to my mind. Dad was gone, shunned, hunted, and i was raised in a 2nd wave feminist coven, taught that men were assholes. but that was from our own female squatting vision, vantage point, and we put a value judgement on being intimidating by arcs of urine over mountain tops.
Silly us.
but they could pee over the grand tetons! I didn’t want to make them squat because i felt tiny! quite the opposite in fact: what ELSE could they do? and i was in awe of men from then on (still am) and whenever workmen came by as my mother was always buying moving and renovating houses, i wanted to wait on the workmen and bring them cold beers in west virginia and they’d talk to me and treat me more special than my mother and sister did.
still. i was feminist. i grew up trying to whore around and wrote about it. but in reality i’d be shivering in the fetal position for years after each fuck, trying to get the reality of how a man’s penis molds your vagina to him and no one else. anything else invites madness, disconnectedness.
i’d never admit this because it made my mother and sister angry.
but now that i saw what they’d turned into after James died and i was first being gang stalked and legally sodomized by all these pussy men, i realized they were what Feminism had promised: my mother never laughed, was lonely, and took over anything run by men in her “volunteering,” also called colonialization and it looked a lot like the effects of metoo for retirees; my little baby sister never had this vaulted career life they exalted, and instead used the arm-biting tactics to sue her husband and later baby daddy for alimony and child support without having to share the son, who’s turned into a pet she trains by diminishing all men.
this is what their feministic promise and ideal had turned into: Grey Gardens. and i didn’t want any of it.
They were victims bleeding my father dry and me, as well, even though i didn’t have a thing.
Ew.
so this that i am going through legally, i feel just as bewildered defending myself with the tiny gap still in my teeth. the system doesn’t want to see the gap of truth in my teeth in my demeanor because …
well you all KNOW. you won’t get laid, find work, or be loved. you will be shunned because this is the way of all western society now.
i keep asking why? why? why?
white girls. white women.
they’re not “real.” they’re an ideal even they are miserable in. that’s why the Scottsboro Boys will morph into all of us being tried for not whistling or fucking them well enough. it’s an existential thing i’m still figuring out.
I couldn’t understand James Baldwin even a bit until my 50s because i was also stuck in the “white man bad” paradigm. now i’m convinced no one really gets Baldwin. he’s just an intellectual signifier whose words can be twisted like all words like The Bible, like Yeshua’s, like the motherfucking law.
as i learn how these lawyers think, and how they can twist things any which way, i am hopeless that it means anything at all. lawyers are signifiers. i believe John Adams’ quote: “Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.”
and we’re fucked. a revolution is definitely coming because i’m losing any remaining trust belief or hope in any of these institutions set up as a bulwark to defend me. Dave Wasserman, Lincoln Shaw’s lawyer, is a Commissioner on The Rent Board, and openly abuses his authority and knowledge of how to exploit the shortcomings in the system to crush tenants and enrich is practice…. landlords don’t have to shoot their easily-evictable tenants in the back to sell an empty house for more money.
So as a colored girl, a mixie, i know The Constitution was a joke from jump. but it’s such a good idea, can’t we at least aspire to it?
And if no religion in a secular world…
What morality? Biblical? Feminist? American? Wealthy? If religion and capitalism and all isms can be coopted by assholes, where’s the ground? the reason? the enlightened self interest?
like a court case, the one with the best story wins.
as artist, i see my job in this lifetime is to tell a better, more interesting story. i slash white women and their feminism, but i slash at an idea, because my mother and sister are miserable because they are human beings… not ideas. not the cartoon story they fell for.
I see Emmett Till in my James, and that’s why the rest of my life will be to tell the story so that niggrifying any man is wrong, because as Camille Paglia’s work pointed out to me, it’s not just men they niggrify: it’s any of us women who decide to keep our tits intact and don’t want to hang out with covens of women and bitch about men. we don’t go for the group and alpha woman shtick. we’re loners weirdos the dangerous ones who get labeled “whooers” dykes misfits iconoclasts rebels…
James Swanson’s love devotion and strength taught me the reality of Ephesians 5:22-33 in practice:
22 Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. 23 For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. 24 Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.
25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her 26 to make her holy, cleansing[a] her by the washing with water through the word, 27 and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. 28 In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. 29 After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body, just as Christ does the church— 30 for we are members of his body. 31 “For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.”[b] 32 This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. 33 However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.
in the western white generic woman’s eyes where love is domination/submission, of course it’s about something else entirely. and i’m not letting off king james and all the powers who think this way, teaching us a la the Willie Lynch Letter, to fight amongst each other.
so with the time i have left, i aim to show how James’ love changed and made me strong more of who i am as a Woman. i am hardly weak.
when i tell the story of all i am going through here, you will see how James’ love has made me indestructible.
