I love You

Author’s note: This isn’t your ordinary blog post. I’m not gonna write ordinary things today. Below is a bunch of song lyrics, a bunch of things I want to express at the moment. Enjoy.

I was lying in my bed so late at night,

Wishing you were here and saying it would be all right,

But you just don’t understand me, you probably never will.

Whenever love becomes a thing at all,

What I get is a cruel joke a thousand stories tall.

My mind is altogether out of place in everybody’s arms,

And you said you would never get with anyone else like me, …

I loved you, and I still do.

You know I take back all the words you might have said to me,

And I won’t be able to hold on to the past,

But when you say you’re the last, I don’t believe this lie,

I love you.

As I take the pieces of my heart to grieve,

I can’t help but wonder how you don’t believe

Any words I say, any small things I do,

When will you ever wake up to this hurt?

When will you ever see the way I bleed?

When will you ever tell me something that isn’t harmful to my soul?

I loved you, I still do.

You know I’d take back every word you said to me,

I won’t hold on to the past, but when you say you’re the last,

I don’t believe this lie.

IF you ever need a shoulder to cry on, look to me instead

OF the pointless people edging me into the pit of death,

IF you want to someday see your errors floating about your face,

Think of how you threw me out and got your whole heart lost in space,

And what I said to you was never cruel and not unkind,

ANd you say I have no golden heart, a very unsound mind,

But you don’t get the way I feel, the way I can’t resist

The way you loved me prior to your refusal to assist,

And I wish you weren’t the liar, you weren’t eh heartbreak man,

But all I see is blisters on the side of both my hands,

As I write this, my shattered heart can’t possibly repair,

Not without the words I long to hear,

I loved you, and I still do,

You know I’d take back every word you said to me,

And I won’t hold on to the past, and when you say you’re the last,

I won’t believe this lie,

I would die to save your whole self, don’t believe me, just ask.

I would not dare let someone kill you, let them shoot me first,

Just know that in my heart of hearts, I love you.

Letter to my Beloved

Author’s Note: I’m weeping yet again. This time, well, I’ll just reveal in the content below. This is partially inspired by Gloria Whelan’s novel Homeless Bird, and you will as the reader learn what this is about.

Dear beloved,

I do not wish to name who the beloved is for the safety of everybody who reads this. If you are who I think you are reading this blog entry, please hear me out. I’ve been having endless crying spells, night after night, perhaps for two nights in a row, and you have done away with my heart on account of trivial matters, and you hurt me in a way so deeply I couldn’t stand it. You claim I’m not responsible, well hear me out. First, I do not absolve myself of responsibility for money trouble, fine with me. However, I do absolve responsibility for supposed narcissism and self centeredness, for this isn’t true. I grew up in a patriarchal Catholic family, mind you, but most of the Catholic church teachings do not teach selfishness. But the labels can be put aside. Even the Hindu Vedas and Jewish Torah do not teach that it is okay to be selfish. No religion or body of wisdom allows us to be selfish, only love thyself. I get that. But I want to tell you something I wish for both of us.

One thing, no more accusations of overtly talking one or another’s ear off. That’s a common way to silence a woman’s voice, and I don’t feel comfortable with that. Secondly, and this is critical, please listen to me and comfort me in times of trouble. You did so as a friend while some bastard threatened my life. You did so as a friend when my grandmother died. Do so now in this case because I want comfort from all the wrong you did, and you should fix it too. Fourthly, well, I’ll save that for another paragraph. See below.

The biggest thing I wish for us is to communicate without being accused of drama or draining. I had visions of beings that would probably be my kids, sound crazy?, but I also have had visions of what our life could look like together, but what’s horrific about this is how you want to throw me out like the paper wrappings you see on candy and food. Except I’m nothing like those. I’m just a woman, a female being willing and able to help you see where you went wrong. For one, there are the better angels who know what happened to me and I know what happened to me. You call it a “warning”, but let me tell you. You picked on my mental health condition and did not learn to understand or cope with it, and you have a temper. I want to encourage, no I want to humbly implore you to work on this. I will be glad to work on money troubles, only if you work on the temper and get back on track with me because all your friends won’t necessarily do something about it. I love you that deeply, but here’s a scene that keeps playing out in my head. Please listen and or read this, hear me out, and follow what I’m saying.

The scene begins with a young woman and her lover who is her age, sitting by the riverside, somewhere in India, probably a swampy polluted area but it’s the Yamuna River, bordering the city of Vhrindavan, the place of widows. Here’s the backstory in brief: Koly, a young woman of 13 at the story’s beginning, was cruelly sold to a sickly boy so he could just go to the Ganges River to heal from tuberculosis, which he doesn’t. Then, mind if I say this, she is treated like shit by her mother in law, she is no longer a proper daughter in law, so she’s put to work as a slave, and then her daddy in law dies, her sister in law is married off in a pompous and better wedding, and she has nothing more to look forward to. Now, she meets Raji, a young boy who pedals a little rickshaw bike with her in the back to a widow house in the city after she’s been not only abandoned there, but brutally insulted and forced to rely on bits of rice and such and try to find work where she can. Then she goes to such as the Widows House, where she meets a rich woman and a guy who owns an embroidery shop, where she later learns and improves her skills doing saris, those Indian dress things they wear in special circumstances. Beloved, you don’t want to wear a sari, and I’m glad you haven’t, wink wink. They’re a bitch to put on, trust me, I’ve tried. But anyway, as we get to the river with Raji and Koly, we see Raji sitting with Koly after many love letters, Koly being one to keep an eye on Raji’s writing details and saying how he should spell one thing or another, and this is a girl. She’d learnt to read which is rare in some remote areas for women in India. That’s badass of her, right?

Anyway, Raji has a proposal for Koly, age seventeen, and she’s living with her buddy Tanu from the widows housing thing, and she’s been working for this guy Daas, who owns an embroidery shop, and the next thing he says to her is something about love and marriage. They go deep into the discussion of what to expect in their relationship, and in traditions past, girls would be sold for money to old men. Well, what Raji says at one point is so powerful it would make your head spin, and maybe fall off partially at your neck.

Raji says, and I’ll change the dialogue slightly a bit because it’s about Rupees, but he says, “I don’t want to talk to rupees, I want to talk to my wife.” He goes on to explain that his mother and father, in his words maa and baap, don’t talk to or never spoke a thousand words between each other because they were not only arranged to marry each other, but there was money exchanged and or money was too high on the priority list. It seems that money is too important not only to you, beloved one, but to most people in general. I have a proposal, albeit not for marriage, so hear me out.

Like Raji and his girlfriend Koly, I don’t want money involved in our exchanges if any. I want communication, no physical force, no leaving, none. I just want to talk to you. You did so to me, but you did so in ways to absolve yourself from doing so to others. Please hear this. I love you, no further explanation needed for why. Love has no condition, it loves you more and more every day. I cry every day and night thinking about how you and I could have done better for each other, and I will continue to cry so hard my eyes will fall out because you are the star for which Colorado waited, and got. You were and are the soil in which my ideas came. I don’t want to talk to a pile of banknotes, rupees changed to dollars here, I want to talk to you. I want to hug you, not my or your money. Your rap album would be a gem for your life, sure, but I don’t want to hear that album unless you write something for me, to love and honor me, my life and let me know you are with me. I want to hear comforting but not angry words. I want to hear words of love and kind thoughts. I keep sending you peaceful thoughts but for whatever reason I don’t get those back. You skewed something about me to a friend, and I have nobody now and nobody cares. I want you to undo the damage, not run away from it. I don’t want to say you are definitely labeled an abuser, for that is a serious label. I don’t want you to complete any further sentences, I just want your arms around me. Like Koly, I would embroider you on a quilt in my mind’s eye. I would use gold and red threads for your hair, blue ones for your eyes, and I’d make every detail of you come to life and you’d be holding a bouquet of red flowers. I’d have you sitting at a desk in another panorama, creating the beats you love so much. I cry as I type this, wondering how and where we both went wrong. IF I could just have another cuddle with you, another hug, another tear cried more is a tear too many. I don’t want to cry to my macintosh anymore, I just want to hold your sweet face in my hands, cup it like I would anyone who is crying. If you have to grab a tissue, do so while you read this, love. Why read, you may say. Because you are loved.

For one thing, I want never to speak with money, guns, or a pile of stone. I just want to talk to you. I want your lithe body next to mine, your hands enfolding mine, and I want to hear you breathe every night of my life. I want to make love under the sun, moon and in water, and if I have to walk through the fires of Hell to receive another kiss from you, I will gladly do so even if I burn to ash. Cover yourself with my ashes, and I will forgive you for all the wrongs you might have said and done to me.

For all the stuff you might have called me, I’ll tell you I will forgive you on one condition. Don’t repeat the same mistake again. A wise young Kristen Lunceford from my private school days once told me, “Everybody has their good points and bad points.” Kristen should be here next to me, probably staring at me as I type this, wondering why I pulled out this gem of wisdom. Kristen also said, “IF you apologize, if you want me to forgive you, don’t repeat the same mistake.” I want to pause a moment and say to her that thanks to her powerful wisdom and the gems that she presented me, I now have a way to speak to people this deeply. Beloved, you will always have a piece of me wherever you go, and you will never be forgotten, even if you try hard to forget me. Don’t. Because I will marry you when you are ready, and if you aren’t I don’t care. I want to talk to you, not my engagement ring. I want to talk to you, not the piles of tech I have in my house, not the oodles of money coming out of the proverbial sky. I want to talk to you frankly and matter of factly. And trust me, beloved, I want to talk only to the living being that is you. Do not say it is too late, it isn’t. I believe in you, I believe in love, and I believe in the miracles that God, Buddha and the gods of all the universe bring. I believe in angels, and don’t accuse me of being weird. It’s not weird. Trenton was sick once with a lung infection, a severe form of influenza type A, and nearly died, and was visited by beings known as angels. If you ever could put yourself in Trenton’s shoes, if you were close to death, I know you were, hasn’t it occurred to you that beings beyond our world could touch you? My beloved one, beings like these do have some impact on us, but God does not truly exist in my mind because all I get from it/him, all I’ll ever get is the pull of whoredom of all women from him. I am not a woman of whoredom, so please don’t say that.

Please respect me, please love me. I can’t stop crying all the time, I can’t stop thinking of how you would misunderstand the use of money in society. Money is money, but I don’t talk to Benjamin, George, and Andrew, whatever faces are on the bills. I don’t give my wads of cash names like that, and I don’t treat my money the same way I treat living beings like us. You breathe, eat, shit, sex and do all sorts of things that living beings do. Why would I want to be cruel to you? I was never cruel.

Please welcome me back with open arms, and if you don’t, well, I know what to do with this. Otherwise, hear me loud and clear. I want comforting and kinder words, promises of love and I will compromise, not my freedom and not my bodily integrity. I will compromise on money issues, I will also do so on food serving and other things. I won’t however do so when it comes to your hostilities and such. Please get some therapy, and listen to the powerful words of Raji, Koly’s boyfriend. I know this is only a story in a book to you, but I’ve wanted to use these words as not so much a weapon, but something else altogether. These words, the ones about wanting to talk to you and not money, those are true. I want to talk to you. I want to hold and cuddle you. How can you make love to money? How can you have babies with money? In exchange, you know what else? LEt me conclude Koly’s story here.

While all this exchange between the lovers at the Yamuna River is going on, Koly thinks about her new life. One of the things Mr. Daas the employer at the sari shop says to her is, “You must not stop your work.” Koly makes a powerful promise, and I’ll never forget the things she says in response to prospective whining kids begging for attention, a demanding husband, many other things, and here’s what she says, “The dishes won’t always be so clean, the food won’t be cooked as many times, and the whining children will sit on my lap and I’ll sing to them while I work.” This woman wants to work her ass off doing embroidery, and she imagines for a few moments her daughter with a scrap of cloth in her hand, all the women in her family having embroidered. LEt me tell you what I’d embroider for you and I.

