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Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Psychiatric drugs KILL THOSE WHO take them, not "kill the lives" of those who take them.

Psychiatric Drugs Kill the Lives of Those Who Take Them

That headline implies that it only ruins your life, and you can recover from them. I would like to think so, yet such recovery is only a little space of time. Say, did you ever notice how long it takes to kill a person? Maybe ten seconds, maybe a lifetime. During that unknown span of time, anything can happen, including the mental patient gets pregnant and has yet another one. I worked a job for awhile, yet something like Black Magic is catching up with me. It may as well be White or Gray Magic, or Blue Magic, but Black Magic is what I'm forced to call it...after the D-word. I'm not in love with the D-word, and yet my life is wretched enough that I am. So I am locked into a morally ambivalent state about things, since there is nothing but Black Magic going on at all times.

It's like being a Reverse Celebrity. You're one of a small, but eclectic crowd. That isn't a crowd, a group of friends, or anything but a Sucker Game. And you don't make any real money from it, just enough to get by, until you get a job while you're dying. Or in the process of dying. From taking something called "medication" that until you get it, is only Rat Poison.

The Rat Race. Anybody ever mention something called the Rat Race? It's the idea, like in the Miss America pageant, as in Xena, Warrior Princess (she kills everyone else, you see), as in Project Runway (only one winner, and it's hidden), as in the Tattoo shows, etc. etc. Only one winner of the lovely Foot Race. The animal which is trying to eat you is supposed to lose. Try turning around, like you're Jewish, and through rocks at said animal. Then, they get angrier. Time to take it out on the enemy tribe next door, don't you think? North and South Korea. Phloomph!

United Nations and United States participates, gets labelled enemies. Time for more killing those who are "not people," namely crooks, the infirm, and of course the ever non-popular women and children. Boys and girls together, me and Mamie O'Rourke. Tripping the light fantastic on the Sidewalks of New York. They are indeed rebuilding the World Trade Center. It is being renamed something else, in spite of Isis, Isil or whatever. New York is good old New York.

Meanwhile, I get Catholics. And Jews. And whoever. They have to blame their Mommy uh, differently. They have to find some Other Mommy to blame for their life woes, or they would have to blame, shudder, their real, umm, "pretty" mommies. That would be such a disaster, don't you think? Gee, but it rather implies that in short, they ARE blaming their real mommies...well, for something. I'm guessing that it is indeed the D-word. Well not the word, but the thing that is the Man on the Stairs. Using the F-word as the D-word, every male and occasional female Moron on the face of the planet. The f-word is about a certain life-bestowing process, called Pregnancy, folks. So in the end, use of the F-word is just another way to pick on, um the Subhuman Being. Like there is one, a special one called Jesus Christ, who will save us all. I hope he doesn't ever show up. Asking one person to save us all is Dehumanization, folks. and nothing but. The idea is Jesus the special Faggot will save us all, and I hate to say this, but a faggot isn't something as alone as you think it is. Or even the special group of whatever it is you think it is. It's a piece of wood. When you bundle it together, it is stronger, was indeed the idea. That applies to every ethnic minority and everyone else on the face of the planet, so please stop running with those scissors, now, before you get hurt.

Well, once you figure out that Mommy is a faggot, so much for that. Then, it has to be someday else every time. Maybe the cosmic Mental Patient routine works. The weakest one, or something. So that everyone can enjoy a daydream retirement, one that stays ephemerally out of reach, effortlessly implying that once you fall down by the side of the road, someone comes along and shoots you in the head, taking you out of the picture long enough...you know better than that, don't you? Or maybe being in a group or alone works better. Thanks for not screaming your lungs out at me. I just heard an F-you that I can't understand or relate to, because I'm neither a gay man or a lesbian. Well, I don't really understand it coming from that direction, either. But it does make me want to be a lot more alone. I guess something warps out the urge to make someone pregnant a lot. Or something is really very sexist. I don't know which one. The f-word, based on doing it to women, which at some point is based on procreation exclusively, is being rather misused today. Possibly, primarily by those who don't really make anyone at all pregnant. Well, you know, it's like in Auschwitz. You'd be amazed at all those who managed to survive Auschwitz, due to fucking being part of the normal process of eventually somebody trying to get pregnant the "normal and natural way." Through male and female sexual intercourse. It's tricky. You need income and a lot of other things. You know? So the f-word gets bounced around, to the point of all distraction, and the meaning of it gets completely forgotten. We think it means taking it up the tail instead of taking it up the vagina. So I guess so; due to nearly mythological versions of gay sex. Yet, I myself have had it up both, in a sexual manner, and simultaneously too. Funny, it did seem like Black Magic at the time. Well, it wasn't one or the other, it wasn't anal sex or vaginal sex, which oddly doesn't seem to get much of a MENTION anymore, anywhere that I know of (I think we're all supposed to know about it somehow, like we were BORN WITH THE KNOWLEDGE) or something. Something else.

So experimentation is definitely a part of things. Gee, this is that term paper again, isn't it? I think I'm Sigmund Freud and Dr. Ruth, but in reality, I just finally found a guy barely in time and squeezed out a kid in a merciless Black Magic situation involving extreme pollution and itself, auto exhaust everywhere. It's getting worse not better, all over the I'm finally going to say it, Fucking Planet. The Planet that Fucks, so that more and more people can enjoy Stinky Truck Syndrome.

Well, now you know why I am Karen the Moron Peralta. The F-word. Okay!

Actually, I thought I had to learn Martial Arts and Marital Arts. So, there. So, I taught my daughter Karate, not Judo, and she learned some other such stuff. And Nate knows some of it too, from back when he was a White suburban kid apparently. He knows how to make a Cold Hand. Why, it WAS a cold hand. The only thing he was allowed to do to anyone else...period. Makes sense to me. You got a lot of kids at a dojo, you're asking for Lawsuit Hell from the parents or guardians of whatever "faggot" kid gets ganged up on by idiots, or whoever gets caught in a melee at all. Including the entire room of kids, who finally find that they are rather seriously injured...as Mahatma K. Gandhi once put it, far too late to be able to see what it is that they have done. Because they are suddenly MISSING THEIR EYES. It's a threat by Mr. Gandhi, a Parent, so you would see the Light.

Like Dr. King, I finally became a Parent, but now, she is gone because I taught her Karate. Or, is that it? No, she forgave me, like every kid does forgive his or her or even "its' Parents. But she won't forgive her Dad; Hitler won there, possibly in a way he never even really wanted to. Well, he's right, we're evil New America. So there is always something, you know, behind the scenes. Shadows behind doorways, always something somehow. We must be partially responsible for why North Korea is still at odds with South Korea, in ways going severely under-reported by the Mass Media. I like to think there are caring people trying hard to do otherwise than promote the conflict. Hitler was one to promote it, care about it and think it was something good. That made him summarily evil, really, because of the chaos that is War and what results from it: disordered minds.

An irrevocable conclusion, by Karen the Moron Peralta

Racist Rapist Rape Music. In disguise as Rap Music. Sell sex, sex sells. Ugh!
Country? Well, it's a Bastard one with no name.
Mexico? I'd flee there, but then I'd have to go back in time and be a hooker.
Canada? I tried to move there, and once again, did not get away from The Freeway.
Free? Like Dr. King said, there's only one way to do that: die, and die again...once?

How many times? I don't know, but I am really holding out hope for Just the Once. NOT rebirth. Not an afterlife. It's all a reference to sleeping at night. You sort of die at night and wake up again in the morning. In spite of all the Black Magic, I figure I have the world's easiest cop out. I am going to die someday. I am going to be a very destroyed personal consciousness. The weird little pea thing in my brain, which helps me go to sleep and come back, will be gone. Whatever Black Magic really is, it will NOT have me to, as President Nixon once put it, "kick around anymore." What he meant by that is the Vikings had a bad reputation for using people's heads (so did the Poles and the Nazis etc.) as soccer balls. Hoping a woman or a man's head is still around? Nah, they probably figured it out and were just using them as soccer balls, but it does beg the question: did they really think that?

Did they really think for a moment that whatever it was, it was still alive and feeling? Well, it takes Black Magic to think that sort of thing, so it implies they sure were experiencing something like it...
Or, I could hang out and enjoy the war, thank you, Adolf. Hey, how 'bout Einstein? The Man of the Century routine, followed by the Women of the Century, the People of the Millennial, etc. But how do you accomplish anything in the post Atomic Bomb era? Maybe, you can accomplish remaining alive while potentially having children, is about all the accomplishment you can get out of life, uh, nowadays, I guess. Well, maybe you can. I just had the one, and she's gone. She last said of her whereabouts, she is near a Ben Franklin, away from our local cement plant (boy it's a polluter) and our local gigantic Bothell Way. I'm sure she's still near a major thoroughfare somewhere, but you never know, maybe somewhere it's not so bad. I'm so glad she's GONE! But maybe she lost her Internet access, after she lost her phone. So now I never hear from her anymore. Well, she could be dying out there somewhere, or have to become a mental patient in order to achieve housing. Yet there is a Black lady I met once on the street, by disregarding Malcolm X completely. I gave her $20 and simply asked her to tell me about her life. She had housing, lived in a small studio or perhaps it was a one-bedroom at the time, spent time by herself and read books...she didn't seem to have lots of friends, and she didn't particularly want to talk with me. Still, we did talk. She wasn't working, she had disability or something of some kind, and she was a street beggar part-time. That's how she was getting by. She had a chance still to meet someone eventually. I dreamed of telling her about my job at Center Park, but suddenly saw her as competition and wandered away, thinking that while she could maybe get a job there, and I might have a new friend, maybe she simply wouldn't be one. Also, she might take an available job away from me. That's what I meant by that. Jobs were scarce at Center Park at the time. I'm a dreamer, but there is no such Real Dream. Wake up? Smell the coffee? Smell the roses? Support your local music scene? Whatever...why not, considering. Any day now, the other nearby nuclear power plant collapses. Might as well live while you can...

Oh, I'm behind the times. I'm dying from Psych meds. It's because of Black Magic.

What Blacks are doing in charge of it is a mystery to me. If they are, they are not people, they are demons from Hell. I thought Africa was a continent and not Hell. However, if that's what they think they are, maybe somebody should tell those children to stop running with those scissors. And GROW UP or something. MAYBE growing down is not the solution. Ya think? Gee, I have floppy breasts too myself. I'd rather die than end up being a demon in Hell, by the way. Really? Well, Blacks who need to be demons in Hell...maybe you should try dousing yourselves in gasoline and setting yourselves on fire. Maybe than you can make the lovely Attainment thing happen. What do you think? Douse yourselves on fire every day, while running with them scissors.

Black in charge of Eternal Hell? Maybe, Blacks in charge of non-eternal drugs. I keep having a deep and abiding suspicion that DRUG USAGE had an awful lot to do with such malarkey as Blacks being demons or in charge of eternal Hell. Drugs, DDT, Agent Orange, well, pollution. Do you s'pose? I am so full of drugs that now my reality is just one long hallucination. At least I'm not in agony yet. I'm sure I will be again someday, and maybe it will be the preliminary battle with Death. The D-word, the one hidden behind all the complex furniture of fake Hell references, Predestination, actual motherhood (I'm sorry, all the Black Magic in the world couldn't overcome the Real McCoy, no matter what ever happened. I wish it could have...then Angela would have held out for a realer dude than Nate...but you know, WHAT realer dude than Nate?)

"They" them. Boys with their toys. Well, shrug. I never do anything about it. Do I? Maybe I did in 1986. The one in 1980 was against the other animals, not boys and men, sorry.

I bet they are secretly NOT in charge of it. I bet not. I bet some of them think they are, though. Which ones? The ones that didn't invent it. Who did, many guesses on that one. The one I hate the most is "me," that I'm the one who is supposed to have invented it. The latest explanation is it's all a hallucination I'm having, so that I am forced to "take something" for it.