I’ve been looking at the Bible, beyond the Bible to the “aliens” that’re supposedly coming, or that we supposedly are ourselves, to find The Truth. I always figured it doesn’t matter, as long as I end up in Love. And Chris Bledsoe said Divine Woman is furious at the imbalance. That Divine Woman must make a return.
I wrinkled my forehead. Chris Bledsoe is the most believable of all these youtube “channelers” to me, and he withstood vilification like Lenny Bruce. Nowadays that’s how i know who to listen to you: can you withstand a life-long shunning and come back from the woods with a smile and a hard on?
if so, come over here and sit by me.
so i ruminate on Woman…
and i realized Woman MAKES Man! Just as Man also makes Woman.
And Woman is fucking up royally. I see what my sister is doing to my dear nephew by raising him as a little white girl and yes… it’s time to bring such women to the splaining room have a “come-to-Jesus” moment, whether you’re Jewish Puerto Rican or Muslim. if you’re in the West and want all the shit at the expense of your struggling man, then you’re a White Girl.
remember: it’s an approach. and you can be Lincoln Shaw and Dave Wasserman, both of whom i refer to as squid and snake respectively, but it’s a female APPROACH. our governments are like bitches. look at Trump. yeah, i recant my vote for him twice, as he’s a total cunt. i just wanted free speech to last a few more weeks.
i’m a cartoonist.
back to Western Vision of Woman…
we cannot have Medea as our north star. I am shook because i see Medea in my mother and sister. the misery of an existential promise never fulfilled.
i think save the white woman shtick was to give “white men” something to buttress up this identity which was designed to always have someone then be “the nigger.”
i didn’t wanna go here because i’m gonna have to start calling out people i adore like respect and support with the meagre finances i have. When Dolly Parton died, Everyone loves her and exalted her ability to not say anything bad about anybody because she wanted to remain in show business. Babylon Bee joked that the last universally loved person dying was a sign of End Times.
I want to be liked, too. Six people showed up at Thomas Paine’s funeral and none at James’ because i was too busy fighting my first eviction attempt and restraining order to even try to set anything up.
and as i see what pussies the extremely well paid gay/trans kids are that have been installed in this building, how they know what’s going on but want to keep what they got that we olders fought for, i’ve decided to toss my dream of being Auntie Mame and leave them to their fates and worry about my own and others like ME…
the weirdos freaks rebels outliers.
i can’t be universally beloved like Dolly, with her fake wigs and secret private life. i can’t make it in show biz as my life IS my enterainment, as well as yours.
so i re-calibrate myself to bite hands that no longer feed me, only i want to giggle and not end up ranting and dying on the floor like Lenny Bruce, way before his time.
i’m writing this essay in particular because i’ve noticed that substack incentivizes more mean-girls following/unfollowing based on liking or agreeing with what people are saying, but what’s way worse to me, is that the writers themselves are now absolving themselves of responsibility to make and pitch their points based on cage fights.
David Mamet is the only one i’ve heard say that art theatre and literature needs to fight it out before the audience. everyone else thinks it’s a popularity contest, forgetting WHY or HOW ideas should make it into the main discourse: bloody beat downs.
everyone’s got a substack now. it’s all just a loud pitch fest where readers pay to support what they want to her, so writers comply because everyone wants financial support. everything online turns us into whores.
so i get itchy when Naomi Wolf has multiple homes and whores out for support because being a truth teller means you might live in a shack and have six people show up at your funeral if you’re lucky.
i didn’t care about that until i happened to listen to her newer husband, Brian O’Shea, for a couple of hours one night. He was talking about the earlier Alex Jones episode where Dr. Wolf was on arguing about why American Zionists deserved Israel as a pied a terre.
Brian O’Shea, another mixie, i recognize him because when my mother married my much younger uncle, he also couldn’t keep up with her financially and ended up looking like a little dog bouncing up an down beside this high powered executive and fucking her hard wasn’t enough to earn his keep after the honeymoon was over.
i see i feel the same thing here with Brian O’Shea and he’s begun using his smarmy (devouring mother) tactics to try and undermine Alex Jones and anyone else who thinks America and its citizens should come before fantasies of pied a terres when regular folx aren’t making it here.
this is more white girl shit: my mom and sister skinning me and others for their feministy ideals and comfort at the expense of the struggling.
no! no more!
i saw Alex Jones falter when she pulled the I WAS RAPED shtick and it was a cheap shot. I’m also formerly “liberal” (of the house nigger stripe) and see my own beliefs are wobbly as i see how the courts see me as the divorced dad villain. i’ve got the gap in my teeth to prove i’ve been bullied over 20 years but it doesn’t matter because they cling to the STORY. it’s existential. it’s a power trip whose time is over.
i aim to make sure of that even if i’m universally disliked, unlike Dolly, and end up dead face down like Lenny Bruce with no one at my funeral like Thomas Paine.