It doesn’t have to be a wedding gift. I’d take a big giant table cloth, or a banner. On it, I’d embroider your logo, a picture of you, all of you, every last detail, sitting at my desk, the keys in front of you. You’d be just playing the keys, your face would be in a peaceful angular look. IF I could create that, I would. Around you, I’d put the walls and a big room, and I’d put musical instruments, and around that I would put the Colorado landscape with mountains on one side, and an Arizona desert on another side. IF I wanted to make another scene, I’d do you and I together holding hands outside the pizza spot we went to. I’d want to walk with you hand in hand, never to let you go, to let you be with me is a joy in itself. To see you contented and happy would make me contented and happy. The thing is I have to make myself happy, but I’m truly not very happy. I never wanted to hurt you, beloved one. No matter how hard you try to stomp me out of your life, your head, your heart, I will never stop until you shut up about my so called life. For one, you would rather marry money, not women. Well, what if you married women, not money. You can’t wed a job, it can walk away from you with the drop of a hat. You can’t marry money because it can’t talk. Money isn’t able to give you kids, not unless you’re crazy enough to traffic kids in California, the adoption system being so lax in places that a UK couple literally bought two little beings and all because they paid a higher price than a local American couple. Dan the birth mother who sold those children. Beloved, I don’t want to hurt you because you don’t deserve it, and neither did I deserve physical force, emotional name calling, etc. We were better off as friends, but I’m a lover so hard to get that any guy would kill to have this heart of mine. If you want me, promise me that you will take me back after a month or two. I just want to improve communication without physically having to make you do so or you having problems with me supposedly draining the life out of you. I won’t pay any household bills unless you are willing to do so, and better you be willing to now than have a gavel and a judge force you to by rule of law and complete a sentence like you did with an ex. I don’t want to be compared to an ex wife or partner of yours. LEt me also say that I apologize for how you are feeling, but it is unnecessary for me to say that, but more than this, I apologize if I ever hurt you. I’ve cried every goddamn day for you, my tears are falling a little now as I type. Your beats are infectious. I love you so much, and I want to hold you in my arms again. Don’t close the door on me ever again, and remember that money can’t break up or renew things with you. Money can’t speak words of compassion to you, but I can. A living woman can. Raji said this, any real romantic lover would say this. I want him and others to be used as a tool, an example, a template for you to go on. When you want to talk to me, let me know. You may read this, you may not. But let me state clearly, I wil never stop loving you. Don’t make me sing Whitney Houston’s old goddamn song, well Dolly Parton did it first, but I don’t ever wanna sing that song. I want to sing the song, if I could turn back time by Cher.

IF I could turn back time, if I could find a way, I’d take back those words that had hurt you, and you’d stay. IF I could reach the stars, I’d give them all to you. And you would love me, love me, like you used to do. Why did I write these words? Because I’m so messed up crying right now. I’m so goddamn messed up crying and I just want to say that you deserve me, you deserve a better version of me. IF I could turn back time, I’d have just gotten with you five years ago and we’d have married altogether. IF I could just turn back the hands of time, you’d stay with me and we’d have our stone mansion in the cactus covered landscapes of Arizona, and we’d go to a Colorado mountain cabin in the summers and light a campfire and roast mallows and make s’mores, and we’d feast on hot dogs and canned or fresh beans, your choice, you know it’s camping so yeah. IF I could turn back the hands of time to see your smile, if I could only … only … turn back the hands of time all the way to when you were born, no forward from that, maybe the time you met your first wife, I’d have protected her, I’d have told you you were better with me, and said to her, yeah, he’s not gonna hurt you this time. IF I could turn back the hands of time, I’d have stopped your brother in his tracks, pulled the knives and guns and spears from his palm, backhanded him so he falls on the floor, screamed in his face, “How dare you attack your sibling, you vile beast.” I’d have also slapped your mother and father with orders to give you up to a loving family, period. End of story. IF I could turn back the hands of time, you would be in a loving family, hugs and kisses, goodnights and all the great things but moreover, no threat of guardianship, constant punishment, and constant abuse over things you liked. I would have been your girlfriend in high school, married you at eighteen, and we’d be a long overdone but old trusting married couple. Like John Glenn and Annie Caster, you and I would have … if I turned back the hands of time, I’d have been glad to share a playpen with you, grown up with you, fought playfully with you in a yard full of grass and green things, trees and such. We’d be like John and Annie, old and not forgotten about each other. You would have sailed aboard your rocket ships, I’d be at cooking and cleaning and perhaps making a life as an advocate for the less desired and forgotten. Like John and Annie, we’d have special things between us we could say to each other, and whether we are like them or not, it would be nice if I could die at 105 years old, having said in my final statements, “He was the best thing and was worth all the counseling.”

I love you deeply and I will never stop loving you deeply.

With love,

Your beloved one,


Letter to MY Unborn Son

Author’s Note: I am writing this in the wake of the last thing I wrote, but this time, it’s thanks to my newest blog subscriber, so follow My Ramblings on WordPress after reading this. Enjoy.

Dear Unborn Son,

I’d like to welcome you to a broken world. Like I told your potential unborn sister, I want to show you what kind of world I exist in. AS your potential mother, it is my responsibility to tell you what you’ll likely see, and try and help you become the man you want to be. Whether you’re as fierce as Boba Fet fighting off Tuscan raiders in a camp on some distant planet or you’re as rugged as Han Solo on the Millennium Falcon or you’re as upright as the Mando when he’s rescued the Grogu child, well, whatever you become I can’t wait to find out. There is one thing I want to give you a few pointers and advice on.

Please do me one favor when you exit my body and enter this violent and uncertain world. Don’t, play, with, guns. I don’t want to ever see a headline with your name on it as being a mass shooter. IF you see someone committing such horrific things, do what you must, even if it means giving your life. Hey, even Darth Vader gave his life for his son too. IF your daddy isn’t around for this heroic act, well, he just might, you will know him by then. Just remember, when your father pulls off the Darth Vader mask behind the genteel features he possesses, you will notice the man you want to become, the man you should strive to be. I imagine that sons would be more like their fathers, not obviously the opposite. Right at this moment, I’m asking questions, thinking of the kind of person you want to become. As a boy, you will want to swing on the monkey bars, pitch baseballs on a field, and don’t worry, if you have a little or bigger sister, she will be raised equally along with you, and she’ll play ball the same if she chooses. For you, it is your call whether you want to play ball with the other boys in the hood or stand out as someone who actually gives credit to wherever credit is due, and plays ball with the boys not necessarily in the hood. I can’t wait to meet you and see your personality shine through. Perhaps you’ll have your father’s wayward but beautiful locks, reddish blonde in color, his blue eyes, but I kind of wish you would look more like myself. My eyes are brown, my hair as well. My nose is a bit short, so that nose is good on you too. I’d like to think you have a fierce determination, and like Boba Fet, you are determined to get payback for what is done to you. But like Luke Skywalker, you do what is right. Even in the final act of heroism in your life, I will want to see it be that you save your daddy from a world of learned helplessness, hopelessness, gloom and doom. Like Palpatine and Darth Vader, the men I’ve dated seemed like impossible mountains to climb. I’m picking up the pieces from a fifteen years in captivity, and if you’re fighting to get down here, keep fighting, because trust me, you will want to raise your saber high when you grow to be as tall as your father. Unlike Luke Skywalker however, I don’t ever want to tell you that the father who gave you life is dead. Ben Kenobi told Luke Skywalker this in Episode 4, so when you get to be a good age for this, I’ll let you watch that, and you’ll get the point. When Darth Vader rolls into the big paternity reveal, you’ll understand that is the most iconic line in all of history in terms of Star Wars. Your sister and you will not join any such thing as the dark side, and if your father emerges from that funny Darth Vader mask of cold and distance, well, how can I best explain it. There was a time your daddy and I were cold, and I was oblivious to your presence in my body, but trust me, your daddy would probably have thought I should burn in Hell for having you, but when he sees you exit and hears you cry, whether on film or not, maybe he’ll understand that as a man, his son is his life. It’s like that with most men. Men must gage with what they have with one another.

For a time, I thought love was a cruel joke, that is until you came into my thoughts. Perhaps it is not a cruel joke. Your strength and determination to live will probably baffle both me and your dad. It’s not like you will be conceived by the miti kloriets, remember that. I have never heard of but one boy conceived without the touch of a man, and that was Jesus, son of Mary. Even so, your father will be a strong and determined man, wanting to stand on his own two feet in a world that hates every last thing in him, blindness included. I’m also blind. We may both be blind, but we’re not stupid. We know that if you arrive in this broken tattered world, you will be loved and greeted with the same pomp and circumstance as anyone else. Your sister will get the same treatment as you will, and she might be as badass as Princess Leia, and someday there will be a gentle and strong being who will ask you to be their sidekick, guide in life.

Here’s what I want you to know about me and your dad.

I think you should know about him first. For one, he’s had it rough. Forgive this guy, it’s not like he wants to break back and bend you over his knee and whip your body if you misbehave. I won’t let that happen either. Like in the prior thing I wrote, I will only spank you if it’s your birthday, and even then, only in jest. When you mature into manhood, I ask you to do a few things, not too many things, just listen as I advise you because this is going to be tough on any young man.

One, you will have plenty of opportunities to explore your options. IF you see a girl, you like the girl, ask before you embrace or kiss her, and later make love to her. Consent is what it’s all about. You’ll thank me for this pearl of advice, trust me. IF you want to be a father, and your dad in turn becomes a grandfather, don’t impose your will on minor kids and women. Respect your girlfriends’ bodily integrity. Don’t ever, ever ever use force or physical means to tell your girlfriend something, don’t ever create an environment where your girlfriend can’t speak or do things she wishes. IF she is having trouble with money, ask if she wants or needs help. You can only go so far but breaking her heart over piles of banknotes is simply raw hurt. Love her through the good times and the bad, through thick and thin, and show patience. Just as Han and Leia have had their arguments I’m pretty sure, remember that love is a piece of work, and should never be a cruel joke. You will be celebrated not for your hunky looks, your blue eyes, your blonde locks of hair floating about your head, or even your ethnic makeup. You will want to be remembered for your strength of character. I’m determined that you go get ‘em like Han Solo did in his story or like Luke Skywalker facing down his own father, Lord Darth Vader. If you do cross swords with your father, just remember that you must, like Luke did, feel the good in him. You will be determined to save him, but as Anakin says in his death throes in Return of the Jedi, “You already have, Luke.” Unlike the Skywalker saga, however, I hope you don’t have to carry your father’s, my lover’s body to a funeral pyre. I don’t want to see the ghost of him in the air too soon, but I want his dying words not to be just directed at you, like, “Now go my son.” Anakin had the best death words ever, but the saddest. I hope that you will unmask the good in the man who said it would be a cold day in Hell before he loves me again. There is good in him, I see it all the time, but it is mired by trouble from his own family. His blood has been tainted by desire for blood of the kind that is shed for no reason, and his heart is so almost like the Anakin Skywalker at nineteen, but unlike Anakin, this man truly does not need to be going around killing Jedi knights, killing anyone who stands in his way, taking a Sith title and tapping into dark forces. I feel like I’m fighting those dark forces, not necessarily him, every day. HE is a bit grounded at times, but when you cross sabers with him, don’t whatever you do strike him down. Do not surrender, not ever. Take down the guards, the storm troopers in your path, but your father will eventually tell you he wants to see you with his own face, cup your head in his hands and maybe he’ll tear up a bit seeing you like that. Blind people don’t always show affection the same way.