Do you s'pose maybe it's Satan? Maybe Satan is a man, or my husband? Is that it? I'm a woman, and we are all supposed to be "mentally ill" nowadays and even then a days, because we're not a pizza place and we don't uh, "deliver" right away. We take a while sometimes to jump into bed with "the man" apparently, because he can walk away every time "we" get pregnant. So we have this "choice" thing now, where we're supposed to choose whether or not to kill His kid. His kid, that he makes you pregnant and walks away from. What if, say, he stuck around and raised the kids or kids? That almost worked, once, in human history, but gee, it would have been such a first.

It sure could be, but what is Sappho and Wotan doing lately? Har, har, hard. To face this: Satan probably is a name that comes from something other than a cross between Sappho and Wotan. And yet, I keep thinking it is a highly distinctive possibility. Sappho, alleged Greek lesbian or maybe feminist leader, and Wotan, alleged victor in the realm of Reading and Writing. If they ever met, maybe a woman with leadership capabilities and a man who could read and write mean something, in some obscure manner. Maybe they were a lot like Dr. King and Coretta Scott, uh, King. Coretta Scott, such a propitious name. Do you suppose it might have meant something? Something other than a slave name, of sorts. She is always posing for the statue at me. I don't know why. There is no such statue that I know of. Still, she keeps trying to be that statue, perhaps for me? If only for Black women...well, that'a a form of lesbianism I can't quite appreciate. I guess if I want her to have a statue for her, she is rather dead. And why do I want a statue for her? I don't really want one for me, for I can certainly see looking upwards at one and having odd thoughts, such as: what is that thing doing there, not looking like me really, and gee, I certainly see what they did with me now. I'd rather it was a smaller statue, sort of, but I'd never arrive at the color of the thing I think.

Maybe it would be, umm, white marble. So it could go all dirty...no, not a good idea, the statue, so it could do the very thing that is making Coretta Scott into a demon from Hell at me. I have no proof, no evidence of something. Which is making Coretta Scott into a rapist at me. Somewhat at that, a kind of Gang Rapist in twosomes. I'm not racially pure, so every statue on the planet ends up being one of me, over and over and over again. So the Statue of Dr. King is also one of Karen Cole. Perhaps that explains Coretta? I say something like that, and it is time for something stupid some more is it not? Karen Cole is dirty white, so I guess that is all. Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't. I'm rather alone in that, for some odd reason, for no reason really. Underneath the original Elizabeth Taylor, underneath the real Joan...something, a Jewess I guess. A comedian. Underneath the real Gertrude Schwarz, lurks Stan Lee, Sherwood Schwarz, Edward Teller. The latter? A stranger clown than "we," one who said once that as of the very first atomic bomb explosion, the planet is destroyed. I am really not a feminist, but I am not banking on imaginary Jesus to save us from it. Or much of anything else. In fact, I have no "us." Except for a family and coworkers.

I barely have any such family left, and a lot of coworkers. I wonder about that 100+ coworker crew of mine. It is really something like several thousand strong, my colleagues of the Internet. and I can find you someone or several such someones. It's not a romantic kind of thing, it's a work relationship. If you can't understand that, or need to push your Mommy or a proxy Mommy around for bringing you into this world, in the hopes that your Daddy or proxy Daddy will, uhhh, take you out of it...you're a bit too used to child abuse. Don't come to us with it, go to a psychologist and not a psychiatrist. Unless you want to "take the easy way out," in which case you might as well join The Cannibalism Network and uh, try cannibalism and see how you feel when someone cuts a small portion out of your left leg while you are bound and gagged, and unable to say anything to stop them from continuing to do so. That sort of thing. The Cannibalism Network is on Google, and it may be incredibly easy to find. Just go there. If you want to take advantage of us instead of using our services to get ahead yourself, though some work and effort on your part, and hiring us to help you. If that's what you really want, the other thing. Go there. You will find love and comfort from your enemy the Cannibal, if you can get her or him to eat you faster. You probably won't, so I suggest you think about what I just said. They tend to take their sweet little time about things...

Must be that "moment of lucidity." Where I can "tell right from wrong." Not being able to tell right from wrong is dyslexia, folks, not mental illness. Still, dyslexia is something labelled mental illness. Well, if you gotta bomb a building for your own needs for revenge, for yourself and/or "your kind" or whatever, I guess so. One way or another, you're busily giving we dyslexics a kind of "bad name," one which must go ringing downhill fast as a image of disaster. So we mental patients end up on chemotherapy, the same way cancer patients die. The same way concentration camp victims die. The same way we all will die, except some of us are parents. So we types want to stick around for our kids, but my daughter decided that, because she loves me, to hook up with another psychiatric patient, a male one. So I have nothing left to live for, because my daughter is now dead. Thank you, Satanic world of Hitler's Highway. If there's a next life, I'm going to kill God in it. And spend the rest of eternity torturing whoever or whatever it is that did all of that to me. Directly. I'm going to spend all of eternity torturing...wait a minute, I'm just going to die and LEAVE IT ALL BEHIND so that it can find yet another victim than me and my kid to torture. Maybe it can do it to a large ethnic group called Black America, like it always does anyway. They are imaginary anyway, aren't really people anyway, and are all alike anyway, due to Black Magic. So, so what?

So what...that's my husband's general response to all of that crap. Other than that, of course, due to Black Magic and maybe a dose of the old dyslexia, he takes it out on me if I bring something up or, well, something. Seems Hitler called him an asshole through me, if I was supposed to be their maid instead of their mother-in-law or stepmother or something. Something about me being some kind of eternal maid for them, but gee, then they would have to be from the Third World or something, instead of being Real Americans. If I had to be their maid, that one time once rather explains everything. I don't think being their maid was ever, forever, a good idea. Neither is this. I'm not making any money off of this anymore, so eventually it will have to be gone. There is no encouragement in the fact this computer jumps around and jumps around and jumps around like a leaping lesbian, to remind me that my daughter is now a leaping simalucron of a lesbian, a young lady who is now a psychiatric patient instead of anyone with a real life.

So, I go something left wing. Maybe there is no such thing as a real life. Well, I go, maybe there is a giant International Freeway system, named somewhat (not completely yet) after Adolf Hitler and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. So all those who "have a life" can contemplate doing something about the problem. Something to do with delegating the work to those who make electric cars possible, or in other words those who pollute the environment with the gathering and the maintenance of the resources necessary to produce one simple electric vehicle. One which could save the human race, while we go out into space and perpetually look for a Mr. Spock who isn't there, probably, except for being on a humble planet so many light years away that we will possibly never reach it in time to tal to or in other words negotiate something with said "Mr. Spock," in other words Mr. Negro. Yes, I guess that's it, if you really think about it, isn't it? Its the way the story goes. Like in your eyes a certain sorrow shows, yes, it shows.

Bye, Angela, you figured it out. You were too smart, and you figured it out. Bye.

There are no "safe" psychiatric drugs. Each has numerous harmful short term and largely unknown long term effects. Each psychiatric drug which was originally heralded as the new "safe" wonder drug, was found to have severe harmful side effects, including addiction, and withdrawal symptoms, among others. Psychiatric drugs obtain their result by causing brain dysfunction.
Thorazine, a strong tranquilizer, creates a very similar effect to a lobotomy (brain surgery) by disrupting frontal lobe nerve activity. Psychiatrists grossly neglect to point out the potential harm of psychiatric drugs to their patients, such as tardive dyskinesia, tardive dementia, general dulling of awareness, emotional numbing, and cognitive dysfunction. Side effects occur in 100% or more of patients (including their wonderful families and absolutely everyone else in the world), depending on the drug and dosages, and often the effects are permanent with no known cure. Also, they now give you Mystery Meat to make sure you come down with roundworms and Trichinosis, etc. Can't prove anything, it's the perfect murder, so so what? Well, it's new to give people high or even low doses of psych meds, and it's only been around since the 1800s. So it's only a matter of time before such stuff destroys the entire human race, theoretically, but gee, what would hide that from me? Maybe a Black man who was afraid of everyone dying of venereal diseases because he had them himself. Poor bloke. Trouble is, venereal diseases are as old as the hills. Meanwhile, psych meds are something new, and infinitely more appealing than the venereal diseases we blame on the Goddess Venus, or womankind. So gosh all roonies, or rookies, the thing that is based on psych meds may have the proclivity to spread out from psych meds and engulf all of Mankind. Gee, it might. Then we all end up on ADD, ODD, extreme medical care, whatever, due to say Obamacare. Universal medical care. Including the psych meds routine, and a million other lovely misdiagnoses where the treatment far, far, far outweighs the need for it. MAKES JOBS, HAPPEN, KILLS PEOPLE. Gee, Obamacare works out to be yet another Auschwitz, one way or another. So small at first, so spreading out from there. So hopeless. The hospital system that eats people. So INEVITABLE. La causa, in other words, once again. Black Magic, it keeps screaming at me.

Maybe in real life it's Black Magic that any such nonsense that modern medical care saves human lives. Maybe it only destroys them, on a very regular basis. I don't know. In spite of all the lovely Black Magic, I remain too real, human or otherwise to figure it all out. So in the end, it makes it look like half the people go into the hospital or wherever, and only half of them ever do come out again. The second half is killed, period, by "medical care." It's been that way ALL ALONG, from well before Obamacare ever existed...the rest? Like in Victorian times, when they invented the coal tar derivatives that psych meds are, even the German Nazi versions that came along later, and "God" knows what else...what else? Well, hopefully I will be safely dead someday, before this perfect Black Magic Inquisition comes for me further. I do see some signs of progress when it comes to my Final Solution salvation, the one where I finally "get away" and am headless and there is no more to kick around. It is indeed sheer raw evil for me, which is what Evil Magic is all about. Gee, do you think that term maybe implies there is such a thing as Good Magic? I wondered about that, and it is solely for sales. You are supposed to buy something, and cast female-dominated Magic Spells, and accomplish absolutely Nothing. I got a Black Candle to outdo a White Candle once, that's about it. So if you want to Rat Race candles, have a go at it. More Black Magic; I'm being haunted by one Ralph Ellison. He has to lord it over me for unknown reasons, like every other Black or possibly Black Man or possibly Black People or who is it, this thing that is haunting me? Who is it, exactly? I did just want my million copy best seller. Gee, you'd think that would be normal, but apparently, not for "the likes of me." I don't have any, that's my problem. I don't have ANY the "likes of me." Hmm, makes me want to go I'm "not a crook," well, I'm not one. Funny, thought, the crooks all think I am one. I'm a book ghost writer, actually. I'm afraid it's not a crook, even when I'm only one such ghost writer. I helped you with that, but the Black Magic is starting to get to me, you see.

I'm not sure what it is. Sometimes it says it is my genius, sometimes it says it is simply sibling rivalry with my sister Connie. Since she is kind of Black back there somewhere, that could make for something with me against Black People. Still, I keep thinking there is something in them against me. They're being varied individual persons and not Demons fro Hell is in fact my only hope sometimes. Because we are all probably from Africa, originally anyway, but of course nobody really knows about such things...keeping mushroom cloud me in the dark perpetually and feeding me shit. Bull shit, cow manure, whatever. Coffee, Coca Cola, other such stuff. Beer, wine, hard drugs, psych meds. And the food and water is full of them too. What can one do? Am I a mushroom, white with dots all over it, or shit smeared by Blacks and Browns, or am I a woman, middle aged, who thinks something happened back there, more or less something like an Animal Trail I followed...more or less...something like what something called The Indians (and that's not their real name, which makes it a name of an unknown Deity of some kind)...a mushroom cloud. I remember, a girl back there in a commercial. She was white with, not exactly freckles. And it seemed to me like she had to take the blame for such things as mushroom clouds. A witch? That is the best whatever it is can do, accuse people of witchcraft. Things that are not really possible, such as flying through the air when it really means hanging by the neck until dead. That sort of thing, those abominations....seeing Ralph Ellison in traffic is a Real abomination, though, and I have to wonder if a Real mushroom "cloud" is what is responsible for this. Yet is it drugs, such as LSD? I ended up taking two small amounts of it, experimentally, back when I was only living to kill time. Mushroom cloud syndrome. Of sorts. In a Black magic world where I was the only, repeat the ONLY, non-white person in the world. My Mom somehow didn't count. She was too busy being, oh, some other odd person. Namely, Satan. I couldn't figure that out, but eventually they said that was "normal." My Mom being Satan. There is always someone else, who had a worse Mom than mine at being Satan.