Bashar says do what excites you. not what is safe or ensured.
Biting hands and screaming fuck you is what makes me wet, for as Tom Robbins said: “write with a hard on; even if you’re a woman.”
i do. i will. i shall. i have and will again and again.
I love Dr. Wolf. I can love a Zionist and Alex Jones and Tucker the same. I love my mom. I’m a mixie. I see both sides from living with James in 264 square feet for 26 years. I had to. (smile)
But it all comes down to CLASS again and i want to return the conversation to that:
Whose lives matter when having Israel as a pied a terre is for those who can afford to have dual citizenship fought for by the blood of the American poor who’re cannon fodder when Americans with only a foot in this country can’t even afford a crappy apartment of their own, much less ONE house in which to have kids and grow a family?
So no, Tucker Carlson is not anti-semetic for pointing that out, nor is Alex Jones. Naomi Wolf was glad the Alex Jones producer showed visuals of Israelis getting it on October 7, but what of all the OTHERS dying getting slaughtered? Whose lives matter?
When Dr. Wolf pulled out the “I was raped!” card to silence Alex Jones, i instantly knew she was still entrenched in White Girl territory. all the niggers deserved to die for her Zionist dream of a pied a terre.
that’s what this is all about.
even my own situation here is because the Brazilians upstairs tormenting me do so because this is their pied a terre that they rent out at a profit with the landlord, who also has his own house up on Diamond Heights, overlooking us shlubs down here in the Burrito Flats.
nothing’s changed… Willie Lynch letter fake or not, works, and we field negroes are at each other’s throats whilst the fucking rancid elite watch the bloodsport on their fucking phones.
they’re pussies when you face them.
that’s why i’m here. that’s why i can’t go Dolly’s route.
Charlie Sheen’s face on Tucker’s show emulates my own daily inner shock that we assholes turn out to be the motherfuckin’ sweethearts every do dah TIME…
So as Woman, i want Men to return to being Men again and pee over the Grand Tetons and build outhouses for those of us who squat and don’t want snakes and squids slithering up into our extra hole.
I know nothing, nada. Only that we need to stop being cunts to each other. we women cannot be Divine Feminine until we exalt the Masculine Divine. They go hand in hand. there is no more winning to “Get up old man before i fuck you right there!”
This vision sucks. I am here to help start a parallel underground, new way. Yeah, money and land is a legitimate issue. but we need new STORIES.
Time to shame the devils and tell the motherfuckin’ TRUTH.
it’s about class, you all. Class.
“white people” don’t interest me. it’s a power trip and plenty of colored folks are whiter than “white” at this point.
Scots Irish in Appalachia are my kin.
And i want the much larger vision for all of us that pees in an arc way over the Grand Tetons because this little squatting pathetic vision totally sucks. ain’t nothing in it for me for most of us.
This is why Revolution is inevitable. i’m just trying to start an artistic fun economic tendril before it becomes only bloody. we need to find our ways back to each other and then the land and cash issue will take better care of itself.
i know i’m not the only one who sees gold cash and even land becoming meaningless when it can be confiscated. People are more creative than this bullshit. AI is making us more and more dumb.
I aim to invest in defiant human ingenuity, that will run circles around the bureaucrats politicians and its priestly class.
Yeah, i am an American chauvinist… I’ve lived all over and criss crossed America on trains, in cars, on motorcycles, ever since I can remember. One-on-one Americans are amazing brilliant and bad asses.
Everytime i hear about men pulling down flock cameras with pick up trucks, i remember there still are real men out there beyond the bay area. not like the peeing squatters here in the bay area like my fellow tenants, or Lincoln Shaw or Dave Wasserman and Bill Cosgrove and his (IVF?) progeny.
Why am i here in Mordor still? Because this building won’t let me go and I’m supposed to know see and feel first hand the evil of the Medea north star before i propose a new vision of Divine Feminine as i ascend to my job as artist, unofficial legistlator of a new culture based upon the enlightened self interest of not niggrifying anyone anymore for your beach front Gaza pied a terres.
Enough already. / Basta!
x