Whatever you become, I’m delighted to know which side you’ll be on. Another piece of advice you will need to survive in this world is to know your true enemies. You will need a lot of tools to equip you for life. Don’t ever address women as “bitch”, for example. The next time you do that, well I won’t ground you but I will give you a good scolding and you will get a lecture on the true definition of a bitch. That’s a female dog, not a malicious woman, and calling every woman a bitch is disrespectful, no matter if she is or isn’t. Respecting women is a big tool in your box you’ll need so you don’t get blacklisted for jobs and other things. When you get a supervisory position in your office as a man, please don’t advance on your employees because it’s unethical. Create a place where your underlings can talk about what they do, and without consequence, say no to a male underling’s advances. Treat every being on this planet, not only the women, with reverence and respect, even if you don’t think they deserve it. IF someone you feel causes drama, or you feel is draining to them, think about what you do to contribute to this.

MY son, there is one more … I can’t say too many more things I want to give you that will help you get here immediately. Come here for a few moments, if you are an angel, and speak gently to the man you want to become. Do not try and deceive anyone and don’t mask your feelings. It won’t help you in the long run. IF you ever need to cry, unlike conventional males, just do it. Go to your pillow, lock the door, and silently or whatever volume you want, just let it out. You will have friends one day who will listen without judging you as a crybaby. My dad did this to your uncles, your future uncles, and it was painful to watch.

IF you want to know who your father is, unlike my mother and me, you will know who your daddy is. He will have to visit you, and when you are being born and on your way to this world, I will make sure your father lets me hold his hand, bite a rope, whatever it takes to get you into this world. Unlike Padme Amidala, I promise you i’ll be here to raise you, not your father’s family, not even an ex. Unlike any mother, I promise you the moon, and if you feel this world is too much for you, please don’t leave it and your body behind. With your brilliant mind, perhaps you can build a rocket ship that travels light years away, and take the whole family on a million light year mission to explore new worlds like Captain Kirk. We would encounter the stars, many alien civilizations, hell we’d get lost in space. Your father and I will marvel at your work, and we’d fly to the moon and back with your help. I want him and I to step on Mars together, perhaps fly past Saturn and explore beyond Pluto. There has to be another system beyond Alpha Centauri we can explore, carve out a life for ourselves. We will be a great dynasty of sorts, and with your help, we will all soar above the sky. Your daddy is a rap god, and if luck has it, he’ll be releasing an album highlighting his hunger to succeed in all the things he wants to do. I wish for him and you to have a strong bond, not at my expense. REmember the thing about bad words directed at women? NEver ever disrespect your mother, not ever. I want your father to respect me not just because I’m a woman, or because I’m all together or anything else, but because I care deeply for him. IF you float along the tracks above our heads, just let your father know I love him. I care too much to let him fly off to the painted desert and mock me in front of a bunch of guys at a bar, calling me the same words I entrust you won’t. Son, you will have a name, and that name will reflect on your courage, heroism, and strength as well as your ability to fight. Your sister may have the same thing in her name, we’ll just have to see.

Son, if you truly want to make sure your daddy doesn’t mess up my and another woman’s life, all you need to do is go all Karate Kid on him too. One other piece of advice, if your daddy and you are crossing sabers and he’s mocking me, calling me names, all of that, turn the other cheek for me, and tell your father that in his heart of hearts, he must stay with me and go back to me and tell me he’s sorry. IF there ever was a rift between us, like Luke had with Anakin Skywalker, just stand your ground. IF Daddy says you will have to beat up girls, destroy women’s lives, that if they don’t bow down to your wishes, blah blah blah, just say it like Luke. “I will never join you.” Luke had and always has had determination. This all boils down to this. What would a good Jedi master do? You don’t have to do things like Yoda, being that there is nothing but do, not try. Grand Master Yoda had a lot of good tokens like these, but try to be as noble as Mace Windu, and as giving as Anakin Skywalker, but not as compulsive should we say. You will be a fine Paduan in the game of life, and I am delighted to write this in your honor.

With love,

Your future mother,


P.S. The force will be with you always.

Letter to My Unborn Daughter

Author’s Note: The following came as a result of a major crying spell. It’s been a week since I’ve been heartbroken over a myriad of things, but a vision of a little girl with reddish blone hair and blue eyes appeared in my mind, invading my thoughts. I thought I’d write her a letter here, and you all are welcome to join me on this journey while I’m writing this. Please read the following.

Dear unborn Daughter,

First of all, I just want to say I am the one who could become your mother. I want to welcome you to a world without certainty, without security, with a lot of bad things such as war and poverty. There are, however, a few good things in the world. You invaded my thoughts, and thinking about you just brought tears to my eyes. I could see a vision of your golden hair, and my oh my you look like your father. You have your father’s beautiful blue eyes. He can’t see that, but though I’m blind, for all I know, I have inner sight. There was a Greek blind prophet Tereisius who couldn’t see anything, just like me, but he could see the future within his mind. That’s what happened here. The prophet I speak of appears in Oedipus the King and several other things, but you won’t read those till you’re older, my daughter. IF only I could tell you what I am seeing now, but alas, you are only but a thought within. IF you come into this world, promise me this, you won’t forget me. IF they take you from me, if they tell you that Daddy was evil, which isn’t the case, if they tell you Mommy can’t and won’t be able to take care of you, again not the case, when you see my picture on the TV, don’t forget the name. Your father is a gifted rapper, and he made such beautiful beats, and he cried out through one, “I want to know what love is.” Well, I loved him. He probably didn’t love me because I mismanaged money, but he just overstepped a boundary or two, and things didn’t get the right way between us for a time. There was a time the father in your life was cold to me, but then you appeared, a thought bubble in my mind. This is why I’m writing this.

For one, I love your father. HE had the most gentle heart when I first saw him. He was very strong, is still that way and he had a daughter in his home state of Iowa. Well, you don’t realize you have a big sister there. One day when you are older and able to travel in this big world, you will meet her. You two are always on my mind, even if Daddy says it’s not right for me to think about that. We want to make you out of love, not violence, and when you only know violence, uncertainty, and misinterpreted viewpoints, that’s all you can know. It’s a thing in psychology called “learned helplessness.” I think Daddy is helpless to get out of this vicious cycle, and I just want him to get out of it, rise above this, and say he cares about me. That’s all. I could only picture your tiny voice at the door of my bedroom asking if I’m all right, the sweet innocence piercing the air.

The one thing I don’t want to have to deal with is postpartum depression, and that’s because I don’t want you to bear the sufferings I’ve endured. I want you to be a happy little lady, playing on the floor with your Legos and just imagining a world you’d like to build. Your Daddy might cry a little, he might just lose it seeing me rock you to sleep, sing to you and even when you get fussy, I won’t stop till you laugh and get quiet. IF you get colic, I’ll make sure it goes away, one way or another. Come Hell or High Water, you will have a mother, and your life will be the best it will ever be.

I will tell you, there won’t be violence in your home. I won’t let you watch Top Gun, for example, without making sure you don’t have to enact the things that Maverick sees. I don’t care if you try to watch that movie, but besides that, I will never let a guy or any being enact violence upon you. When you exit my body you will find a world where there won’t be a chance for myself even to commit abuse or violence on you. You will never know a spanking, except for birthday spankings. I will sing Happy Birthday to you, and when you turn six, for example, I will give you birthday spankings on your back, not your bottom. I’ll gently slap you six times, and give you a playful hard one to grow on. That’s all. You will not know the pain of injury due to discipline, and you will not have to spend fifteen years of your life in captivity because of some lie your parents doled to a court of law. You will be allowed to date a man, and I will be nothing but honest with you about the man’s character. My character is good, and honestly, I can’t wait to hold you in my arms, Daughter, because I want to not only have you, don’t tell Daddy about the bio clock thing, that’s a minuscule reason he’s here in the first place, but because you are someone I could tell so much to and you will become wiser than I have been. I want to undo the damage between me and your potentially awesome daddy. He will have released his rap album, and I want to see it chart. I don’t want anyone to doubt his skills, and I want him to get a good coach who can help him improve, I mean everybody needs improvement. I want to improve my singing, and when you enter the world, Daughter, I want to hear you sing. I will sing for you, and in turn, I hope you hear the golden notes of my voice and pick up what I’m singing. You will one day receive a piano in your home, and your Daddy and I will probably end up paying for lessons so you know how to make music on the piano. I took my first lessons when I was five.

Your daddy I want to say a few words about. First, I get the learned helplessness, but sometimes there is a silver lining. I want you to be that silver lining, and I’ve never seen so many opposed to your life, but when you finally enter my womb, I want to hear “Congratulations.” I want Daddy to write on social media that his queen is pregnant, and you, Daughter, will be my little princess. I want to pass by your bedroom door every night and say, “Goodnight, Princess.” Your daddy will probably cry really hard because when he looks at you, he will not see the craziness of the past week and a half from a past you will never know, but. he will see hope for a future for all of us. He will say, “Goodnight, Princess. Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.” I have deeper respect for that phrase as you will never know the bite of bedbugs, if I can help it.

One thing I want to promise you is this. You will never know the biting sting of abuse. I won’t do it, Daddy won’t do it, nobody is going to do it if I have my way with it. We will protect you as best we can, given the circumstances under which you are born. When I hear you cry for the first time, trust me I might cry too. But you will enter a world of gadgets, including smartphones and tablets, and you won’t believe the apps out there that will remind me to feed you every four hours. When you turn four, I’ll start teaching you your alphabet, your name, and I will also teach you about black and gay history, and someday you will learn about Stonewall and all the rioting and the way the NYPD could have been a lot worse but the gay folks taught those NYPD people a lesson. Do not ever make people give up who they love. IF you want to, you will be able to talk to myself or Daddy. IF you are transgender, Daughter, do not be afraid. I will make sure you belong anywhere, if that means we have to move states, move countries, or god forbid take a rocket ship off to Neverland just to give you a safe place to be yourself, that’s what you will see. I will take Daddy and myself too on the rocket ship, and we will explore new worlds together, find alien civilizations, and do many things with the stars. IF we move states, it will be because the hate toward LGBTQIA+ people, particularly the T people will not persist. We will make sure you will have a place to do sports, trans or not, without some guy or doctor seeing your genitalia and I won’t let anyone touch you without consent from both of us and then, only then when you turn eighteen and get married later on. It is your body, yourself. You own your body, not anyone else. You will never have to face the choice of abortion to save your life or having to die of childbirth. I will fight for you, and even if Daddy doesn’t want to be with me or have anything to do with you, no matter what his feelings are, you will be the number one priority. IF I have to celebrate Mother’s Day without support or compassion from him or anyone else, so be it. I know that when you turn eight or so, with maturity, you will walk into my bedroom and squeal happily, “Morning, Mommy, happy Mother’s Day.” You will one day hand me a couple bouquets of flowers, all manner of flowers present, and someday your daddy will understand why you are the priority, but he will present me with a tray of cinnamon rolls, bacon, and so on but if not him, I could let my friend Barbara over and she’d be there and we’d all go out to someplace and eat. Good times is my friend Barbara’s favorite burger joint. Your daddy will never forget when I say something about the time we were in Arizona together, and his hands and hips were gently against mine. We made love for the first time, and if you wonder what making love is, I’ll explain, little one, when you are old enough to understand. But even so, I will only say, the act of making love is the best thing in the world. When his body was on top of mine, I was transported somewhere far beyond. That is all.