You know, I'll buy that. Mystery to me. Maybe I'm getting rather retarded from being told that everyone else on the face of the planet is both better off and worse off than I am. I am facing down a Super-being called Everyone Else, and it's getting a lot like I'm Superman constantly facing down a very judgmental Lex Luthor. You say you are worse off than me and that you have a similar problem to me. Then you say you are better off than I am. You have left me alone, heartbroken, without my daughter and my family. Yet you say you are one gigantic united toadie against me. Yes, that is what you have been saying all of my life. But what about my colleagues? The ones you are trying to devour, for some odd reason? The ones who are an odd third party to this? Well, they can be you sometimes, too judgmental indeed, and rather out to get me. You are quite correct, they are y'all too. So I guess I am an animal with a brain, contesting with all other animals on the face of the planet. Gee, that sounds like how it should be. Trouble is, I'm totally alone at all times, like you want me, but then again I have a group with me at all times, like you want me. Still, you keep saying I am forced to choose between one and the other.

Your thing that you have in mind? That I'm a weird freako white woman. It didn't take long to make this non-startling deduction. Your choice thing? The abortion bandwagon again, or the argument that the wallflower gets pregnant all by herself. Through masturbation? Is that what you think you have caught me at? The other choice thing? Why, it is the career or the housewife thing again. The idea called either a career or a baby machine. Unfortunately, in my case the long prolonged episode called Baby Machine got cancelled, due to Black Magic circumstances again, and people crawling out from under rocks instead of being born, once again, all over again. I guess due to uh, Black Magic, I'm somehow "not female" or something really absurdist. It sounds like the wacked out sexual fantasies of someone else. I'm a rape victim, really, of multiple rapes, in both real life and in Black Magic life, while something weird keeps judging that the rape victim was raped and since the rapist or rapists "got away," they somehow were the Clear Winners. So now everyone who is on their side is a Clear Winner in the special Adolf Hitler sweepstakes! I guess.

The one where the Nazis keep getting brung up is maybe finally over with. I am part German American and wasn't raised Jewish, Indian or any of those wonderful things. I also was NOT raised German American. I was raised as the fall "guy" of my family, Jughead Jones, the idea being to make me into the family lesbian. I hate to tell you this, but that idea does indeed work sometimes. But it's a lot like your very small family cut something off when you come from a THREE PERSON family and that's when. Well, my Mom and Dad smoked like chimneys, so all I can figure is all I can figure.

Yes, it was the cigarettes. Or, Ralph Ellison went by in a car. He's dead, though. Well, that's not a good thing to do, getting that greedy, Mr. Ellison. No, it's not a good thing to do. I'm not greedy, you are, or whoever it is. Someday might bloody be someday. But you keep saying that someday is coming, and I deeply suspect that it is when I cop out on Hell here and leave for another place, one that does not exist, and is NOT somewhere "over the rainbow" or any such thing. Then all you Demons from Hell can win. Over just me. In the entire world, for no apparent reason except your need to win over that one and only person. That one and only person is actually a woman, so I guess it might as well be me, anyway. He is supposed to do that, you know, hover over me like a kind of straight thinking angel, putting in something unfathomable that I don't really think science can reproduce all that well. Something called semen, not a weird protein that I am supposed to eat instead of real food. But real food can be somewhat out of reach when one is supposed to be stuffed with thorazine. Thor? I guess it does have something to do with Ron's favorite God, Thor from Marvel Comics. Come to think, isn't Marvel Comics strictly a Stan Lee Jewish enterprise? Yes, I guess so. Every ethnic group a member. Oh dear, and I'm not allowed to be me. It must be me, then, the thing must be me. I guess I have to leave this rather Ellison worshiping place, that has almost hardly ever heard of any such Ellison.

It laughs at me, judges me, claims I'm something special. Something like a special sex slave. It keeps going on how I'm a weird freak, or a lesbian, or a something abnormal. Hey, maybe I'm a cripple! The jokes about female cripples, ever abounding. On the other side, the joke was on Ron. He was left in a bed as David, as someone else's sex toy, for all eternity. I don't know about being left handing from a trapeze on a playground for all eternity. I sounds like an eternal episode of Playboy, from Jack the Ripper. An eternal episode of the Industrial Age, with chlorofluorocarbons, pushed by Jews who need to sell us all extreme sexual deviance, in the name of an absurd variety.

You see, if I mention them...oh dear, I'm some kind of Nazi or something. Okay, Teller, Einstein and who else now, Marie Curie the French, gee, the Nazis too...destroyed the entire planet and it's taking a while. Maybe, far too long? Let's reinvent the A-bomb? The H-bomb turned out to be too large to bother with, technically. And the realm beyond Boerian Physics is now supposed to be all a hallucination. Maybe it's to encourage extreme usage of daily medication, in order to sell all that phony medical care to people like my husband, who seems to have wanted to believe in some nice, natural herbal remedies. Same with my step daughter, but unfortunately she decided to believe in marijuana. While knowing better. So I guess I destroyed Angela accidentally with acid, and my step daughter, umm, may have destroyed her kids a bit more on purpose with pot. Well, the first girl came out white looking anyway, but I think slowly over time there may be a major change there. So I am glad I'm not witnessing what I'm not witnessing at that.

