Who is the Victim?

Smart women know the principles of yin and yang, and its effects upon Western culture.

Thus they choose to obfuscate their identities, behind initials, pseudonyms, outright lies they are, because of the inherent bias of the powerful, the ones who look down, and scoff at any efforts made by the lesser sex.

 

WE AREN’T HAVING IT ANYMORE! TIME’S UP! Except the chorus is widespread, powerful as a shriek in the darkness of sexual harassment, Time Person of the Year, the many women, collectively staked out, bearing witness to tyranny, voicing their ignominious fates, at the hands of coaches, doctors, businessmen, lawyers, architects, spies, name it…Even the mighty fall, once the snowball becomes the avalanche crashing into them, buried under piles of crippling snow, rolling under, cannot breathe…The complicit ones cannot shelter them anymore, because the law is on the side of the victims. And they are rightly buried under the snow, not to be heard from again, except as a paragraph somewhere in obscurity, a snicker to the ones who survive, who are righteous and brave.

 

The light shall always overcome the darkness, and good wins over evil. Choose your side, and be ready for the karma to take hold of you, because it will. I print under my full name because I am unashamed of what I am, and how I speak for others, the many who have not the voice, or the courage to come forward. Because they are still out there, suffering under bullies, husbands, boyfriends, anyone who makes them feel less worthy…and they lash out, harsher penalties as they feel inferior, and cannot stand it, railing against archetypes chosen for their relationship of remembrance, with their opposite sex parent. And the cycle repeats itself, with men who won’t climb out of their self imposed holes of iniquity, abuse, neglect…and visit upon those women the same.

I am actually better off as I am, even though it’s not enviable either. I liken myself to John the Baptist, making the world straight for a greater one to come after me.

Advertisements

The Spider and the Fly

Cornered man, living in 1960’s single, with big sexual repression at home

Entrapped woman, same era, judged, mocked, forever shamed, by out of wedlock baby

Given up for adoption, 1957, and then internalized the unworthiness, forever more.

These people meet on double date, and due to untenable options at home

Hurriedly get married, 1963. The home lives were inescapably crucibles for them both.

So they overlooked the obvious in each other, the obtuse angles in contrapositions, the utter inappropriateness of values, lifestyles, even sexual orientations!

 

I became their only child, born 1964. Born to a hellishness of witnessing the unraveling of three lives, all because of that crucible that put them in this situation.

Anything to escape what was essentially a Salem witch trial. How long must one suffer a high libido, no outlet but marriage, heterosexual marriage, which was the only type until 2015 June in these United States of America?

Dad died in 2010, a broken man, having tried to corner his drive in the only acceptable way, which was in fact hellish, and defiantly unfair to him, as well as his unsuspecting wife, who also brought her carpetbags laden with oak logs, heavy, dragging behind.

Mom died in 2014, also broken, from a life of not being good enough, for herself, her inappropriate mate, her parents, her drunk boyfriend, because what good man would want her?? She internalized the rejection, from the act of having a baby, out of wedlock, in 1957. She was forever tainted, scarred with stretch marks on her abdomen, if only dad had seen them, I would not even be here…but he didn’t.

 

Silence became the way of life, for all of us, until we screamed piteously at each other, and at the injustice, of being in a cobweb from which there is no escape. And the spider is coming to eat you…you can see him, as you squirm, and wail, to no avail. You are his meal. Law of the animal kingdom. Caught in a web of one’s own making, a tapestry of life, choices made, circumstances unfolding, being the only child of a complete travesty of marriage, screaming, crying, wailing at the obscenity of it, knowing it will fall on you to clean up the refuse, the excrement, make the decisions, knowing full well that you are unequal to the task, because you are shaped by a spider and a fly in a cobweb….

You are the sole arbiter of destiny. You decide to be better than they were, making an example of how not to be, from how they were, with each other, and you. You take the parts that are good, and incorporate them, and become unique, and forged by steel, a witness to so much, including attempted murder, abuse, neglect, dysfunctional coping mechanisms. There is a price to be paid. I fulfilled my role, despite railing against it.

 

And was rewarded in the end. And leaving no descendants is perhaps a fitting epitaph, as no one should be burdened by the genetics of insanity, of overcoming life, bit by bit, as if in a crimson forge, making horseshoes…The many friends are the next chapter, and they will find good uses for the treasure I share with them, and their kids. It’s like leaving a foundation to carry on good work for society…and that is a good ending. Something like Sidney Carton in  “A Tale of Two Cities,” by beloved Charles Dickens, assigned by an English teacher in high school. I remember their names even now. And I am 37 years past graduating…they live on in eternity thus.

 

I write because after me, there will be no blood witnesses, but there will be a community touched by a life lived in hell, in the flesh. I cannot go to horror movies anymore. You can imagine why. Peace to all whom I have loved in this life. Even if it didn’t get me where I wanted it to go.

Underlying Truths, Unvoiced

Lives of quiet desperation, indeed!

Who knows what makes us tick?

Certainly the omnipotent Creator, known as God to most of us

But what about our spouses, lovers, friends, children, parents?

Do any of them have the complete picture, stolen from furtive looks, whispers under covers, secrets revealed, lies unfurled from contradictions we tell ourselves and others?

 

No, no being in the flesh knows our totality.

So who was there when you thought you were alone, about to pass gas,

in your desk chair, naked, but instead shot loose bowel movement?

No one knows this, until they enter your inner sanctum and spot the permanently stained memory foam desk chair, albeit cleaned up, still ruined…and the chair is $325, so you grapple with will anyone ever see it, and shine the light on a dark alley…

 

Or the middle-aged workaholic, who cares for all around her, patients, clients, family, but fails to set limits on any of them, thus wearing herself to a wizened nub of a  chewed Tootsie roll lollipop, with long since nothing edible left.

Forgetting the maxim that the caregiver can give nothing when she herself is not cared for, or about. To love is also to discipline those around us. When you don’t value yourself, no one else will either.

 

Or the secret lover of our dreams, who we keep locked up under the floorboards, or in a hidden closet? Fodder for gossip, he is! Chuckling, far away, unreal, because unraveled, like the shit spot on the desk chair. Only small glimpses afforded publicly.

He is a friend who sends flowers and chocolate and perhaps one single long stem red rose, which lasts for eternity in memory…

Indicating present desire and mystery. She knows if one man is pursuant, others will take a second look.

Secrets are nectar on a hot summer day, sliding down the throat of the parched but still beautiful red rose, who thirsts for her lover. But even he doesn’t get all  of her, because no one should hold the entire set of keys. Keep them guessing, because when everything is known, it is time to die.