Daughter, your image is so palpable it is there to stay. I did say you have your father’s eyes, and I want you to have your father’s eyes, maybe the blue eyes you have will look at me once and say, “Mommy, you’re crying.” I will be happy to explain, the crying will never stop until I can find a resolution. Within myself, I don’t feel that love was kind enough but only to create you. What made you wasn’t an extraparanormal deity called Jehovah or God. It was an act between two consenting adults, Daddy and me, and we made you in good faith. He said he wanted me to get my heart checked, but because I hadn’t noticed it, maybe I should. The heart checkup could be because my own biological father, your biological grandpa, had a history of heart attacks and such. LEt me tell you a little story, maybe a big one for such a tiny thought in my mind, it may be a huge story, maybe inappropriate for children, but you are just an angel wanting to fight her way down here, so let me begin.

I was the product of a Catholic mother, but she never told me who the dad was. Later, I was adopted by a David Taurasi, who I guess didn’t want me to know who the bio dad was. David wasn’t a bad person in the beginning, but in the end, I don’t know how to feel about him. David and my mother, Patricia, got guardianship of me at seventeen years old, presumably because of blindness, but they might have abused me for years, and it wasn’t too physical but it was more mental, verbal and emotional. See, abuse is damaging to everybody, but you’re immortal and an angel, so you don’t have to worry right now about abuse or damage because of such things. So back to my story. David and Patricia never told me who bio dad was, so I thought my ex boyfriend Trenton, would be able to give me a DNA test, but alas, it would cost a lot. The Human Service office was closed and as I type this, still is because of a pandemic. You may not have a physical body, but you do need to know that pandemics can rip a body apart. I indirectly witnessed a chorus mate’s p-parents both die one at a time from this virus. I was almost attacked by that virus, but alas, got better. I had a ceremony with my ex shortly after, but honey, I think my voice sucked. DAvid and Patricia weren’t invited, trust me I won’t ever let them hear of me getting married, but Daddy and me? Well, it’s obvious he doesn’t understand I want a joyful moment in my life. I might have written something or two, but Daddy just has to work out his own inner demons, and mental illness can spring from the abuse of body or mind. It’s not something that can be changed easily without a professional.

So when you ask me, “Do I have a daddy?” You know what I’ll say? “Yes, Daughter, you do.” I will tell you his name, and you will smile and look at me in wonder. You will want to know what jobs and things he’s into. I’ll tell you, his album will give you a sense of who he is. He wants to see and feel love, so part of this composition is about that.

He does have love but for me, well, I love him, and I love him dearly. I want him to stay with me so he doesn’t have to do this to someone else. I can’t explain what happened without crying, but you are an angel and you don’t need to look too far down here to see what happened. Some things are best left unsaid. This man is a powerful advocate of the blind community, yet nobody in that community cared any for him. IF you ever pass down here, and float upon your wings, Daughter of heaven, tell your father to be that you are waiting for him. Tell him I love him, that all I want is to be loved and accepted, that he doesn’t need a deity to believe in angels. Angels exist, I believe that much, and to see you troubled by my crying and all of that troubles me too. Sit upon that man’s shoulder, give him tranquility and peace, and speak to him if he so wishes, if you so dare, whatever. Just tell him he has someone in this room, in this house, that loves him dearly and I want the pieces of my heart to be fixed. He hugged me one day, and on Sunday, we listened to a Juneteenth concert and he just picked me up off the floor with both strong arms, seasoned by years of weight training, and twirled and carried me around the room. I want him to do that to you. Daughter of Heaven, shine down on your father, tell him things will be all right. He is someone I want to be my anchor, my rock, and I want my friend and lover to love me forever until time and eternity. I promised him time and eternity, and I would be willing to forgive him if he just doesn’t mess up again. Forgiveness is not, as an ex of mine would say, a free pass to do bad things again. He isn’t my ex. Daughter, if you should so much as enter my body, enjoy your time in it. Don’t kick me excessively, but if you need to kick, fine. Just when you exit, we want to hold you and fawn over the body you have presented to us. When you blossom into a woman, Daughter of Heaven, we want you to be the best advocate for yourself, the people in your life, and the big wide world. Your father will be extremely proud of you. When you come here, whether it’s an Arizona desert or the Colorado mountains, you will be welcomed with open arms. You will be celebrated by us, the parental units, as a good option and a great achievement and a milestone long since overdue especially for this girl, who was released from guardianship just two years earlier. I am trying to pick up the pieces of freedom in my hand, but you, Daughter of Heaven, are my light and my salvation to no end. You will be the person that nobody will expect. Your name will be able to appear whenever it does, but furthermore, you will be a shining example to me and your father. We may both be blind, but we will forever be that power couple. We’re going to knock the world over, not fight with each other. As you are an angel, you might have watched the things unfold, but if you truly are an angel, not a demon, please bless my dear love with all the blessings and especially your presence. Get him out of the cycle of violence and abuse and into the house of David, king of Israel, or better yet, get him a house of peace beyond all understanding. I threw up yesterday morning, and maybe you’re waiting to grow in my womb, but if you are, great. Stay right there, and when you come into this troubled world, please let me see your light in that troubled world, and let me hold you while you feed, when you cry, and when you laugh. When you get too big to hold, feel free to play in the park, we’ll run around together, and throw a ball further than any boy. You will someday dance as you do in the Heavenly Realms you reside in, and maybe you will wear ballet slippers. Perhaps you will be a Swan Princess, and Daddy and I will enjoy the waltz as Siegfried and the Princess dance down stage, pirouette after pirouette and catch after catch, every move in grave detail described and you will come out to us in your dressing room, your ballet outfit all glitter and lace. Your pointe shoes will have been rosened but after your stellar performance, we will give you hugs every day. You will practice every day as if you want to practice, placing your slender legs on the ballet bar, stretching them out. You will have beautiful hair, I suspect you will have your father’s reddish blonde, but everybody will say, “What an angel.” When you walk into a room, or perhaps you will dance your way into the living room, your daddy will smile and say, “Ready to go to dance class already?” I will nod and we’ll watch you dance but what will surprise me is wen Daddy goes and dances with a bunch of forty something guys, Daddy ballerinas all dressed up in girlish costumes, but trust me, the dance will have a good effect on him. He would dance the waltz across the stage. When the old men are finished, all of us will clap. I can’t, however, get the Swan Lake scene out of my mind. If they choose you to be the Swan Princess, we will jump for joy. I will hope that your Siegfried the prince will have much good dancing ability and will be as strong and tall as your father. Perhaps my Siegfried does not understand that at seventeen, I will have been a caged swan. He doesn’t understand taht deep down inside, I am a princess, no, a queen. Swan queen. IF I was a free swan, I’d gather him up in my tallons and fly him off to my castle, and I am not going to be rescued.

There’s one more thing I want to say here in this letter. You are a wanted by happiness child. I also want you to know that not all men are monsters. He is not a monster, not at all. He’s just a bit off because of the violence he was subjected to. I just don’t want the cycle to continue, and I want him to see your big sister, but furthermore, I never said I hated men. I don’t hate men. I never will hate men. There is a good man behind the monster that possessed my apartment, screamed in my face, and said he wanted nothing of a love with me. Well, I am even more dedicated to making sure this doesn’t turn into any monster. He is not a monster. HE has never tormented me in my bed, but the few times he did, he said I was crazy but I don’t think he gets it. PErhaps the Prince Siegfried would think the same if the swan Princess was in a cage, her wings clipped so she could not fly. When she transforms into the human so beautiful Siegfried could kiss her, she would fly like the wind on her feet to him, but I didn’t want Daddy to see this stuff. It reminds me of Lord Farquad from Shrek, but please, don’t tell anyone his name should have been Fuckwad, but yeah, that guy wanted to lock Fiona the princess up because she transformed into an ogre at night. Guess who took her hand and loved her through that? Shrek, the ogre. Shrek and Fiona are a reason for believing in love, but yet I don’t see a real life Shrek anywhere willing to love this Queen Fiona. I will make this one thing clear. Daddy isn’t Lord Farquad, he is nothing like that. HE might even be Shrek, for all I know. Shrek said he was troubled by the way people treated him, grab your torch and pitchforks, and the Beware and wanted signs all over the place. I will tell you, Shrek was understandably angry. I mean, who wants to marry a big “stupid ugly ogre?” He even confronted Fiona about that, but Fiona learned that this man/being loved her with all his heart. Thanks to Donkey and Dragon, Lord Fuckwad did not marry Fiona for real, and when Shrek kissed her, she took his form, but furthermore, the two lovers learned that love does not have looks on its mind. Love knows no bounds, and my love for you and Daddy will always continue. Even without him around, a piece of my heart will go with him, wherever he decides. Daughter of Heaven, you will always be my daughter, you are the one I want to create and it is you who will succeed, do better at life, perhaps you will undo the damage between all the guys and me. But speak to Daddy, fly to him, and if he wakes up with tears in his eyes, if he doesn’t understand you, make him hear you. Angels are like that. I’m drained, I feel like an empty paper bag. I want to go straight back to bed, but when I wake up in the morning, you might have been there. But you invaded my thoughts, but trust me I welcome you as I will when you exit the sacred spot in my womb. I can’t wait to push you out, Daddy being kickass enough to say, “Push, push, push, that’s right my queen.” He will push my hand toward him, and I might have hormones and bite him or I might not. But when you come rolling into the world, your slimy body bathed clean and bundled in blankets and diapers, we will celebrate your arrival, champagne and all. YOu will cry like all babies, but it won’t be a scream as if to say, “I hate you. Why’d you bring me into this world?” I will connect with you and when you arrive, your whimpers will only serve to say, “Mommy, Daddy, feed me.” That’s what happens. All beings of the living sort are born hungry. I will hold you tight, and there wil be lots of cuddles, hugs, kisses and blankets and toys for you to play with. I will rock you to sleep and put you gently in a crib beside my bed. I will be awoken and will be able to nurse you to life. I will hold you tight even when you are sick, I will calm your fevers, rub your back when you are in pain, give you medication to calm you down, give you a spoonful of sugar so that the medicine isn’t so bitter. I will make sure every doctor gives you the right medication if you have maladies of any kind. When friends come to play with you, you will have many I hope, I will welcome you playing with those friends forever. YOu might lose a few in middle school, but when you reach high school, there will be a few handsome and good looking beings in your life you could end up dating and loving. I will never tell you that boys are bad. They aren’t. IF you kiss a boy, at least you will have more opportunities than I had to kiss boys. YOu will one day experience the lovemaking I mentioned earlier. I will tell you though, when you become thirteen or older, you will likely need a lesson or two on safe lovemaking and such. Someday, you will marry a great person, man or woman or nonbinary being, but whichever being marries you, that being will be proud to have you as their wife. Your sister will be flower girl, and you will have many relations and friends at the wedding. I hope you will die an old lady warm in her bed, not now, not before you are born, not before I can redeem myself.

I want to be with your daddy, but to see you in my mind was a pleasant shock. Thank you for coming to me in a crazy vision, but albeit a crying spell. IF you have to be away for a while, I’ll just say I would miss you lots. I will miss Daddy, and if he widows me too early on, you will know his name and we will lay a rose on an altar for his spirit every year. His spirit will glide its way around, perhaps he will sit by and touch my shoulder. I will love him no matter what physical state he’s in.

Goodbye, Daughter of Heaven, and be well. I hope your mission wil be a success. I love you, and I will never forget you. Psssst, I hope you look like Daddy.