I'm afraid now to expose Sofia to my Trichinosis. And also, the other two. Well, they gave it to me on the mental ward, through Mystery Meat, and I am beginning to believe it was done on purpose, perhaps to get at Black Demons from Hell. Well, they should have been ordinary ol' Black People, but I guess there are no such things, just demons from Hell. Who all "know" they are Satan, each one a Satan of himself or herself. So it goes...I was given that same exact message from the Bible too. Must be because I'm not blonde, I'm red haired or something, I thought...years later, I met a blonde woman who had gotten the same exact message. I think she found it extremely confusing, especially at first. She seemed to have had a harder life than mind. In the end, I can only hope that is actually the case. I don't want to be the planet's only Satan from Hell, or any other such nonsense whatsoever.
Thorazine, Haldol, and other medication prescribed by psychiatrists can destroy the lives of people who take them. And they're all for sale extremely cheap. They are punishment tools designed to punish the people who are supposed to take them. They only kill them, and along the way make them rally against them and make it look like they are "good for you." With lovely Jesus around, everyone figures out that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. What lovely Julius Caesar is doing still around, mystery to me.
VIRTUALLY ALL persons who go to psychiatrists are put on one or more drugs. However, psychiatric drugs, which are unpredictable and extremely deadly, do not cure anything, and instead destroy the life of the person who takes them.
The most dangerous of these are major tranquilizers, also known as neuroleptic (nerve-seizing) drugs or anti-psychotics. Of the more than two dozen in this class, introduced in the mid 1950s, the most commonly used are Haldol (haloperidol), Compazine (prochlorperazine), Thorazine (chlorpromazine), Navane (thiothixene), Prolixin (fluphenazine), Mellaril (thioridazine), and Trilafon (perphenazine).
Their purpose is to create "maximum behavioral disruption"--a goal clearly reflected in 1950 tests conducted with rats on Thorazine. Through chemicals, psychiatrists sought to sabotage thought processes and thereby deny the person control of his own body.
At the time the major tranquilizers were introduced, the lobotomy was touted highly and widely used by psychiatrists. With the procedure, the shredded brain was damaged forever, generating objections from family and friends of the patient.
The major tranquilizers were able to create a zombie state, identical to that seen after a lobotomy, in a person whose brain remained intact. For this reason, Thorazine became known as a "chemical lobotomy."
"[On Thorazine] my thoughts spun and never got too far. My hands were rubber and I could hardly hold a fork," said one patient who had been put on the drug by a psychiatrist. "After six weeks . . . I felt like my mind had been put through a meat grinder. No longer could I think clearly; no longer could I speak articulately; no longer could I act confidently."
Another stated that, after a week on Haldol, "I was unable to speak. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't say anything out loud and spoke only with the greatest difficulty.... It was as if my whole body was succumbing to a lethal poison."
The horrifying mental upheaval and devastation this lobotomizing effect causes was precisely what appealed to psychiatrists. These chemicals would enable people to be warehoused with the least "inconvenience" to psychiatrists and staffs of psychiatric institutions.
Today, these drugs are being used against the elderly in enormous quantities to straitjacket them chemically. By 1985, the National Disease and Therapeutic Index reported that, while adults 60 years and older made up 11 % of the population, they used more than one- third of all antipsychotic drugs. A study of 2,000 pharmacies in 1986 showed that 60.5% of prescriptions for nursing home residents over 65 years of age were for major tranquilizers and 17.1 % for minor versions.
A Harvard Medical School study of 55 Boston-area rest homes published in the Jan. 26, 1989, issue of The New England Journal of Medicine reported that 55% of the 1,201 nursing home residents it surveyed took at least one psychiatric drug with 39% being given anti-psychotics.
These are not prescribed to "treat" any condition. They are administered solely to turn the patient into a zombie incapable of complaining or presenting problems to staff Concerning their use on the elderly, Jerome Avorn, director of the program for the Analysis of Clinical Strategies at Harvard, pointed out, "Drugs do work. They do quiet them down. So does a lead pipe to the head."
Larry Hodge, administrator at the Life Care Center in Tennessee, described the impact on the elderly of these drugs: "Too often they were so zonked out during their meals that their heads were in the mashed potatoes."
Wilda Henry told The Arizona Republic that her 83-year-old mother became "a vegetable" five weeks after taking Haldol. This powerful mind-altering chemical, which the Soviet Union used for years to control dissidents, left her mother babbling, drooling, shaking, and unable to control her bowel functions.
Anise Debose of Washington, D.C., said her 76-year-old father entered a nursing home active, laughing, and talking. Four days later, after taking Mellaril and four other drugs, "He was restrained to a chair as rigid as a board when I saw him. His head was thrown back and his mouth was limply hanging down. Both eyes were closed. The impression all of us had was that he was dead."
In 1989, the U.S. Senate Select Committee on Aging reported that, while those over 60 years of age make up 17% of the population, they accounted for more than half the fatalities resulting from drug reactions. Acording to the American Hospital Association, of the 10,800,000 elderly admitted to hospitals each year, 1,900,000 are due to drug reactions. Four percent of those cases, an estimated 76,000 elderly a year, die. This annual death rate far exceeds the 58,021 Americans who lost their lives during the Vietnam War. An average of more than 200 elderly Americans die each day from drug reactions.
"People don't just die of old age," Theodore Leiff, professor of gerontology, Eastern Virginia University School of Medicine, points out. "Their deaths are caused by something." As case after case demonstrates, they are being killed behind the locked doors of nursing homes by lazy, incompetent, or criminal psychiatric staffs who use deadly drugs to quash complaints before they ever are voiced.
Creating insanity
These chemicals, capable of throwing the minds of users into chaos, have a long and well-documented history of creating insanity in persons who take them. In 1956, two years after the introduction of Thorazine, researchers reported that the drug caused psychosis, hallucinations, and increased anxiety. They speculated that this drug-induced insanity arose from the chemically straitjacketing effect of the drug.
In 1961, researchers reported the case of a 27-year-old man who was given Thorazine, after which he "complained of 'feeling like an empty shell, floating around in the air,'" and said that he heard voices coming "from two small men standing on his chest." The researchers concluded that Thorazine was the cause of the man's "toxic psychosis."
Yet another paper, published in The American Journal of Psychiatry in 1964, found that major tranquilizers can "produce an acute psychotic reaction in an individual not previously psychotic." A 1975 paper described a negative effect called akathisia, a drug-induced inability to sit still comfortably.
Researcher Theodore Van Putten reported that nearly half of the 110 persons in the study had experienced akathisia. "[One woman] started to bang her head against the wall three days after an injection of [a major tranquilizer]. Her only utterance was: 'I just want to get rid of this whole body."' A woman who had been given these drugs for five days experienced "an upsurge in hallucinations, screaming, even more bizarre thinking, aggressive and also self-destructive outbursts, and agitated pacing or dancing." A third woman stated that, while on the tranquilizer, she felt hostile and hated everybody, and heard voices taunting her. Others complained of an "abject fear or terror" that was difficult for them to explain.
Such drug-induced symptoms are far worse than any underlying problems a person might have. Even more damning is the evidence that the damage caused by these drugs can be permanent.
Many types of psychiatric drugs, including the major tranquilizers, can cause lasting, grotesquely disfiguring nerve damage known as tardive dyskinesia or tardive dystonia. The muscles of the face and body contort and spasm involuntarily, drawing the face into hideous scowls and grimaces and twisting the body into bizarre contortions. These horrifying effects occur in more than 20% of persons "treated" with major tranquilizers and currently affect 400,000-1,000,000 Americans.
Psychiatrists theorize that these drugs damage the muscle-control portion of the brain in a way that makes it permanently "supersensitive" to messages passing down nerve pathways into the brain. The result is that this portion of the brain becomes permanently deranged. While the precise location of this brain damage is not known with certainty, there is no question that it exists. It is clearly visible in the faces of its tragic victims.
In the same way that major tranquilizers can throw the muscle-control portion of the brain into chaos, they also can make the thought-control area of the brain supersensitive, driving the person permanently insane. A 1980 study published in The American Journal of Psychiatry described 10 patients who suffered from this condition, which has been labeled "supersensitivity psychosis."
In the first stage, the individual becomes psychotic for a few days immediately after he or she stops taking the drugs. In the second, the insanity that emerges upon withdrawal from the psychiatric drug is persistent and may be irreversible. In the third stage, the psychosis is evident even while the patient is taking the psychiatric drugs. The study notes that, when this stage is reached, "in most cases" the person is doomed to be insane for life. This condition has created thousands of tortured victims, permanently destroyed, cast out of mental institutions to forage in garbage cans while wrestling with inner terrors implanted in their minds by psychiatric drugs.
There also is evidence that these psychiatric drugs can cause people to become violent. A Canadian research team that studied the effects of psychiatric drugs on prisoners found that "violent, aggressive incidents occurred significantly more frequently in inmates who were on psychotropic [psychiatric or mind-altering] medication than when these inmates were not...." Inmates on major tranquilizers were shown to be more than twice as violent as they were when not taking psychiatric drugs. The researchers attributed the marked increase in violence to akathisia.
The Journal of the American Medical Association reported that, four days after a patient started taking Haldol, "he became uncontrollably agitated, could not sit still, and paced for several hours." After complaining of "a jumpy feeling inside, and violent urges to assault anyone near him," the man attacked and tried to kill his dog. The researcher noted the irony that the chemical could cause violence, "a behavior the drug was meant to alleviate."
Killers on psychiatric drugs
Another article published in the American Journal of Forensic Psychiatry described five cases of extreme acts of physical violence caused by Haldol. In the first, a 23-year-old male with a history of developing severe symptoms of akathisia after being given Haldol was injected with the drug in the admissions room of a psychiatric unit.
After the injection, the man escaped, ran to a park, disrobed, and tried to rape a woman. "When pulled off by the husband, he proceeded down the street, broke down the front door of a house where an 81-yearold lady was sleeping. He severely beat her with his fists, 'to a pulp,' by his own description, following which he found knives and stabbed her repeatedly, resulting in her death." He then ran into another woman who was with her child and "repeatedly stabbed the woman in front of the child, where upon he moved on to he next person he encountered, a woman whom he severely assaulted and stabbed to the extent that an eye was lost and an opening into the anus was created resulting in major surgery."
The report describes four other cases of violence attributed to akathisia caused by Haldol. One was a suicide. Another was a suicide attempt in which a man stabbed himself repeatedly and later remarked that "he could never even feel the knife when stabbing himself." The third was a man who beat his mother to death with a hammer.
In the fourth case, a man "had been receiving Haldol as an outpatient for approximately four months and described how progressively his head was rushing, that he felt speeded up, that he was in great pain in his head and had an impulse to stab someone to try to get rid of the pain. He went to the nearby grocery store he frequented on a regular basis and impulsively and repeatedly stabbed the grocer whom he had known for some time."
Many similar acts of violence have been linked with these psychiatric drugs. One example is the 1989 case of David Peterson, who walked out of a mental institution in Middletown, Conn., bought a hunting knife, and then stabbed a nine-year-old girl 34 times, killing her. Peterson said he killed the girl to get back at his psychiatrist for not changing the drug he was being given, a major tranquilizer, that was causing him "pain."
In 1987, Kathleen Gannon, of Tempe, Ariz., stabbed her mother to death with garden shears and beat her-father to death with the butt of a rifle. According to a source who examined her, Gannon believed that, when her parents were dead, "she would then somehow become a normal person." The day before Gannon murdered her parents, she was injected with a major tranquilizer and given a prescription for the same drug in pill form.
In 1988, Charles Knowles killed two Detroit police officers before he was shot to death in a siege of his apartment. Knowles had been subjected to psychiatric drugs, including Haldol, and other procedures over a period of 19 years. His family and friends described him as not a violent person, and Michigan State Mental Health Director Thomas Watkins confirmed that Knowles had "no real history of acts of violence" prior to his psychiatric treatment.
Minor tranquilizers, or anti-anxiety agents--the most widely used class of psychiatric drugs--also have been shown to create violence. Included in this category are Xanax, Halcion, Valium, Ativan, Restoril, Tranxene, Librium, Miltown, Equanil, Atarax, Vistaril, and Dalmane.
The Canadian team that researched the connection between aggression and psychiatric drugs in a prison population stated that, of all classes, "anti-anxiety agents appeared to be most implicated, with 3.6 times as many acts of aggression occurring when inmates were on these drugs. " They maintained: "Considering that certainly not all aggressive personalities are in prison, that frustrations also abound in society and that diazepam [Valium] is the most prescribed drug in the U.S. with chlordiazepoxide [Librium] third, the implications of the combination of anti-anxiety agents and aggressiveness are astounding."
In 1970, a textbook on the side effects of psychiatric drugs already had pointed out their potential for violence. "Indeed, even acts of violence such as murder and suicide have been attributed to the rage reactions induced by chlordiazepoxide and diazepa." On March 30,1981, 11 years after this was published and six years after the Canadian study, John Hinckley, Jr., attempted to assassinate Pres. Ronald Reagan in the midst of a Valium-induced rage.
Since the Canadian study was published, Valium has been replaced by Xanax, another minor tranquilizer, as the most widely prescribed psychiatric drug. Yet, Xanax is as deadly, if not more so, than Valium.
According to a 1984 study, "Extreme anger and hostile behavior emerged from eight of the first 80 patients we treated with alprazolam [Xanax]. The responses consisted of physical assaults by two patients, behavior potentially dangerous to others by two more, and verbal outbursts by the remaining four." A woman who had no history of violence before taking Xanax "erupted with screams on the fourth day of alprazolam treatment, and held a steak knive to her mother's throat for a few minutes."
James Wilson had been taking Xanax before he entered the Oakland Elementary School in Greenwood, S.C., on Sept. 26, 1988. He shot and killed two eight-year-old girls and wounded seven other children and two teachers.
Another widely prescribed category of psychiatric drugs consists of antidepressants, the most common being Prozac, Pamelor, Elavil, Tofranil, Adapin, Sinequan, and Desyrel. Of these, the largest sub-group is the tricyclics, so named because three circular rings are present in their molecular structure.
In 1986, a study linked increased hostility with Elavil. The researchers noted that persons on the drug "appeared progressively more hostile, irritable, and behaviorally impulsive.... The increase in demanding behavior and assaultive acts was statistically significant...." A year later, the same researchers found that those patients taking Elavil "were behaviorally more demanding, made more suicidal threats, and were more often physically assaultive toward others...."
Nevertheless, psychiatrists prescribe these dangerous mind-altering drugs to children for "mental disorders" such as wetting the bed, overactivity, or even being late to school. Youngsters who are given these chemicals often become hysterical, defiant, belligerent, or hostile.
At the 1989 murder trial of Stanley Jurgevich in Steamboat Springs, Colo., a medical expert testified that "aggressiveness, assaultiveness, and agitation" generated by the tricyclic antidepressant Sinequan had played a significant role in the crime. In a 1988 Massachusetts case, Robert Lee Harvey slit his six-year-old son's throat and stabbed him to death, then started stabbing himself. Harvey had a psychiatric history extending back 14 years and had been undergoing treatment shortly before the killing. According to police, antidepressant drugs were found at the scene.
"Wonder drug" causes violence
Over the years, many new psychiatric drugs have been promoted by psychiatrists and pharmaceutical companies as "wonder drugs," only to turn out to be highly destructive. Besides Valium and Xanax, the antidepressant Prozac has been found to create intense, violent, suicidal thoughts.
A study published in September, 1989, revealed that Prozac can generate akathisia in as many as 25% of those who take it. Two other papers subsequently confirmed the connection between Prozac and suicidal thoughts and actions.
When Prozac user Joseph Wesbecker gunned down 20 of his former co- workers in Louisville, Ky., in 1989, killing eight and then himself, he was exhibiting akathisia-like symptoms, including restlessness and pacing. Three days prior, his psychiatrist had described him as exhibiting an "increased level of agitation and anger." The psychiatrist wrote in his patient record, "Plan--Discontinue Prozac which may be cause."
There have been many other cases of persons committing suicide, sometimes coupled with murder, while on Prozac. In 1991, for instance, former San Diego, Calif, deputy sheriff Hank Adams shot his wife and himself to death in front of his 17-year-old daughter. Adams, who was taking Prozac, had no history of violence.
Some persons who nearly have killed themselves or slain others while on Prozac have described becoming progressively more hostile and aggressive after starting on the drug, a clear symptom of akathisia. In these cases, when Prozac was discontinued, these seemingly inexplicable feelings of aggression disappeared.
In 1990, New York secretary Rhonda Hala filed a $150,000,000 lawsuit against Prozac manufacturer Eli Lilly, charging that the drug had driven her to mutilate herself with razor-sharp objects more than 150 times and to attempt suicide six times. Hala stated that, after she came off the drug, her obsessive impulses to harm herself disappeared.
In Scotland, Duncan Murchison, who had no prior history of violence, threatened to murder his girlfriend while on a rampage precipitated by his use of Prozac. During the six months he was on the drug, Murchison became progressively more hostile and aggressive--symptoms that disappeared after he stopped taking Prozac. While he was on the drug, Murchison twice attempted to commit suicide.
Since its introduction onto the market in January, 1988, the drug has compiled the following record:
It accumulated more adverse reaction reports filed with the U.S. Food and Drug Administration within the first three and a half years than any other drug in the 22-year history of the FDA's adverse drug reaction reporting system.
As of June, 1992, more than 23,000 adverse reaction reports regarding Prozac had been received by the FDA. These included delirium, hallucinations, convulsions, violent hostility and aggression, psychosis, and more than 1,100 suicide attempts and a similar number of Prozac-related deaths.
In a two-year period following the first lawsuit in mid 1990, more than 100 lawsuits were filed against Eli Lilly, seeking almost $ 1, 000,000,000 in damages by families of people who had committed suicide while on Prozac, families of those who had been murdered by persons on the drug, and individuals who had themselves been damaged while on Prozac. The Association of Trial Lawyers of America has established a special Prozac litigation section to provide information to attorneys who are approached by people harmed by the drug.
Numerous former Prozac users have argued in court that the drug pushed them to commit insane acts of murderous violence.
Published reports from researchers at Harvard Medical School, Yale University, Columbia University, the State University of New York, and the Veterans Administration have presented persuasive evidence that Prozac causes intense, violent, suicidal preoccupation. A study at the University of South Carolina had to be terminated abruptly when five subjects developed intense, violent, suicidal, and homicidal thoughts.
Documents released under the U.S. Freedom of Information Act revealed that, prior to the Wesbecker murders in 1989, the FDA had evidence of five violent Prozaclinked deaths in its files.
Pre-market tests of prozac done by Eli Lilly show at least six deaths linked to the drug.
Drug oversight authorities in Sweden and Norway have refused to authorize Eli Lilly to market Prozac in those countries, maintaining that testing was inadequate to justify approval. Both countries expressed concern at the high 20-milligram starting dose.
The Public Citizen Health Research Group, an organization founded by consumer activist Ralph Nader, has called for the FDA to require a suicide warning to be placed on Prozac.
After conducting an inquest into the suicide of an 18-year-old Prozac user, a coroner in British Columbia stated that he could not rule out the drug as the cause of the suicide and called on the Canadian government to establish a national registry to monitor all Prozac- related deaths in the country.
While the Food and Drug Administration is entrusted with the vigilant protection of Americans from dangerous drugs, an inspection of the hazardous medications it has allowed on the market shows the agency to be ineffective. This is explained in large measure by the staggering conflicts of interests the FDA has allowed into the drug oversight process. For instance, a hearing into the charges against Prozac and other psychiatric antidepressants was held in late 1991, at which the agency claimed to be unable to find any damning evidence against antidepressants.
Subsequent investigation of the panel revealed that five out of the 10 members had active financial interests with the manufacturers of antidepressants totaling more than $ 1,000,000 at the time they claimed to find no evidence against Prozac. The FDA has been accused of serving the interests of the profit-driven drug companies, not those of the American people, and allowing killer drugs to be placed on the market.
Each day, at a handsome profit, the psychiatric industry writes new prescriptions for disability, violence, suicide, and murder. The disastrous consequences are felt by all Americans.
In 1989, Emanuel Tsegaye walked into the Chevy Chase Federal Savings Bank in Bethesda, Md., and opened fire on his fellow employees with a .38-caliber revolver. After killing three women and critically wounding a male employee, he took his own life. Tsegaye had been kept on psychiatric drugs since his 1986 release from Perkins Psychiatric Institution in Jessup, Md.
Betty Hahn of Tustin, Calif, bludgeoned her mother to death with a hammer in 1988. Hahn had been given two psychiatric' drugs--the antidepressant Pamelor and the anti-anxiety agent Xanax--and apparently was withdrawing from Xanax at the time of the killing.
Mary Feurst was described by her husband, Russell, as a loving mother and spouse when she entered the mental health system. After extensive psychological and psychiatric treatment, which included antidepressant drugs, Mary said that she was planning on killing her children. She then was institutionalized and treated with more psychiatric drugs.
The psychiatrists released her in June, 1982, after what they felt was "significant recovery." They did not warn him that his wife was homicidal or caution him about the effects the drugs she was taking could have on her behavior. On July 22, 1982, Mary Feurst shot her six-year-old son in the face and back and her nine-year-old daughter in the head with a .38-caliber revolver, killing them both. "Psychiatry killed my children," Russell Feurst maintains. "Don't let that happen to you!"

