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