Your future mother,


Welcome to the Town of Better Life

Dear readers,

Below is a day in the life of Mrs. Elizabeth Jacobs, perhaps this is a crazy exercise that will allow me to do some analysis of aspects of mine and my beloved’s lives that could be improved. We did a similar exercise at LaAmistad, and I should have had half the things I have now in this exercise, and Rachel the therapist at LaAmistad encouraged us to imagine the town of Better Life, which is something I’m going back to repeatedly, so to prevent me from going crazy, let me start.

It’s morning, I wake up. Clayton lies next to me in bed, a contented dreamy look on his face, his lips not exactly curved either way, but his nose flaring outward as if he smelled something in the air, the roses outside our bedroom window are heavy with scent. I wake up beside him and say, softly, “Good morning, sweetness.” Both our alarms chime, and we rise from our slumbers, respective dreams, whatever. Clayton smiles peacefully and says, “I slept good, and you?” I nod my head, and because Clayton’s blind, I voice that, “yes, dear, I slept fine. Are you making breakfast this morning?” He says, “I thought it was your turn.” We laugh ruefully and then go downstairs or to the kitchen, either way. Clayton finds a seat on the leather loveseat, and I proceed to the kitchen and pull out a case of a baker’s dozen or more eggs, scramble them on the skillet, and then Clayton asks, “Would you like bacon?” I say, “Why not, cook the bacon perhaps. The kids will expect that. It’s Friday.” So Clayton and I prepare breakfast, and then, an hour later, two little girls enter the kitchen, chorusing, “Mother, where’s our breakfast?” Bright smiles on their faces because of the smell fill the room, and the smell of eggs plain, eggs with cheese, bacon, and all manner of breakfast food fill the kitchen room. We all proceed to sit around and eat breakfast, and Clayton starts off the round robin by saying, “So how are you gals doing on your homework assignments from last night?” One little lady pops her head up and says, “I’m having difficulty with the matrices and I hate absolute value.” Subsequently, the other says, “I can’t stand the history. It sounds biased and racist.” All of us laugh, and the first oldest girl says, “Daddy, I have to talk to you about something. It’s been bothering me since I met this boy down the street.” Clayton lovingly looks at her and says, “Okay, when I get back we’ll talk.” So the day begins on a brighter note, and the girls devour the bacon and say, “Daddy, thanks for the bacon.” The girls then chorus, “Mama, that was delicious.” Then, I rise from the table and go, “All right, school time for both of you. Get to it. I’ve got stuff to do and your daddy’s going to do some recording studio work.” The four of us exit the kitchen, and I proceed to a basement, so I can help Clayton complete a project with vocal harmonies and such. We work together onm the track we’re working on, and then the oldest girl pops in and says, “Hey Mama, will you please look at my science homework?” I oblige, looking at the homework assignment on my girl’s little tablet, which I activate the screen reader for so I can fill in the gaps between me and what my girl knows.

Clayton takes the time to analyze my other girl’s math homework, and then says, “You can do this.” The girl apparently has a hard time with a certain absolute value equation, hates algebra like I did, but Clayton manages to get her to do her math homework without shedding a tear, gently leading her along the path of solving one word problem after another, then she smiles and screams, “Eeeeeeek. I did it.” Clayton rewards the child with a piece of candy, her favorite Reeses’s peanut butter bar. Then he gets a call on his cell. He answers, “What?” He asks the invisible silent voice on the other line, though I’m sure Clay heard something on that line. He listens and completes the conversation, then hangs up and says, “Beth, I have to go perform at CLub 9.” Just making up that name. Clayton smiles and hugs me, then later goes out of the house and arrives at the club. Meanwhile the girls and I are at home, eating dinner of chicken and pasta with or without cheese, one girl says she’s allergic to wheat, so I prepare a cous couscous dish for her, Moroccan rice being some of the best in the world to her. She squeals with delight, and says, “Mama, do you have any more couscous?” I say, “Oh no, sweetie, I just made the perfect portion and I didn’t realize you’d wolf it down like that. Honey, watch your eating, please.” Then, I get the girls and I on the couch, loveseast included, in this house we have a sectional with pink and yellow velvet cushions and a sheas on one side. I sit in the middle between the girls, one of whom has the remote in hand, and says, “What movie shall we watch tonight?” I wait for responses, one says, “The Princess and the Frog.” So the girl on my right hands me the remote, and we switch places. I scroll around using the TV’s VoiceView screenreader. I find the movie the girls requested, and we proceed to watch it all the way through. It’s a good movie, both of the girls being so obliged to sing with the lead lady as she says, “I’m almost there, I’m almost there.” Princess Tiana in the movie wants to open up a restaurant, so the girls find inspiration from it all.

The next thing I know, the movie credits scroll on screen, and I get a call from Clayton on my cell. “Hey baby,” he says gently, “I’m coming home. Please forgive me I’m a bit drunk. I promise I wasn’t so intoxicated, okay?” I say, “Clayton, darling, you get straight in here I will give you some water.” He walks in, and I hug him, he pushes back a bit, his breath smelling a bit like wine. I go, “How much did you drink, darling?” So I give him a cup of water, some bananas for the hangover he’ll be sure to have the next day, then he goes straight to bed. Any good wife does that for a man, right?

The next morning, things begin almost the same, but there are a few exceptions. Clayton doesn’t have to perform that day, so he spends his better part of the workaday schedule doing his creative work on a beat. I teach the girls some new concepts and then we move on to LGBTQIA+ history, and we talk about Stonewall. The girls are enthralled, and though it is a Saturday, we’re still working on things because Clayton has a deadline on Monday to get something done. Perhaps I and the girls have some stuff to cover in our education things. LEt me go through the aspects now.

In the town of Better Life, Clayton is a tender and loving person, with all the considerations for victims and survivors of guardianship. We barely talk about my guardianship with either ourselves or with the girls. I recall a time when I tell my two lovely daughters about a princess who was held prisoner because she was blind, and used her clever brains to sabotage her kingdom’s laws and create a better world for herself, and she used her prowess and brainpower to have her parents hanged for treason when she usurps the throne, the girls won’t know that was my story. In a nutshell. I didn’t have my parents hanged, of course, but I wanted to remind the girls through this story that all princesses have to use their heads to get out of the tower, and don’t need a prince to rescue them. I would say at the end of such bedtime story that the princess took her prince out of his castle, and used her powers to set him free of a demon that possessed his body and soul. He became a loving and gentle person, and he also swore he wouldn’t rule her kingdom, and the princess says, “You will have your own kingdom.” He does. And they parent two kids, and the kids become the heirs to the princess, now queen, and the prince consort says, “I wish I were a king.” So he becomes a king and a prince consort, lord of many lands, and the queen lives the rest of her life in the arms of her prince consort and says, “My life is the best.” Something to that effect.

In the town of Better Life, I don’t take medications for these wild accusations of being mental, instability doesn’t plague my mind, and the money problems are limited or a thing of the past. The transportation issues are a thing of the past, Clayton is connected with many a person in Colorado, Arizona, Iowa, and many other places, and in the place known as Better Life, we are both happy and contented laying in each other’s arms, not a word of hurt between us, no hard feelings, but in the town of Better Life, I don’t go to church with Biblical believers either. Because of the trauma I faced in scripture and churches abusing me in my past, the girls and I in this scenario don’t go to church, but I do sometimes, but Clayton prepares lunch if we do. One Sunday, I arrive home to find a famous filet mignon and collard greens, bacon included, and Clayton hugs me and says, “Beth, I prepared lunch. want some?”

As for the external stuff, I won’t go into it. Perhaps the world is more peaceful in the town of Better Life. Nobody has to come knocking at a door and expecting me to give up my things, and when I age to 99 years old, Clayton buried beneath the ground and long since passed on, I a widow and heir to the estate, nobody will take probate and my estate. My jealous siblings and their descendants are blotted out of my existence. My girls have kids and grandkids of their own, and there are many people in this future and the town of Better Life who believe that guardianship should be illegal for all adults, disabled or otherwise. After living about 50 plus good years with Clayton, I look back at my life and smile, peacefully and contented as my great grandkids hold both my hands. MY death is met with tears, wailing and weeping as customary of when someone goes. One lady says, “Grandma died.” Then my funeral is held at a UU church I attended, and I’m buried next to Clayton beneath willows or other Colorado or Arizona trees, perhaps a cactus stands above both of us. On Clayton’s headstone, the epitaph reads, “The sky’s the limit.” On my headstone, my epitaph reads, “Love is patient, and love is kind, love does not boast …” The whole biblical passage on love is written on my headstone. Clayton’s flower arrangements are all manner of carnation, roses, and lilacs, all manner of things. Both of us would be given proper sendoffs, the ministers not deeming Clayton to hel or anything, or saying that I was not worth it because of one thing or another. The reception for both our funerary arrangements would be met with food, comfort, music and pictures of both of us performing on stage.

In the town of Better Life, I would be able to remember things from my past not as an act of needing to, but as a sweet tranquil vision of what could become the future. Clayton remembers me as a girl who loves to sing, and suppose I go before him, he’ll probably go to a grief group and talk about me like this:

“At first, things were a bit rocky. But then I remembered she brought me coffee one morning, and said, happy Father’s Day.” I remember when she treated me to Thai food on Independence Day or we went to Panera Bread. We also both loved the music in our lives. One thing I’ll never forget is the birth of … (child’s name here) and I wept. She loved me through the thought that I was the one who deserved all of the stuff she got, but she said to me, Clayton, wake up. YOu have a promising rap career on the move, don’t blow it for yourself.” She told me if I didn’t straighten things out in my life, if I didn’t voluntarily (insert thing here, I won’t go into it), then my rap career was over. And sure enough, I got my life together, married her, and we have had such a long life together.” Here, he starts to weep thinking about how many people I touched, and then one of our kids comes out and says, “Mommy and Daddy were great parents, but they did have a troubling past. Both came from toxic backgrounds, but they managed. Mommy was a singer, she’d sing to me if I was fussy, and she would always remind Daddy that we were just kids, and if we needed arms, we needed that.” Mommy would also tell us we were beautiful, repeatedly and it sounds rather annoying, but she would tell Daddy she loved him repeatedly. HE got annoyed with her, but she would counter, “IF something happened to you, I’m not gonna be happy because I didn’t get the love in for the day.” Mommy and Daddy lived life like it was their last day each on Earth. We will miss both.” The last thing I want to say in the town of Better Life is this, in my blog, there would be happy times recorded for all posterity.

I want to dedicate this post to all of the people out there who might have been concerned about my facebook posts. I want to say I never would mistreat Clayton, and for some of you, there is more. But Clayton is worth every dollar spent, and I will continue to help him. I will consider everything said, but I want to see him succeed in rap music. I enjoy his beats, I loved the way he picked me up and twirled me around the room. As I type this, maybe the Town of Better Life will materialize, and I’m weeping a little as I do. I want to also say I may not be a man, but I don’t hate men. Men have given me trouble, but I want to say Claytohn and I have work to do. No further details, but the Town of Better Life exercise I just wrote down is a message of hope, hope for a future that includes all of the good things in life. In your town of Better Life, according to the therapeutic exercise, a day in your life is described, and so is the aspects of things. One person in LaAmistad might have said that their town of Better Life includes no alcohol consumption, no drugs, no hurt words. Ray, one of the guys at the treatment facility, could imagine a life without that Gina woman who introduced him to crystal meth. There are a myriad of things to think about, but Better Life is on its way. Better Life is waiting, and so I shall stop writing before I am slapped with a fifty million dollar contract to write further.



What are the problems with my building?

Dear readers,

My building sucks, let’s be clear. I’ll tell you why. Please see the below.