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Solely for money making purposes

By a Rose. Thanks, Bette!

Real Name: Karen Peralta, married. Real purpose in life: unknown.

The below: a short Diatribe, similar to the Seinfeld show, about Nothing.

Because I thought I needed money to go on living, I'm still making some, but I'm apparently a Ghost Negro overseas, according to Western Europe and John Lennon. I created this blog. I thought maybe it would get me some of the business I might like to get, from people who might have some money to pay me to ghostwrite, edit, market etc. their books. Well, maybe I was sadly mistaken. Apparently, I'm supposed to be a housewife in the 1950s, with a Suzie Homemaker apron, my hair perfectly coiffed, white, blonde and blue eyed, and six feet tall.

Oh, and permanently 20. And I'm supposed to have had no money to do this, with no man, all by myself, fresh out of High School, while churning out babies for the Vietnam War. Back in 1973. Also, I'm supposed to have had tentacles, green hair, be more Jewish than jews are even able to be, again all by myself with no "ins." At that rate, I'm supposed to have been Jim Carey. Alias, Artie Blend, a character of mine. Obviously, I'm supposed to be some kind of partner free lesbo (or boules). I'm now a middle aged white woman who is a mother, and it's not a lesbian mother, sorry about that. But not, oh, very. Not yet. And the part where I was supposed to be a Nazi to save the nancy boys really did show up. On television. I'm supposed to take the blame for what the entire human race does wrong..."Honey, put down those scissors! Don't run with them! Oh, shoot, there you go out the door..." Parents. Did someone once scream the word Parents?

Other than that, I'm supposed to be a sex bomb, only interested in it for sex reasons, etc. etc. etc. Only what I wear is important. What I've done in my life...kill the rose. Well, I did want to go on living, actually. In a Black Magic world, while I'm surrounded by a chalk white face that solely reminds me of the Joker from Batman Comics. In other words, something is damnably convinced that I am The Batman. When it's not convinced of that, it thinks that I'm Superman, Supergirl, Archie Andrews, Jimmy Olson, and wow, my Mom thought I was somehow Lois Lane. Maybe I'm a lot like a little Human Being, doncha think? Now I'm crippled up too, by oh circumstances. Left side impairment, mostly, aging somewhat, and it's possible on top of things I now have Trichinosis (round worms.) Something thinks I'm Jewish and has also labelled me a Nazi, while knowing better. Jews did kill off some female dominated religious beliefs back there somewhere, for being too lesbian. Probably, anyway, although Wicca is the most obscene thing I've ever heard of. Go out in the woods, naked, play around with a knife, etc. Not the fondest wish I ever had in the world.

I, like everyone else on the face of this planet, wanted an All Good Life. To have that, I would have had, like so many 17th Century Western women writers let me know...to have never had sex, never had children, and never had a life. American Jews let me know about this...lots. Also, my Mom, my sisters, the Nazis, Grover Cleveland, the right wing, the left wing, etc. Lois Lane let me know all about it either, but she's a faceless white skinned black haired fictional character. Like Lucy of the football fame in Charles Schultz. Many a truth is spoken in jest, and justice is always only the poetic kind. I think. Far too much. Over and over again, he same thoughts and ideas. What are yours? I used to like ghost writing books for people, but now I send them out to other people. And Miss Lucy of the steamboat with the bell? I guess she doesn't beat up people unless she is a Bull Dyke is the point, is the point, and furthermore, is the point. Gee, do you think Rachel Maddow is tall enough? Maybe if she grows even taller, she'll be the world's biggest Sea Monkey. Lois Lane. Based on a lady in James Thurber (the real Clark Kent)'s time. A lady journalist name Nellie Bly. I can't find much about Nellie Bly, but I'll just say the fair and balanced coverage is Madam Curie, who discovered radium, thus making sure we are terrorized by Isis, for all eternity now. Unless North Korea makes a decisive move through Russia, and the Cold War suddenly turns warmer. Lois Lane.

Smart lady, my Mom, but Lois Lane has an address. It's not Center Park, it's 221b Baker Street. Under a streetlight for some reason, via Paul Simon. I'm supposed to have been murdered in other words, by Jack the Ripper, way the f too long ago. I'm also supposed to have been murdered by the Nazis, way the f too long ago. In other words, I'm supposed to be a man. I'll say a certain man, one Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, but in fact the name of that man (that eludes me quite often, as I play my violin, as I circumnavigate my redundant scenery, is forever She - rlock Holmes. Isn't it? Not Watson, but Holmes. Ah yes, I think I'm Sherlock Holmes. Or is it Jones? As in Jughead Jones, of Archie Comics, my first husband, otherwise known as the Joker, Ronald Gary Schwarz. Of two Austrian Jews, one Jewess: Gertrude Wolf Schwarz, and Alexander (unknown) Schwarz.

Man on top, woman below. Bullies, bullies. It's an individual woman, each time, and the personal is ALWAYS political. I hate politics, so I'm easy to fool. Wow, you've got it made now! You guys and gals, just be the same one person between you. What's the new name? Might as well be White People, but gee, maybe some other name. It's my daughter, isn't it? Gee, maybe she's not White enough somehow or other, and all those Honor Killings...injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere, such as on Antares, where if an ant is squished apparently I have to make up for it. Ummm. I think I'll get safely dead someday and make up for all your problems THAT WAY.

I think all three of them are dead. In fact, they are looking rather dead from here. A tall blue eyed blonde lady, a short Austrian Jew all white guy, and his son the Dark Imposter, Ron Schwarz, who came out steadily looking like Shylock from Shakespeare for some unknown reason. I would like to know what it is, other than it was done SOLELY TO IRRITATE ME. I don't have the answers, but there is a gang up...gee, then that is Paranoid Psychosis, and you got me some more. With what? Well, I'm dying anyway I think, really. So does it really matter either way? It's hard to make money at this, and it's getting harder and harder when it should be getting easier and easier. Something is withholding the payments from me. I need paid upfront money to do what I'm doing, through my writers, editors, marketers or something. Not, repeat NOT, Black Magic. I call Evil Magic that name indeed, so you can believe I'm such a racist so much some more. Apparently, that's what you people do to put down womenfolk. I guess we don't always choose our partners so good. Maybe we are oh so dumb, not to realize we are so to blame for everything because we're weak. So Satanic, so easy to blame, so easy to kill, so easy to make from birth into sex slaves. Or...something.

You're right; I'm not We, I'm just Me. Alias, the Batman. He took over my role as the Virgin Mary, one which I have never had, in any way shape or form...gee, Jews started to joke around that there is no such things as virgins. Like me. I was a virgin at the time. I don't have All White Skin like every other woman...other? On the face of the planet. Gee, some of them sure wear a lot of horse radish makeup. Lots and lots of makeup. Hides something real every time. Real feminine beauty. What was that statement...woman thy name is Vanity. Men really don't give a crap about how they look, but thanks to The Boss, they do now. Hire, hire, fire fire.

Like Ron said, men and women complain too much about the opposite sex.

Like my current husband would say, me too.

Well, I got to be Sherlock Holmes for one night back there, for unknown reasons. Dear old Sherlock Holmes and his Dr. James Watson managed to save the entire city and environs of Seattle, WA. Lay down my head upon Baker Street, if that isn't exactly what happened...you know long stories? I lovingly read the entire Canon by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, alias the Walrus via John Lennon. John and Malcolm X and I wore our glasses. Curiouser and curiouser, isn't it? Who cares? They all spoke to me from the grave, especially St. Malcolm ze X, the weird Negro glasses wearing geek. He turned up on Yahoo for some reason, swinging me around in his too tall ancient arms. Something is definitely thinking I have age spots or are too young to have children. Perpetually. Gee, do you think maybe it has something to do with my being RACIALLY IMPURE?

Gosh, Hitler was the usual Evil Genius and we all thought he was something, umm, special. Nope. Just the usual Evil Genius and the worst part is, he knew it himself. Read his writings, and you discover that he not only had a warped sense of humor, but knew he was about as important as a grain of sand on a giant beach that is still sitting there to this very day, next to that other grain of sand, going, "When are you going to see how wonderful I'm not?" As if the answer back would immutably be, "Stop running with that pair of scissors, Adolph, you're going to be injured."

Well the Savior of Seattle is supposed to be a man, or Jesus or something. What if it was a Witch named Karen, who knew a Warlock named Hitler? And say, the entirely of said Warlock was based on someone with the initials JC, namely Julius Caesar. Wow, is this all old info that Sid Caesar was WELL AWARE OF. Since it was supposed to be Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan swinging through the trees, alias Indiana Jones, a Jew imposter of mine called Indiana Jones. Trouble is, I was Ohio Cole in real life back there somewhere, because I was willing to die to have a crack at saving the lives of several young girls at Hartley High School. You know what? Anyone, like President John Fitzgerald Kennedy once said, who drives on a freeway at all is risking their lives. Even as just a passenger in a vehicle going some 80 miles per hour. Everyone, everywhere. So fucking what? Well, I just learned that those who really are superheroes in real life don't strut around in costumes or (are me? I guess so, considering what it takes...what, I don't know)...your call now.

On and on and on she wrote, all old info, all the time. But gee I made up some new characters for your fictive escapist Martin and Lewis enjoyment for some unknown reason. In a world where so many books are sold on Amazon every year, an increasing number in fact unto indefinite Hell so far as this writer can ascertain...someday, no more Fifty Shades of Gray. No more best sellers, perhaps. Or a thriving field where somebody else has a best seller at all times. Like I saw in Ohio, via Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. Well, George had two during the Seventies, but gee, something sure is hinting around that I'm such a racist. Gee, and it's such a sexist! Fifty Shades of Grey is a freeway reference to the fact that all such Hitler's Highways and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s thoroughfares, Godlike as they are, are infallibly gray. Grayer than the hairs on my head, but they are slowly becoming so, under the read or red patina, like Hillary Rodham Clinton's black mop, so dyed Blonde you can tell already. If she stops dying it, it will not go back to Black. I wish it could. However, she is only about as old as the other candidates, who are getting set to make Movie #2, according to an insider named John McCain, who is so right about that, that this is as pathetic as usual.

Mahatma Mohandas (Mohammedans???) K. Gandhi was right; you got two people with political dreams, you got troubles. Right there in River City. Trouble is, I like Woody Allen. I want to leave the room before anything starts punching me out. I've not the imaginary courage other people have. Like Woody, I have an amazingly apt attitude when it comes to imaginary courage. I like to NOT believe in it. So about you and your imaginary courage, like Mark Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens) once said, please go lead your own lynch mob, and be sure to lynch someone else every day. Or, BE everyone else. Gee, something sure is hinting around some more about that sort of thing. Yes, there's less such imaginary courage in a lynch mob, and it's leader or leaders..trouble is, it's imaginary courage. Like two guys in a room, and the third one comes in, and they are all exactly alike. Actually, if one of them is a woman, something different does indeed happen. Each and every time, and it's really, really easy to fool people into otherwise. Meanwhile, neither imaginary Daddy or imaginary Mommy is going to save any of us, but do go out and vote, Al Sharpton!

It's so cool, when you got millions and millions of dollars, to pretend to be Poor Black People. How about getting the right to vote for those in JAYAL, Reverend AL? Maybe you are Paul Simon's friend, named Al. I am starting to see giant bunnies over stuff like that, but am spectacularly missing my little bunny. And me? If I am revealed in this to be something Otherwise, what does it mean? Possibly, that North Korea, an empty promise and a broken dream, is taking its sweet little time about something, thanks to Kim the Wonderful Toad, who kills people in Mass Quantities. Concentration camp syndrome, via the British, via the Nazis, via the Russians, via the American Indian reservations, via the Japanese, via Africa, via the Chinese, etc. etc. etc. Maybe it kills off excess population. It did in old Mexico! They knifed each other to death, and gee, that really really works!

Maybe they finally get it right, and only kill Poor People at all times. Leaving the Middle Class to go home in Texas and Minnesota with a football player named Ed Schultz (the Word program spelling that dude's name right is NOT kosher. Not at all. I think it's what Mad Magazine was actually complaining about, maybe Hitler too, at that), and the rich to go wherever it is high on a hill where they think they can avoid drinking, smoking, drug usage, habits of the poor and middle class that catch up with them, and air pollution. Oops! I have now stated why you should read some Edgar Allen Poe. Because he's quite correct, Rich People. You don't. You are subject to the continuing thing called Air Pollution, which has about as much of a chance of disappearing, even through extreme spirituality as a Fiddler does of vanishing through the roof. I see the mental picture, though; blue skies. Bluer than blue. Who the fuck is causing that? Either Ray Bradbury and I are in the Afterlife, after my second husband was killed in Vietnam..l digress. President George W. Bush, otherwise known as "W" seems to be dying somewhat of bamboo shoots. But they are making a movie out of that, so I guess it's fake and yet another money-making enterprise. Yes, I'm not an Indian or even a Native American, but I do wonder why we need money so much. Like we need gas eating vehicles, and so this diatribe is slowly coming to an abrupt close.

Maybe it's all a weird dream because I'm partly German American. Thus, Ed Schultz was programmed into my Word program, because it's a recent version of Word. Richard Wayman style timing. He's the white man I wish I could marry who is just out of reach. My husband has fessed up about my sister Connie also being just out of reach. Richard and Reggie are the White man and the Philippino Brown man of my wildest dreams. They hug and are friends. This may be due to the inestimable influence of Dr, King and Corretta Scott, but in the end, it is probably due to the inestimable influence of Wilbur and Orville Wright. You figure it out. Now. I can't. I am rather stuck trying to figure out why Japanese transistors led to this rather remarkable moment in time, when the Japanese were so accused of not having any imagination. Well, you know, transistors they look a lot like the Emperor Hirohito, riding his horse, and getting ripped off by Vice President Joe Biden and the Emperor of China, there, otherwise known as Vladimir Putin. Well, you know, it's like something I saw in a boy book once...I can't for the life of me think of what his real title is. Maybe it's Premier. Maybe it's El Presidente. Maybe it's poisoning victim. Woah that is hinting around again. The poor bloke has only been responding to several crises HIS way. That way. That wonderful, no shirt doppelganger way, so touchingly parallel. To what, I do Not Know. I saw why the Iraq Iran War thing got started through President George Bush Sr. Because he was stuck, absolutely stuck responding to a crisis. Hitler let me know what it's like to try hitting first while responding to a crisis while being a genius while needing to regress and live entirely in the past.

me too but then again I always wanted to live in the future is it there yet

I am of the humble opinion that the lynch mob victim or victims suffer from imaginary courage. Well, there went Al Owens, but maybe he did keep his mouth shut about something. That's about it, like having a mouth and having to scream. Gee, do you s'pose that was what Harlan Ellison was referring to? Gosh all rookies, I would have to bet a lot of money that I don't have on that one. Maybe I should request a care package from those who need me as their kid forever. Mostly, other women, who seem to think everyone who isn't them is their kid somehow. Do you suppose that it better than the other one, who seems to think anyone like that is a murderer? I'm a short ugly plain used to be good looking oops glasses white woman who as usual thinks she's something otherwise. Well, after being left alone like that EVERYWHERE I go, I have come to a conclusion. What I am is the usual incredibly lonely LONG DISTANCE RUNNER. Leave me alone, I cry, I'm a Black woman or a White woman or a Mexican chick with one Hell of a great imagination who caught a bus several times during the Boston Marathon in order to win it. She lost, they caught her, and then for some wonderful but stupid reason, they would't let the one guy in a wheelchair (right after that incident several years ago, I have the memory of a Republican) who kept winning the Boston Marathon over and over in his wheelchair win it anymore. And he looked too exhausted to do so. What if there IS a thing called Natural Justice? I still think it's only, ummmmmmm, poetic somehow.

Okay, I married a guy in a wheelchair and an old guy in Real Life. In Unreal life, they were all from this weird Jewish Old Testament Biblical passage I found from disobeying my parents and leaving where they told me to sit and going into the back part of a weird wacko church or temple or whatever the fuck it was. This is rapidly turning into my autobiography for some unknown reason again. I think if I ever wrote it, it would be about as long as Ralph Ellison's is the point that something has been making with me all through human history...there is a woman writer, who shall now remain nameless. She is Roxana something. I should hate to mention her here, she is a former client of mine, who is a best selling author. I edited two books for her, for nice low rates. A writer on our team, named Laura, has decided I am a loser and a sucker. However, what she is is Jewish and has to make some major house payments or something. That something is the ineffable something (thank you, sayer of the word "doable," it was a right winger not a left winger ah yes it was William F. Buckley, Jr.) I think I got that right, Henry Higgins. Well, William, you'll never see this. That something is the inevitable something that catches up with you later on in life, like Buckley kind of said. He said something about eating the pie from the juicy part and then finishing off with the crust. For people like me, it is starting with the crust and trying to finish up the rest of the pie. I doubt seriously that I ever will get to do so, but in the end I managed to save Seattle, WA.

From what? For what? For the time being? From the age of 26...Juneteenth. I don't get Ralph Ellison's best seller, I get something far, far worse than that. Something a certain Dr. oh, shall we say, Michael King got...kind of a weird stage role as a latter day Martin Luther. That one started for me with of all "people" Thomas Wayne. A fictional character, possibly Jewish or Catholic. However, being a fictional character, he's Neither. He's a line drawing, you see, but he did say that the only way to get to two warring parties is indeed to GET BETWEEN THEM.

Back to Nazi Germany? They were squeezed between America and Russia the entire time. That did indeed appear to make them into the evilest people in the world. Meanwhile, China is being squeezed between Russia and...North Korea? Sure they are. Meanwhile, Chairman Mao killed maybe twice as many people as Adolph Hitler ever so much as sneezed at. What do you think? Well, for some reason, Communist North Korea which thinks it is white people right back at whoever it was eighty kazillion years ago, thinks concentration camps are now the way to go. You know, maybe it's the blaming the leader approach to living and just herd mentality again. Survive, survive, survive, like you're Jewish Woody Allen every time until they catch you. That is the message. Then, like the Emperor Kim said, leave your wife and children behind so we ladies can laugh you to scorn while we are being just as evil minded as you, and gathering up them there possessions. Well, North Korea is now flooded with Japanese for some unknown reason. Namely the one where they are either having 20 to 30 kid families or are crawling out from under rocks, or both. As people who always, always, always have whiter skin than I do. Which unfortunately is Black Magic.

Cities and towns. I'm supposed to believe in cities and towns being overpopulated. By a giant population of only white brown and/or black skinned people. Who always, always, always look like white people and the two Imposters. Over and over and over again. Made my daughter look like a brown Imposter, and well, at least she is now far far away from (I really don't think I'm the one who did that, I'm afraid, 20 years is 20 years) from the cement plant just down the street. We live right along a giant major thoroughfare, a Highway to Hell (we're already there) and the cement plant that you can tell is a cartoon and not just a stinky truck. In other words, my reality is completely fake, and has been so all along. It's not just a matter of the people building the buildings and the oh you know, oil production of plastic. It is fake period. Yes, Virginia, there is something going on a lot like Intelligent Design, but unfortunately, it has the intelligence....of a flea.