  1. When you apply, the snooty office manager peoples wanna go track your progress filling out the application, which requires installing a proprietary word processor, namely Microsoft Turd, err I mean word, on a pc or mac or whatever, but Windows and I got a serious divorce, and there’s no legitimate products or children involved. The application is also a very heavily inaccessible PDF.
  2. When you become a tenant, you have to sign papers, and the lease is not ordered up on your pc or mac in an accessible format.
  3. The laundry rooms suck because they’re visual, no Braille overlay labeling, which could easily fix the single function flatty buttons and such.
  4. The mail room and locker keys and boxes are either unlabeled or not consistently labeled.
  5. Requiring people to stay fourteen days per calendar year only is a HUD bullshit rule that must be removed because of heavy homelessness in our country and gentrified places like Clayton’s old apartment. Yeah, he’s been here longer than fourteen days, we need a place to stay period. More than anyone else, and especially because I want a child to be born and raised in an appropriate location. Ah, I digress. But this whole thing sucks.
  6. This piece of crap building targeted myself, my former lover Trenton, and now my current lover Clayton for home care services or ableist rudeness. The cleaning ladies like to make it a habit of throwing wet floor signs everywhere and in every path a blind person needs to walk on even in the early morning. While I realize there is a place for wet floor signs, there is no place for the rudeness and also, lack of language skills?????? See below.
  7. The ladies who clean our building are oftentimes Hispanics who don’t speak much English, and the underlings who do maintenance are also sometimes Spanish speakers who don’t know their English. Look guys, if you’re in Italy, guess whawt you have to do? Learn Italiano, right? Yep. So if I went to Spain, Mexico or Latin countries, I’d be damned if I didn’t learn some damn Espanol, so there you have it. If you go to Sweden, feel free to juggle learning Swedish, or in Finland, it’s Finnish. Also, I have a German friend who I talk to frequently. I told her, my friend Eva is one of the coolest and she speaks great English btw, that if I wanted to work in germany, then goddamnit I’m gonna learn how to speak perfect goddamn german, because that’s their land, their spaces, their territory. Of course, Eva’s hubby is American, but he’s cool and is open to learning german. So yeah, I have internationals all over my Facebook and Twitter, and if I ever said I would refuse to learn another language, they’d laugh at me. So why are we in the U-Stated Nites of Insanity, whatever the hell this country is, bending so far backwards for every last person in the world, not that we need a national language, but English is a very good trade language to begin, even if it is a Germanic Indus and so far mixed up language. I’m proud of that language, even Sanskrit contributes some stuff to it. If you wanna be the lady in Spanglish, fine, but if you come to this country and wish to do work as anything, please learn English if vulnerable folks are involved.
  8. The vending machines and selections thereof are not labeled.
  9. I’m appalled that the building doesn’t give a fuck about blind people in the sense of privacy and security and safety either.
  10. The elevators break sometimes, and both have been down before. Ugh. Just ugh.

Those are ten things I hate about this building, and the complaints come rolling in.


New Updates on Things Not Discussed Prior

Dear readers,

While typing this, it is again another Pride Month. There are a couple things going on and I want to say this. I might be a bit bicurious about women and nonbinary folks, and there’s a nonbinary trans buddy of mine that my partner has had a thing for, so we all might do some threesome stuff. Now, content warning, some sexual hullabaloo, so hang tight y’all.

First and foremost, I don’t normally say this, but I might as well have answered this question long ago. My family, to answer a question you might ask about being gay, would probably decapitate or worse, mutilate me because they don’t like LGBTQIA+ peoples, and they believe “homosexuality is an abomiation before God” … blah blah blah blah blah. I don’t give a damn, and that whole abomination quote I wrote is not in any way intended to outwardly offend my friends, but it is intended to show you what my parents and family think. They’re all Roman Catholic. Ugh. Roman Catholicism is not friendly to LGBTQ folks, even going so far as to say they can’t have the Lord’s communion, and that is an affront to human decency and does not preserve and treasure life itself. Because I love men, that doesn’t make me straight as an arrow. I’d have possibly gone with one had I known that so many of my exes were jerks. Jason, Joey, and other jerkish dicks out there should really steer clear any woman if they’re gonna treat me the way they did. Perhaps women are good for me, but why would I date a woman? Not all women are as woke as my man is, so I don’t know. The problem with women is that well, they’re the ones with the baby carrying tools, right? Most of those are women. Women usually bear the kids, so if I married a female partner, I’d be in deep shit trying to find a sperm donor, pay up, and all of that if you wanna have a baby.

The pride month, June, is a good time to reflect on my experiences. Seems men treat me like jerks, except for my bisexual partner, so there you have it.As I type this, my beloved Esoteric Quality, yeah that’s him, always has me in mind. He’s been such a great guy. And he’s so woke, it’s not funny.

Anyway, here we are, having a great bunch of fun while Esoteric Quality chews out company after company, stating that he has to physically go places that are not accessible by bus, the companies being antiblind ableist. Ugh, can someone please turn the ableist switch off all these companies?

Also, I’m transitioning to a new Hulu account, and Clayton put me on his, plus his Disney Plus. He’s a super sweet guy. Yep, my beloved Esoteric Quality is the best, he gave me damn near everything. I love him so much, even he knows that a lot.

Anyway, I’m just sitting here, about to guard the hive, which I would call this tiny castle thing. Sorry, DJ Celrock.


The Sins of Who?: Plain Communities Under the Microscope for Sexual Misconduct By Males

Dear readers,

Has anyone heard of the Amish? Okay, has anyone even seen the Amish at work? Behind the picturesque horses and buggies, the farmers working the land, there is a deep dark pit of evil and despair lurking. What is this evil we speak of? You’ll find it in a recent Peacock original docuseries called The Sins of the Amish. Now, let me just explain what the hell I’m talking about.

The Amish may seem like a hardworking people, born of service to a church or whatever, but there is rampant male entitlement, rampant sex abuse, and rampant child abuse as well. Let me summarize. In the Sins of the Amish, we meet a group of Amish women who were discounted repeatedly for filing police reports on their brothers, husbands and fathers. Here’s another thing. Forget the why’s and ways of the Amish culturally. Think about why the plain community of such is so far behind. LEt me tell you why. Take a train or time travel trip back with me to the 1800s, and look at a sexual education book. It suggests that girls be submissive unto their husbands, sound familiar? “Wives, submit to your husbands as they do unto the Lord as Christ is the head of the Church.” This was written in the book of Ephesians, but for crying out loud, this never applied to modern marriages in my humble opinion. I only feel better about this submission thing because I do it every day, not in the sense of abuse, but in the sense of I can give myself freely to my man without his judgment of me as sickening, sexually unattractive, things like that. The Amish girl who does not listen to her father and keep her brother and father standing tall is a rebel, usually put in an institution as in the nineteenth century, treated like total trash.

If you wanna see just how behind the Plain communities, which include Amish and Mennonites are, just look at the sex ed books they use. Girls are expected to marry at nineteen, sometimes younger, otherwise, like in the old days, they are considered old maids. This is not even about the card game, folks. This is the reality of unmarried Amish women.

While my sympathies are in some way with the Amish, all they care about is work, no play, and the farming communities have also been known to sell puppies illegally bred from puppy mills. Some Amish and Mennonite farmers have been themselves puppymilling around in Pennsylvania and other states where puppy mills are born. They’re everywhere, and the Amish farmers are not helping the problem.

While I was at Amish Acres, a museum and farm in Indiana, I was forbidden from using my mobility aid, a white cane, on the stairway and my parents forced me to follow the rules. I want to say to those folks in charge of Amish sites in Indiana and other places, do not even bother opening a place if you’re gonna do a big injustice toward your blind clientele. Please cater to folks with disabilities, and include the blind in your thought and planning of any touring and such. Please tell any blind person they can use the cane on stairs, on the floor, anywhere because it is required. Blind people in your facilities must also be allowed to use a guiding or service dog of any kind. Usually, guide dogs are trained in helping the blind up and down stairs, through doors, around things, all sorts of stuff awaits a guide dog handler and the dog themselves. If you’re one of those Amish or Mennonites, chances are you’re not reading this, but if you’re on the outside of such communities, know this. I have no qualms about turning the Indiana Amish in for discrimination against me and other blind tourists.

The Amish have had many sinful things done to each other and other people. I think more than the women they mistreated, and trust me that’s important too, but the dogs and the blind tourists and the wives of some if not every Amish man should know that there is a big wide world outside that protects women from these insular practices. While Carolyn Jessop was fighting for custody of eight little lives, Merrill Jessop, her good for nothing jerkish husband with a bunch of other sex toys to play with was demanding the same. Why did Carolyn win? Because she was smart, independent, sick of the sister wives being bratty with her and the kids. All but Betty ended up staying with her. Why did Flora Jessop get out of the FLDS too? Because she knew the world would protect women and such, and she had a very supportive husband and family of her husband. The other problem here is that plain communities are stuck in the past, not willing to move forward. Stuck in the past could be an understatement, but most religious groups that are not Amish or Mennonite are now going face down in piles of sex abuse scandals. There is no way that I would ever want to join a Plain community, and perhaps Weird Al wasn’t too far in making fun of the Amish. Yes, the song itself called Amish Paradise is rather comical, but the Amish and their sins are a reflection on us, the United States. What can we do to curb all the stuf going on in insular communities?

  1. First, could we revise the First Amendment to include you can have opinions, freedom of speech and the press and assembly which is safe and peaceable? Yes, peaceful assembly at all levels is great, but when the purpose of a group of folks is to do what the Heaven’s Gate nutheads did to those victims they encouraged to kill themselves, you got a problemo.
  2. Houston, if there’s a problem with a certain religious sect, one must be able to report it to a government task force set up for this purpose. While I value freedom to have and practice religions, practicing one’s religion should also mean that hateful thoughts and actions don’t mix themselves with the teachings of a deity or Jesus or Buddha or anyone else. Religions should be about freeing, not controlling mankind.
  3. If you want to see hate groups on a map, the Southern Poverty Law Center has a whole big map full of these such groups, including Neo-Viking, NeoNazi, Neo-Vulkish, and many others. In Colorado, there are a few underground hateful groups. Unfortunately, I’m sure Malcom X is rolling in his grave because the Nation of Islam is listed in Colorado as a hate group for being and speaking Antisemetic. I can’t stand antisemitism as much as the next big black guy can’t stand racism, but shouldn’t we include the Plain communities on a certain level of a hate group registry? See next item.
  4. Let’s say you’re browsing a group database thing so you can find something to be part of, you’re a new person to this country, or you’re new to the state you live in and you’ve been American all your life. LEt’s say you got swept up in a group, and you found out the group doesn’t like your gay son or your lesbian daughter or your transgender grandchild, your blind relatives, etc etc. Things like this happen a lot. So here’s the skiny. Level 1 registered hate groups should not be allowed to receive government support and funding, should be taxed for hate, and should be told how to operate safely because people can die from such groups. These level 1 groups would include terrorist orgs like the KKK, NeoNazi groups, and a lot of your white nationalist orgs as well. I’d also classify America’s alQaeda groups as level 1 and add terrorist to the label as well. This would be classified as code red level 1. All groups in this tier would get a red bar code symbol to place next to their name. So let’s see how this would work. Level 2 groups would be all of level 1’s criteria, but no violence would be pinned on it. Such groups might include, sadly but accurately, your Neo-Vulkan groups, some of your anti LGBTQI+ churches, including the Westboro Baptist Church and some of the Pentecostal churches that preach only to include cis males and cis females, think about it. These churches would also have to be taxed, and would not receive government funding or support, and did I want to say the Word of Faith Fellowship should get a level 2 on this registry? The big bad reports of abuse would go here. There have been incidences of violence and isolation of cult members, and this is a dangerous cult status group we’re talking about, but WFF really should be a place where politicians are barred from. They should not be part of this organization if they want to govern our country. WFF has been noted as abusive and not following the word in its entirety, using scripture as a means to abuse kids, all that stuff. The ax on this church will be because they won’t be able to run in a whole county in North Carolina.
  5. Continuing from the previous item, the Amish would be a special case, level 3. Level 3 groups would be the groups that have been known to be abusive, are everything but racist. The Amish don’t like disability, don’t like gays, so they’d probably fall under this category. There will be a little orange dot next to those groups. Level 2 groups, btw, would get a yellow thing next to their names because you know what yellow would mean right?
  6. There would be a green dot to the proximity of groups that do the following.
  1. Green coded groups would welcome all people in its ranks provided the criteria for joining the club can be that you may be interested in a subject, golf for example, or you have a like mind with the club’s members, ham radio for example.
  2. The clubs in the green category don’t hate people based on protected class status, including disability, sexual identity, sexual preferences, and many otyher combinations of protected class.
  3. The group would accommodate people with disabilities. All materials should be made into formats we can read, including on the Internet.
  4. Recruitment is not aggressive or some marketing tactic.
  5. No way will I join a group that lovebombs its potential recruits. Jim Jones and his people did that.
  6. Green coded groups would exhibit the ability to bring people together, get awards, and do good acts of service that can be demonstrable in getting grants. Examples, Soar Youth and Adult choir, though I can’t be part of them anymore, has a good habit of inviting all manner of person to their choir. Foster kids and others share a meal, and it’s fun. I hope that someday I will go back to Soar. They’ve been instrumental in helping me realize my dream of maybe fostering and adoption. I’m not sure about that though given discrimination against blind folks in all countries, so if I did adopt, I bet it would be domestic.
  7. Green coded groups would encourage, not discourage talking to outside folks.
  8. The group with green on it would also not exhibit scandalous activity.