Wow, I'm Rachel Maddow the II. On and on and on and on. Somebody needs to cancel both of us. She's "gay" I'm "straight" and the rest is a mess. What is this God or Allah or whoever the Hell it is talking about when it comes to a totally fake reality structure? I dunno. We're both being Chief Run off at the Mouth, but because she's Jewish she's a weird freak who gets away with it on televsion. She's as alone as a clam on a beach, side by side with all those other clams. Me? I'm alone all the time, trying to avoid the stereotype about my kind. Unfortunately, I'm a mental patient who has lost her patience. Every claim I make about reality not existing can be easily seen as a mental illness. Unfortunately again, something seems to be overly aware of something. All I can figure is it's playing off the missionary position a lot. I don't think I ride under the horse or something, though. So in the end, I'm very curious, Yellow, about what it going on. We came up with a legend about a dude named Jesus who suffered due to a God who pulls shenanigans on People, is what I have come to the conclusion about. Yes, that's right. First a male God, invented by intellectuals, then his Son, also similarly invented, in order to pose as something sympathetic. To the Human Race. Well, I have a husband who like me is dying.

God, god, as Woody Allen said, what is God. Maybe, Woody Koranic? Allen Krankowicz? An immoral rapist, a sex pervert, a fiend? A farmer, an Indian chief? A father? A father figure for those who don't have one? A Madison Ave. style replacement for something in my life that kept chasing me under the bed, trying to tell me to never cry, after having told me off. By making me cry, since I liked it so much, and then chasing me. It's so groovy to get your victim thinking it's all her fault for some reason it's such a he says she says. Gee the only substitute for that is a lynch mob that looks for some other victim, say the gay kid, the disabled kid, the...I digress. The other country, the other planet, where to now, where can we pack our bags and go visit?

It can't even avoid it's own boasting about what it's doing to me and at me. I did ask it to reveal itself, but unfortunately, long ago and far away it had already done so. From January 1 of 1960 and on. For example, I used to live at an address in Ohio called 362 Dennison Ave. Please note the obvious rhyme scheme. It calls me mentally retarded, like I'm somehow that, and the entire planet is allegedly becoming more and more mentally retarded. More so than during that wonderful Victorian Era, around the (rather alleged) start of the Industrial Age. So Denmark, so the start of the internal combustion engine. Go back to roads and what they were for, and good ol' Hitler is right again: they were to keep us, like civilization, away from being eaten by large animals. That is the only conclusion I can reach. Something like women and children were around, and something like men got very antsy and needed to build roads to get us civilization (I'm sure we all were part of that really, except for my lack of reality going on) and away from the wonderful awesome period-smelling wild animals. Which were huge, and this must have necessitated travel of some kind, world of the weird.

On foot forever? Sure, like the Holocaust victims. Traveling on foot forever, and when done with that and unable to go any further, being taken over to the side of the road. That's where I feel like I'm going lately, at the age of 50 something. But I could sure use that there Magic Bullet in a way, rather than being told that all of this is somehow All About Eve. The point to that is indeed Paranoid Schizophrenia, but like the doctors who were on parade before me, as they knew it somehow I guess, we all know there are OTHER paranoid schizophrenics with the same exact ideational fantasies that they are all alone in the world. Yes, Woody Allen and I have acted just like that, and neither one of us believes it or understands it. His version is he's only neurotic. My version is I've been uh, diagnosed with each and every psychiatric illness known to Mankind. All of them. They've given me all the diagnoses and a sampling of all the related medications. Like I'm some kind of kid in a candy store, who needed to find out that I'm still alive after having taken all of that. Like I'm some kind of weird female Rasputin who is now waiting to die slowly. It's fairly peaceful, like they say. I'm not high, not happy or anything like that, not "ballistic" and not very sociable. I'm stuck on medications right now, and am about as courageous as anyone else that claims it's somehow in that role as Satan. Oppressed, in other words, like say Rush Limbaugh.

I don't "offend easily" because I have no group to defend. So I'm getting worried about being the Lone Me and told I'm so "easy to offend" so much. I'm being told it by someone who's so easy to offend so much, so I guess Ron Schwarz was right. Reggie did turn out to be the Oncoming Jock. Ron turned out to be Jughead, the name my parents kept calling me (namely, Lesbian, but you know you never can catch them at that sort of thing, can you?) and Reggie turned out to be obvious. Reggie is indeed based on Reggie Mantle. The usual mistake Colored Guys make is that they think that since they aren't Chuck Clayton (based obviously on the name Cassius Clay) who is Black and all, they are somebody else in Archie Comics. Namely, Reggie Mantle. Why none of them think they are Big Moose? Or, well, Midge? Considering gay colored guys, I would think millions of colored guys think they are indeed, well, Midge, already. That would be a bit extremely, ummm, forthright on their parts, since White and Black guys tend to be the American football players. A fucking lot. So I tend to think of everyone Mexican as being about five foot two, or so, but you know, Brown guys do range in height.

So I am wondering if any of them would ever think of Big Moose. I knew a Black guy who probably always would have thought he was Chuck for some unearthly reason. And not Big Moose. Maybe now I finally know what that unearthly reason is. I am no longer Able-Bodied. So as usual, I suppose I don't entirely (well) identify with, umm, my fellow disabled? Not exactly. I just wanna be able-bodied again, but can accept facts. Why James couldn't accept facts I do not know, and I wonder sometimes if that sort of thing is why Black people got very labelled mentally deficient somewhere back there in human history. James can't accept the absolute fact that he will forever be (maybe back when - not then) well, a weird freak. In other words, a Giant. I think about it. Yes, me too, It's not a matter of not accepting who you are. It is the usual Black people style (not their fault I fear, it's in the stars somewhere filed under something Twilight Zonal) matter of something unknown not accepting who the fuck YOU are. That's the actual difficulty James was expressing...it has been said that people bring these things on themselves. However, I think we all think otherwise, probably about our selfish selves only, or our wonderful imaginary groups. James knew he was so lost to the human species that he will never reproduce, not with anyone, so he was our Leader. James Murray. In a way, a part of me now expects something to thunder down along the driveway. I expect to see several gigantic large Black people strut past. They have already been, and are not the Murray family. They apologized to me, and all I can figure is they know they are no relatives of James.

In so knowing, they cut a rather absurdity figure at me. Like two paintings gone berserk. One white, the other black. Some Catholics pulled a reverse trip on me the other day; they must have known about the oncoming Mexicans. And my husband and I keep being sexually assaulted by weird space lesbian Philippians. Must be a reference to the fact we're both dying of worms. Well, bye there, you're so smart! You know worms are contagious through handwriting and typing on a computer. Say, if that is the kind of smarts you got, could you please go away forever now? Are you a silly straw and not a human being? Do you all have group think at me? You don't want to catch our worms through spirituality? They do fly through the air, but it may be a bit difficult to catch them this way.

Don't you think? OR DO YOU? Is it the climate, I wonder, oh Black people who are forever frozen in Archie Comics as Chuck, in a strange mental cubicle where, like Bill Cosby, you will always secretly be Me? Or is it everyone else other than us, who isn't dying of worms? You're right; you can lord it over us now. If that's what you're really here for. In short, I'm rather convinced lately that yes, that is what ALL OF YOU are really here for. Lording it over people. I've had a look around and that does seem to be the only thing you all are good for. Lately? Maybe forever, lording it over one person or two people or a crowd. You make any money at that? Maybe you should go back and concentrate on a form of making money off of it. That might be a better way to go than thrill kills, rape, incest and all those other bandwagons where you think you are doing it for pleasure, not profit. On the other hand, it is very hard to make money from your book all about your weirdo depraved lifestyle nowadays. It's because of the millions and millions of other sex perverts like you who are into all those wonderful things. None of them want to buy your book. Instead, they all want YOU to buy THEIR book. Well, now you know! Even if you're not really a perv, your book is competing with millions and millions and millions of other books on Amazon etc. Well, that's the real world, so like the Miss America pageant, but the Last Comic Standing isn't like the other shows is it? I think it is in some ways, that's what I figure, they do hire the rest of them as comics elsewhere.

I have a weird life. That sounds like a teenage thing to think. I'm feeling rather 50ish lately though, but maybe that is weirdly illegal. I'm not sure why. I have a weird life. Too weird, so weird that it should be a YA book instead of my real life. The trouble is, that aim in the direction of children's books is a stereotype of what we womenfolk are supposed to be perpetually writing. It's a bit past my middle aged time to have imaginary children, even though sex as a memory is still lingering in the background of my mind. The dying embers, so to speak. With a man. What man I don't know, but some say the name of that man is inestimably God. Well, that certainly comes to mind. He plants the seed, it grows into something like a rose or a carnation...maybe two roses? Like one pink, the other pink, laid end to end, with the petals falling off alongside it. In pink and green. Like two houses, side by side with each other, in Seattle Washington in 1986 on Nineteenth.

Black History? Well, "we" (indeed) have a history, and it's not just the Irish or Lesbos, but unfortunately it includes Bill Cosby, alias William H. Cosby, alias the Rapist. Why, who knows, maybe he was flouting Hell like my Uncle Neal liked to do. Hell is often seen as a women's concept for men who don't necessarily like the homosexual implications. Dearie, dearie, dear, I suppose you do disagree with me on that. Even though Julius Caesar is the guy who commissioned a fiction story, so long ago, starring one Crucifixion victim, and obviously the entire tale was written by his local Palace Jews. Don't you think so? By now? Yes, that's how the Jews killed Jesus, by writing a rather long fiction story about so-called Him. Therefore, we fiction and ghost writers killed Jesus, one way or another, not really women and Jews. Too many women and Jews are NOT fiction writers, you see, so you can blame either the Roman Empire or us. Or the Catholics, or whatever. Well, for the Inquisition maybe, which with luck hanged Hitler somewhere back there in Chapter 20. I thought I ran across it after he escaped the bunker and didn't end up in South America. There is no evidence whatsoever that Hitler ever ended up there. I think, umm, he ended "up there." After Eva successfully killed her fine self through suicide, and got mixed up with Marilyn Monroe. Who was killed by the Mafia for being friends with the Kennedys. Yes, that has to be it. Eva was suicidal all along, and that's why she ended up in the second bunker, cause she was a strapping Nazi Momma. Blonde and dye job. Well, she probably started out blonde. Rumor has it that she was girlfriends with Hitler a little soon, and so the entire Holocaust could have been due to a coffee pot name Braun.

The entire Holocaust? Due to a coffee pot? I really doubt that one. There are no Barbie dolls like me, with freckles and racial impurities. They would be inestimably too expensive to ever manufacture. I liked the thought that I was high maintenance, but in fact it has gotten sadly out of hand. You couldn't make a Barbie doll like me to beat the band. They are all Tall Barbie dolls. They don't make short ones or racially impure ones. In fact, they make only short ones. Lots and lots and lots of short ones, over and over and over again, that are not Barbie dolls. They figured it out about kids, people, not you guys. You guys still "know you're not me" I guess. Too bad, you short little suckers. You still think I'm responsible for your problems? You are the greatest actors and actresses I have ever seen, because you are all Phony People. This whole schtick has been to get me killed all along. It isn't for any other reason before it, so I guess I have to go down in History as the Villain.

That would be what the Joker in Batman comics is hiding under the makeup, no? Lots and lots of uh, freckles, but you have gone too many times that whatever it is has to also have red hair. So now you think anything that isn't blonde is gay or lesbian, just like before. When I was to blame for your entire Phony Holocaust, your Phony Nazis, and your Phony WWII.

Well, now you know I'm crazy. Like Danny Bonaduchi. And all of us who don't even exist. I checked Google images, and found out that racially impure people don't exist. It now thinks since ummm, post-Hitler, they are all white skinned with Black hair, and once again, I'm supposed to be responsible for that somehow. By thinking stuff to myself or discussing it with my alleged husband. In this alleged world. That is somehow now a constant hallucination. Twenty minutes after midnight? If everyone else is all white skinned is the message I've been getting. Lots. Like Danny Bonaduchi seems to have gotten a long time ago, but I'm supposed to think he was or is worse off than me. He's an Italian, I'm not sure why, and he's far better off than I ever will be. As for racially impure, umm, LOOKING people, I am one. I look like someone smeared the shit that Black and Brown people "are" all over me. Gee, those quote marks were supposed to mean, ummm, something? There are Black people who literally look like BM. However, we all know better about that. My poor husband has smelly farts and so do I. Now? I'm not racist, and there is a group called Now. But I am jealous of those who, like Gloria Steinem, seem to have a corner on things. Things like the Women's Movement, or whatever, that I seem to be being kept from as some kind of Cosmic Absolute. I wonder if I am only a partial human being, naked from the waist up or down, Tits and Ass in other words. I think the idea behind that is certain women don't get to reproduce. My sister Connie and I each had one kid apiece. My sister Christy had none. I'm not sure what that means. We are part Cherokee Indian and the Trail of Tears tribes, but very many of them HAVE had a lot more than one kid each. I can take that for granted so we only have Overcrowded Ohio to blame. I'm sure there are Catholics or whoever in Ohio who have more children. We three are a mystery to me. If it's all about me, that could be a problem. I don't have any such way of solving such a dilemma.

My husband? He has four children, and one of them is elsewhere, we know not where, It is the one who is mine. He knows where the other three are, and keeps pretending something is so wrong with all three of them. Mine is god only knows where, doing god only knows what, and is seemingly starving to death while being hopelessly unable to pay any of her bills. She has let me know that her way is to be a grownup now, and to go out into the world and let her short self find something to do. Except due to alarms, harem scarums and suchlike...being programmed to die of all diseases on the face of the planet, including the worst possible worms, and all psychiatric medication whatsoever, I wonder what is trying to make a Real Man out of me, while making me into the world's worst Cosmic Rape Victim. I think they are persecuting my Kid. She's nothing but a Goat in other words. A good person, now forever wondering why it's happening to her, without wondering about it. Like she's accepted her role in some kind of strange play, where she is supposed to be Scrooge...filthy rich, a dirt bag, a scum bag, who is supposed to write her own obituary. Filthy rich. She's supposed to be paying out more money than she is making. She will wind up homeless that way, apparently while taking the blame for it all. Saint Angela I guess. Gee, I did want to take my role back from Missy Gandhi and Missy King, not "be a real man," nor a bag lady. Something is contradictory. Maybe I would have them take the bullets for me, the suckers, or something like that.

I want my daughter back, not back here, world of the weird. I want to hear from her again someday. I think she's going to die out there without me. Maybe of worms. And maybe that is the solution of sorts, considering everything, I guess that's where all three of us are going. Maybe you should find some other ghost writer or editor or marketer, if you are convinced you need to hire me personally. I am still able to send your work out to other people on our team. But you are very strange about paying us and me, you see. I am really beginning to wonder about that. Mostly, I am beginning to wonder if what it is is I'm not a human being at all.

Not even a woman. Just a host body for diseases. But what happened? I was a kind of a nurse, I was exposed to polio at first, then everything else. Yet it's been that way all of my life. DDT exposure over there on the East Side of the Country. The Bastard Country with No Name. My husband is waiting for me in bed. He's in his late 70s. He's a three tour Vietnam War veteran who went over there to kill the enemy and was told he was too fast and that he had to slow down on that. He had killed at least one Japanese enemy before, back there in the Philippines. He and his brother held a Japanese soldier down, and cut out both of his eyes. But so far as I know, although it could be the case they didn't necessarily "piss into the empty eye sockets of the bitch."

My husband is capable of doing some remarkable things. If you the Mafia or those who think you are the Mafia or a serial killer or whatever somehow need to visit me after this, you had best bring yourself along with a long-range sniper rifle. However, why you would mistake me for Dr. King is a mystery to me, even though I'm not Velma. It is all very, very mysterious. And aggravating, to say the least. I am getting a definite message that I am anything but welcome here, in my own house, in my own life...does it somehow cover over all the car exhaust fumes? By racial and sexual and class and other idiotic Republican Democratic referencing? Maybe the Republicans, and my husband's family killed my daughter. But she wanted to leave anyway. She isn't dead yet, she ought to be dead by now, same here considering, but it's all like a spurious magic trick. It's all fake. I don't understand any of it anymore. I'm tired of typing this rather what I call a "longie" piece. I don't want to give worms to: Sofia, Teresa, the new boy, Emily, Matthew or Michael. That would be best, not doing so, not accidentally giving them our Trichina worms. They of course probably all already have them or something just like them, as I do not understand your Blue Magic.

The Blue Magic must be a reference to the skies still being Blue. They are Grayer than Fifty Shades of Gray over Eastern China. That's where the skies are currently so Gray. Or Grey. Have you ever noticed that in English, there are two different ways of spelling the word...that word. What is a word, really; there is no odd language or people to blame. I know better, which like in Virginia Jarvis' case is a lot like being a Christian and exhibiting or otherwise experiencing forgiveness like they do in Justine's Rwanda. Where they go ahead and forgive people for the recent mass genocide of about a million Rwandans. Well, they were all neighbors anyway, why care?

This is too long, and I have to go join my husband. Who may have given me the worms, or more worms, but I think it really was the Mystery Meat on the mental ward. Where everyone else there probably had some of the mystery meat, but come to think of it, maybe only the mental patients. Which this go round on the ward, my turns at it anyway, meant only colored people and not really anyone white at all. So the mystery meat Trichina worms only went seemingly to colored people. This is highly unlikely; I have surely heard of otherwise by now. It is leading me around by the nose for some unknown reason; I am only allowed to visit certain Internet sites. It is not the case that just came to your minds, you who are reading this; probably, this is so long now, NOBODY is reading this. Whoever it was may have started it, but is long gone.

If I love him, he's happy, and if I don't love him, he's sad. Believe it or not, the world does follow some suit...but you know, that way. It's not a ummmm, kosher way for the world to follow suit. There is indeed something wrong in the State of oh, places. Washington, perhaps, but I keep thinking other where too. If I believed Danny. He was a partridge somewhere back there, and he didn't want to jump off the weird lesbian cliff. Me, either. I don't want to jump oft that there Thelma and Louise cliff, and my middle name was Louise. Seems something else has figured out my middle name is F. I got all of one F in high school and one F in college, and it keeps telling me that KFC, Kentucky Fried Chicken, means my middle name is F. Meanwhile, it keeps telling Chris Matthews, a very handsome, sophisticated and charming Anglo-Irish white Male journalist, who is obviously a bit on the abusive side of thing, about a guy called Chris Christy. Given the fact that Chris is a typical name, what do you think about my KFC, uhhhh, "fixation?" Am I somehow fixated on a place like Sambo's and like Wendy's that look somehow like they pick on only Black people? Say, what about the Burger King? And the Dairy Queen? It makes me wonder? A lot of Black people in this country are stuck on psychiatric medications, etc. Etc. Etc. Etc. 'til my eyes bug out. They are from African, and maybe they are built to withstand such pain. But they seem to have let me know something without my having any such capacity to know it. It might be that they tend to be in far more pain than I am. That worries me.

Well, that's if you want to believe that. It's all cleverly written into it in certain ways to deal with those who argue with it. So I guess I'm stuck forever believing in Sci-Fi Jesus. The guy who's supposed to be hovering around in Outer Space somewhere, like he's Superman or something. I guess if he descends upon the lilies of the field down here once again, I shall recall how the Missionary Position is the only fucking way "we" can ever get pregnant. Well, actually it's not. Umm, turkey basters work, especially when you pop them into your microwave oven first. Then, a dose of British science, where two women and one man produce a new kind of baby. You know, I bet it really IS a baby, and it's not all that confused about who or what it's parents really are. Already. Okay, there are definitely people our there born with both sets of sex parts.

I've now been a writer (and a reader) so long, I think I'm a man's mind in a woman's body. Now you have all forgotten or never heard of that literary reference. No, folks, it's not about lesbianism, but if twerping is the only thing you can ever believe in, I'd like to introduce you to Twitter and tweeting. But you know, tweeting is the most sexually frustrating thing that I have ever seen.

If you want to read a book with this attitude problem, as outlined above, please read The Rainbow Horizon - A Tale of Goofy Chaos. I'm a closet Masculinist, not a closet Feminist, like everyone else thinks I am. Signed, the Black Canary, whose sole goal in life was to become Batman.

Bye!

Karen Cole, of Rainbow Writing, Inc. fame, now known as Ghost Writer, Inc. Something thinks it's such a funny joke, making fun of me for being the ghost of Rainbow Writing. The real such ghost of it is named Jesse Jackson, a weird son of one Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. alias Batman, Superman etc. but I bet that kid never really had much time to play around. Only in my dreams did he ever really kiss Marilyn Monroe, and in fact he does seem to have punched her out. In MY dreams, he did both, as combined Good and Evil. Well, you know, I'm mentally retarded. I'm a woman who can never really understand Evil. I keep thinking it must be something good over there, something I can understand or relate too. However, what I really wanted to do was to punch it out.

Do you suppose Dr. King thought a rich white woman was something evil? She worked her way up from the gutter of a small town, like Elton John said, and her name was not exactly Marilyn Manson. In fact, she was Norma Jean something....Jean, so like Jew. Doncha think? Feminism. The only reason I was ever a Masculinist was to get back at Male Feminists, who have decided they can somehow "dominate" us and use their own feminism (maybe the love they had for their mothers) against us. I wanted to be a feminist, but I have some non-shocking news to give you. Real feminists are NEVER ALONE. I am alone, so I will never exist in real life, apparently. Real life has gone away and left me, bereft, like I was a woman who wanted to be like The Batman, and then got told once again that the only Real Life version of him isn't Sherlock Holmes, but will forever remain only Jack the Ripper, never a real life Dr. Reinhardt at all. Like the only real life Dr. Rinehardt forever remains the Jew version of him, namely a guy (or dude) in Florida who does lawn care and is all over the Internet, while no mention goes of the original Dr. Jack Reinhardt. Only a seed so to speak, from Better Midler, a dream of something that is like a rose.

That name...from the Skull and Crossbones club of Victorian era well educated and highly overly intelligent doctors, with nothing further to do then the inadequate medical care of the time, which mostly was straight out of (I learned this via the MASH series of books by a man named Richard Hooker, not his real name of course) that name. Is programmed into Word by apparently several Hebrew guys who are into that sort of thing. Makes you want to support the allegedly feminist Nazis, until you realize something. Something beyond you, that never seems to escape anything real. Man on top, woman below. So precious. So very very precious. Like a ring ripped off by J.R.R. Tolkien, one that ordinarily goes on one's left hand, unless one is a Southpaw perhaps? Like Dick Van Dyke, so Jew, so dancer, so his ring should have been on his right hand.

The world? So varied, there may be more male prostitutes than female ones. I am an ex-hooker, I have a partial college education, I got my own self determined degree. Sort of like Barbra Streisand, her character in a movie anyway, and ONLY that. I went to a lot of colleges and universities, and took all the classes I wanted to take and not only those. Also some other ones, that I didn't need to take in order to fulfill my career. Which was rather based on my resume. I hate sexism, because all it does is blame your own mother for bringing you into this world. Why someone thinks that since Daddy can best him up, that we are all a man? Probably has an awful lot to do with the natural inferiority of womankind. Like they are God, and we are Satan. What do you think?

Yep.

Well, so many people are in that Satanic position, I think womankind got shoved out of the boat. No reproduction without us, unless you are into heavy, ummm, science fiction. Lovely, totally sexless and completely gay science fiction, so enjoyable by the masses. Unable to buy that kind of medical access, forever, and consigned to Omigod the original act or acts of sexual congress, in other words, those acts between a man and a woman. Oh no, what did I say? Not much that everyone else on the face of the planet doesn't know about. In spades.

The Rose