These databases and ideas are not meant to necessarily impede on freedom of speech, but I want to see more protections in place for former cult victims, victims of folks like the FLDS and the Amish and such. Thank you all for reading.


A World without SSI and Food Stamps: Don’t Breathe but Imagine It

Dear readers,

I was given a scenario to ponder, especially from a Pakistani immigrant from Karachi, family support and all. HE said the following, “I’d love to drop Beth off in a country where there is no SSI and food stamps.” Well, here’s what would happen if the U.S. had none of these safety nets and social programs for disabled and low income individuals.

  1. The patriarchal system of survival would set in. This would include the neglect and abortion of female babies, especially by poorer mothers, and it already happens in the third world. When a female baby is born blind, as in most of the third world she is considered useless. The mother is encouraged to “replace” her. Doctors would probably also encourage a midwife to do away with the baby in cases of vilicide and infanticide put together in a dreaded package of death.
  2. If the baby makes it past infanthood, and goes into girlhood or toddler stage, this baby would likely be malnourished, we’re talking a female blind baby, and that malnourishment would happen because the mother has to prioritize based on ableist and patriarchal values which child should get nurtured. Likely, in places of the third world, boys will be nursed to full adulthood and manhood, not girls. If the female is lucky enough to be part of a richer family, she might look forward to a negligent diet and neglected education standards such that she could not read or write, Braille being scarce as it is and all that. The female child who is blind could die before the age of five, barring diseases but mostly malnourishment. Prioritizing boys over girls would be so rampant that female babies would still bring about sorrow in these families. It already does in the Pashtun families, where the birth of a boy brings a guy to your window and a rifle is fired in celebration of his birth, but the girl brings misery and the family is blessed not with celebrations and gifts, but with only a domestic worker in their house. The girl is reared in subservience, but a blind female would be reared in death before age five, but here’s what could happen if she goes beyond five.
  3. The female third world blind kid could also look forward to a substandard of living incomparable to that of the first world. She could be sold as a sex slave in a place such as Thailand, Malaysia, or even China. She could be sold in marriage to an older groom to spell good food for the family, this including places like Somalia, parts of Africa, Saudi Arabia, all these other places too. If she didn’t die before, she may face death by childbirth pains, and if that doesn’t kill her first, the husband’s abuse could. Sight supremacy doesn’t just hurt those who are blind and without 20/20 vision. It also encourages superiority and malice of sighted males toward blind females, and blind females in the third world should watch out for men who are abrasive, angry and abusive toward the blind spouse. With an illiterate female, this potentially dangerous husband could say things like, “Don’t go outside the home. Cook, clean and sex when I say cook, clean and sex.” This is a problem magnified by the fact that the spouse being subservient in this case is a blind female. She can expect to stand about a foot shorter than her first world peers, can expect no help and guidance in employment, or perhaps she could end up on the streets like Eliza Dolittle, the My Fair Lady character, selling odds and ends, but not getting what she’s worth. Oh, a blind vendor should get what they are worth. Even males who are blind in the third world who don’t have the privilege of emigrating to the United States should expect the same outcomes if they hadn’t died before their prime.
  4. IF a female can make it past years of being pregnant, nursing, or both and many childbirths later, the same blind woman in the third world can look forward to getting sick repeatedly, not having attention she needs in the medical department, or worse, having an untold number of kids. Some women in polygamous third world society end up having something called “putting out to pasture” done to them when they are through and say they won’t give birth anymore. Women 35 and older are at this risk, and especially when they turn 45 or 50, but when menopause sets in, a guy can sit there and put her aside to make room for a young maiden he wants badly. This girl could be insipid, unwilling and uneducated like her cowives. This is a very serious problem and is why the first world has it right in banning polygamy in some areas for some reasons, but I do believe polyamorous relationships should be legal, recognized, and allowed here in the first world, especially in a line family as in the Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Robert A. Heinlein, so read that book and you’ll understand what I’m saying. I wouldn’t mind sharing my partner with other women, only I should have the same freedom to share myself with other men, and of course, with the blessing of my partner, I would share myself with others freely and without any problem. I do think I’m open to polyamory, but the polygamous third world society brings wives and husbands together not based on a shared love of each other, but oftentimes you have marriages based on taking care of the less able or most vulnerable spouse or spouses. In any case, you might have for example, a husband with sixteen wives, one with five, some with six, but the Islamic limit is four. The four wives in an Islamic family don’t have a chance to spend a lot of time to themselves, they being repeatedly called to go have sex with a man who could be twice their age, a jerk, or someone who doesn’t know what to do about justice between wives. That’s a whole other topic I could get into, but Muslims who wish to have polygamous marriages should consider justice between wives, and this coming from Deq, my ex fiance.
  5. When a female who is blind reaches menopausal age in the third world, her health could decline significantly, and as with most elders, she could expect to die at some point. However, life expectancy in the third world could be between 45-60, depending on the age of the mother, social status and many other factors. IF the woman gets pneumonia, in the third world, she could easily have died. Without food stamps, she could be forced to beg on the streets, born blind or otherwise. HEr milk could go dry so her babies could die. There’s a whole lot of death involved in places where food safety and security programs are not present.

So if anyone wants to call me entitled for even suggesting food be safe to eat, think again. What programs should the third world have in its grasp? Let’s see for a few moments.

  1. First, a good country, third or first world, should have a good network of midwives, nurse midwives, OBGYN doctors, and many other good medical personnel who can tend to all women’s needs within their offices. For the blind female or the mother of someone who is blind, a good nurse midwife or OBGYN is a crucial first step. In the first world, we have programs like Medicaid, transportation being covered for doctor visits and other things, which I would use for prenatal visits. A doctor at the women’s clinic would give her patients prenatal vitamins because this is essential for a woman in any place in the world. Prenatal vitamins are a blessing, and they have folic acid, which can help prevent lots of childbirth complications, help the baby survive, and so much more. Just as a new mother should take prenatal vitamins no matter where, she should be able to see her doctor. There are spots in the world where that isn’t possible without UNICEF and other programs called nongovernmental organizations (NGO’s) which have mobile clinics, which can serve as educational hubs for females who need it. So let’s move on.
  2. Time for the ultrasonic images. When a female in the first world finds out her baby’s not going to make it, I know it may break some hearts, but at least she’d be able to have options. Abortion is for the most part the number one legal option, especially if the birth of some babies could kill a female right then and there. If I had a baby that was missing essential organs, that decision to abort would be between me, my partner, and doctors. It would be a heartbreaking decision to abort, but saving the mother’s life is a crucial thing to make a country good for kids and moms alike. IN the United States, we currently have a mindless debate going on about Roe V. Wade, the abortion decision, and we know the consequences of not having safe and legal abortion. There are countries that don’t have abortion because of religious policy, and it opens a big door to childbirth deaths among young women. In Ethiopia, for example, many young brides die from giving birth, some who survive having been a mom end up with fistula complications. This requires surgery, sometimes even a colostomy, which then results in the potential mother being fitted with a bag that drains out her wastes, both liquid and solid. There are places in Africa where rampant misuse of females as weapons of war is commonplace, so fistulas must be repaired more frequently. In the Democratic Republic of the Congo, this is the case. There is no food stamps, SSI of any kind, or even the freedom to walk down your street safely at any time of day or night. You could have been kidnapped sometime ago in Sudan by a rebel group that wanted to break it apart, based in darfor of all things. Talk to survivors of the rwandan genocide. You’ll understand more.
  3. If a female with a disability wishes to live, that’s one thing. But a good country has good food distribution, security and safety programs. IF I have a baby within the next year, since I’m a first world citizen, I have access to food and water, I have access to opportunities. I have a good mental capacity, and it’s nothing about my blindness. My blindness might have presented buriers, but not to life itself.The buriers were to things like jobs and marriage prospects, but still these buriers need to be taken down. Sighted and able bodied people have jobs, lots of jobs and opportunities to apply for such. My partner and I being blind need the protections of a blind parent bill like this one in Colorado. Colorado families with blind parents can expect a boatload of protections, and there will be protection in my home for children. IF a child is abused by a blind parent, as the NFB pamphlet on such states, then the parent is held accountable just like with sighted parents. That’s how it should be. There are many blind people in Colorado with children, and they are amazing kids. One parent has a genetic condition that her son inherited, but still, he has learned to be a better person because of his mother. The mother is particularly proud of her son for learning empathy. Should we all be learning this at some point in our lives? In the third World, this Colorado mother would have been dead by the time her baby turned four, or her baby might have died before his first birthday due to neglect, lack of education on the part of parents, or the baby might have been removed in certain places because the parents are blind or physically disabled. The first world has it right in protecting parents with disabilities, and there are ultimately lots of resources on blindness and parenting. I’m slowly getting my confidence back in the kitchen, and it’s thanks to the strength and determination and the wisdom of my blind partner in crime. I couldn’t ask for better.
  4. If you think first world people are spoiled, I’m not in the least. I know that a good country also should have laws in place protecting females if they are trafficked, married too young, and much more. In the Third World, religion takes priority and the pleasure of deities such as Allah take first and ultimate center stage. Allah says this, so a policy is put in place to acknowledge. Examples of antifem policies in third world countries include the minimum age of marriage laws being that the girl can be as young as prepubescent age like eight or nine to be considered a bride. Thankfully, in the first world, we do have laws in place but not enough. The Ayaan Hirsi Ali Foundation, the AHA Foundation, is working on political and legislative priority to end child marriage in the first world such as here in the United States. There is a rampant issue with such because of religious priorities of families, and children who are married off before the age of eighteen do not have protections such as domestic violence shelters should the older spouse be abusing her. Imagine a blind female in the third world who learns she can’t escape her abusive marriage. Not every woman or girl is lucky. One Indian able woman said that the arranged marriages in India was “state sanctioned rape.” It is, and in India, love marriages are frowned upon. Parents think they can make decisions about their child bride’s future, but this only makes things worse for her. The cycle begins again.
  5. A good country in any world should include a stellar education system, where kids are bussed to the school for free, or there is a way to transport kids in unsafe neighborhoods, and the education of all children is considered. Afghanistan banned girls from being educated beyond sixth grade, and the Taliban will only make it worse. Pakistan could end up doing so, but moreover, blasphemy laws are in place to prevent critical thinking about Islam. Why? The education of humans should include the skill known as critical thinking, and this helped me question and eventually debunk all sorts of mythical crap about Catholicism, which I was born into. Both myself and my partner are just about Atheist, but goddesses are a special thing. For me, I know the power of fellowship, prayer and thanks to some things, but I don’t think the male god in the scripture should be allowed primacy or to exist. This god is jealous, in some areas wrathful, and in other areas quite sexist. There are portions of the biblical and Qur’anic scripture that specify what a woman does, how she dresses, what she eats and what happens during her menstrual cyclees. Inheritance laws are another challenge to overcome. There is a lot to unpack here.
  6. A good country should have compulsory domestic abuse laws. The country should have safety spots for young vulnerable and elder vulnerable people so that if an elder is abused, they can be placed in a safe place. If a child’s been sexually abused, it shouldn’t be that she’s doomed to marry her rapist. She should be allowed to put justice before the man’s desires. IF a man rapes a girl, he should be punished, and the girl should be paid up for therapy and restitution should be given to her in any amount, including millions of dollars if her resulting child is special needs/disabled. The birth could be a trauma for her because she could find that her baby is the rapist’s mirror image. In some states, rapists have custody of the kid. This should never be the case, and my partner has never done this to anyone btw. He is a loving and caring personality, and all I care about is his happiness, helping him get to a point of peaceful living, helping him be a better person and father to kids one day. HE is sweet, cuddly, and has a beautiful deep laugh. I love it all.
  7. A good country has social programs for the disabled person and has ways to protect their education, welfare, and social acceptance. Haiti thinks, for example, it is unacceptable to be blind, and the white cane … or the cane we use to navigate is seen as a beggar’s badge. In many third world countries, blind people beg. It’s through no fault of their own, it is the fault of the society for not protecting blind children’s rights to education and safe housing. In Tibet and parts of africa, if my partner or I were born as we are now, the families of both of us would have tossed us into the hills to die as in ancient Sparta in Greece, and Spartan living conditions abound in Laos. I kid you not. In India, education of disabled kids is a debatable issue. Well, I’m here to say that education is and should never be up for debate. Neither should marriage equality, the rights of transgender youth and adults, or many other things. Human rights are not up for debate. In the third world, religion is sacrosanct and central to most laws and policies about gender roles and family life. In most Latinx countries, Mexico and Chile and others, women can’t seek abortion, but that is slowly changing. In Islamic countries, women can be hanged for having a love affair. Why are these policies allowed to exist? Because religion is so central it is sacred to those who write and craft such policy. Examples of religious zealots may include a Jordanian who was quoted in one of Hirsi Ali’s books, and he said something to the effect of, “Whether we like it or not, women are not equal to men in Islam.” I’m here to call bullshit to all political ploys to put women out of office.

Any good country should be run by people who get it. I could go into other ways countries can change, but the third world is an absolute mess when it comes to who lives and who dies, particularly when it comes to gender selection and able bodied versus disab disabled folks. Pleas stay tuned.


Why a Waiting List for Disabled Young Adults is Sabotaging Our Human Right to Shelter

Dear readers,

I know this sounds wrong, I know this might come off to some of you as entitlement, but imagine yourself a senior 62 years or older. How many places and things do you qualify for? Now, go blind and be in your young years, like 18-60, just below the senior line. How many places do you qualify for? You’re at the bottom for consideration for marriage, social status, jobs and transportation and that’s not acceptable. I was recently attacked on Facebook for begging in some people’s minds. I was literally beyond furious with a law firm that refused to represent me, and it led to one woman calling me a narcissist. First and foremost, what is narcissism? That’s for another post for another day, but the takeaway I got from most of these vehement critics is that I was “entitled” to “special treatment.” That’s not the case, not at all.

On April 19, thereabouts, my beloved Clayton Jacobs applied to be a resident here at this building, the one on West Ninth, but was met with barriers along the way. He was met with much opposition from the staff, which included but was not limited to a print or PDF image application he could not read or even render with his Voiceover or NVDA (nonvisual desktop access) screen reader. Most of my Facebook cohorts suggested a risky venture to get that done, divulge personal information to strangers. Clayton does not like to do this, and does not trust anyone to fill out papers for him which is understandable because of his upbringing, which on no uncertain terms, nobody is familiar with. LEt me give a brief backstory, and use one sentence to describe Clayton’s upbringing. It’s only one thing: toxicity but also violence. People have done violent and toxic stuff to him in the past, same with me, so we’re demanding that the building change things so we don’t have to put ourselves at risk and divulge personal information. In an age where a credit card can be compromised on the dark web, we should be prioritizing blind people’s identities and interests, including making all housing applications usable and accessible online through PDF’s that are tagged for being filled accessibly, meaning all the form fields can be rendered so you fill them out easily with a screen reader. I saw such forms for Denver’s court system when applying for a restraining order against an online frenemy. I was scared that this frenemy was gonna put me in danger by being present in Denver, spreading rumors, threatening me and my then boyfriend and congratulating him for hurting and abusing his power as a man to be insecure, impose religious sexual restrictions, and many other things. Men who do this type of thing don’t appeal to me, and that’s a whole post for a different week.

For all I’ve been through, I want to explain the reason we’re seeking front of the line preferential treatment as it were from this building.

  1. Trenton and I split amicably, and I want to ensure that both my cell is paid off, Trenton gets a pad and the mother doesn’t make him block or report my contact information.
  2. I do not see this as any less of a case, but Clayton was gentrified out of Arizona because of high housing prices, high rent from an apartment building which is fair market no assistance, and of course he’s also blind.
  3. There is a special risk for blind females, LGBTQ males and females with disabilities, and so many other groups of people who are homeless. Homelessness is not fun, and I’m not going to allow myself to be pregnant with someone’s kid other than Clayton’s, which means anyone who tries to rape, rob, steal or mug me is going to have to head for the high jump because I’m not interested in anyone else. A women’s shelter and men’s shelters are not safe places for Clayton, myself and Trenton. Clayton’s experiences as a homeless man in California have taught him a lot, and Trenton does not even deserve to be left in the dark. I may be an ex lover of his, but for you who say I’m selfish and narcissistic, go fly somewhere else because I care about Trenton’s risk of being shot, mugged or raped. Clayton has seen it all, practically, but I don’t want him to see anything detrimental to both of us. All I see in our cards is victory, and if this building case is any example of how persecuted we are as a people who are young and blind, I don’t know what else to say. This building does not administer a waiting list properly, and it prioritizes Hispanic seniors over younger blind American adults. They Bombshelled Clayton with the 3.5 year wait list, and I won’t allow them to do this because of the print and the inaccessible parts of the common areas we discovered.

Here are the highlights:

  1. We saw inaccessible buttons in the laundry room on the washers and dryers, and a very visually based machine that tells you how much you have on your laundry card. The machine pretty much is visual, not adaptable for blind people, so if a building says they’re for seniors/disabled, they must accommodate blind people. End of story. Laundry rooms like this one require the so called assistance of a sighted caregiver, and even that is not good. Only two washers work at a time, and there are many more, but the residents seem to enjoy breaking and defiling the washers and dryers. That makes it hard for people like my caregiver April to do her job. People need to respect all property on the premises.
  2. We discovered inconsistent locker labeling, some keys weren’t also labeled, and there are a lot of things about the mailboxes I could say that wouldn’t look too good in print. They’re not labeled to put it mildly.
  3. The vending machine things aren’t labeled, and they need to be because let’s face it. Blind people see the vending machine, or they hear it if you want to be so politically correct, and the machines just have blank buttons on them, plus sometimes you don’t know if a product is sold out or the thing is empty. Shame on the building for doing this.
  4. Pertinent information such as lease agreements, papers related to important news about building stuff and the calendar must be made accessible. They aren’t. The building’s excuse? “We have to print the stuff in nine languages.” I call bullshit. I call serious bullshit because bullshit is as bullshit does, and there is technology that can enable you to change languages and scripts so easily, plus Braille is though a loud thing to print out, it is still doable with the writing programs and transcribing things like Duxbury for example. There are tons of transcription softwares available for Braille and yet nobody cares. Well, blind people need to learn Braille anyway, and deafblind people need access too. The blind and the deaf/blind need to be able to have independent lives, and the community unfortunately is responsible for this. Why? Because the sighted and able community has set up a world that doesn’t like or care about blindness or deafness or both in combination.

How do we expect to do things? Well, here’s what we are doing now.

I’m fixing to apply for more creative writing jobs, but music lessons require a Bachelor’s, which for me has been a barrier because of blindness and people’s misunderstanding of such. Blindness is a sensory disability, and let me tell you it’s been a rough road for nearly 36 years. Blindness in the skills terms is the use of nonvisual techniques to achieve the same thing as a sighted person, but the kicker is that society is sight supremacist. How is it, you ask? LEt’s take a look.

First, the minute you’re born. When Clayton and I were each born in places like Iowa and Florida, the docs told our mothers differing things, but I clearly remember my mother telling me what her OBGYN said, or was it her obstetrician? He said clearly, “She will not get a driver’s license.” That was the beginning of my mother’s furious wrath about me being blind. Clayton’s mother might have heard a similar thing, but what doctors do in the pattern of dissing disability is simple. They tell you to put the kid away in a box and forget the child, have another to replace them. This happens to a variety of kids, including blind and intellectually disabled people. 80% of Down’s Syndrome babies are aborted through the use of prenatal testing every year, and people get the wrong impressoin of disabled infants and childcare for those people. Down’s babies and children need special consideration for all kinds of aspects, but blindness being the most biblically feared makes doctors do a double take. Both mine and Clayton’s blindness conditions were from birth, but both of us got blind in different ways. My mother had Rubella syndrome, but Clayton once said something about genetics, but what are the chances of us having blind kids? We could keep going but it would lead down a strange path.

The minute you enter school, there are barriers everywhere. Clayton’s and my lives were very different, but still almost similar. My mother didn’t know how to bring up a blind female child, and she abused me because she didn’t want an illegitimate child out of wedlock. Clayton’s mom and dad had two more kids, a boy and later a girl. I had two brothers to contend with. While we both had issues with siblings, mostly because they got all the gold and attention, we had far different experiences when it came to violence and how each family unit dealt with it. While my parents kept on rewarding my brothers for hurting me, only to stop when I kept telling them it was unfair what they did for them versus me, Clayton’s parental units rewarded violence and anger out of his brother, as if to say, “Okay, go ahead and kill your brother.” It was as if the violence in his own family was a game to get rid of the most vulnerable person in the house, and for a variety of reasons, the brother went on to become a criminal in a prison system. Clayton lives now with all the anger and hurt inside, and it comes out sometimes, but it’s not necessarily his fault. I try to be there, but it’s tough sometimes. I love him so much, and I see good in him a lot, that good being the tender way he embraces me, kisses, and whatever else he does. I won’t go into it here.

AS for both our educations, they were hampered by teachers. My teacher of the visually impaired, while I had a long relationship with her, was stupid enough to tell strangers about my love life. Clayton had a variety of personalities and TVI’s to work with. There is a TVI shortage, so if anyone wants to be one, just learn Braille and cane skills too, and close your eyes and try to live as we do every day. I had good cane instructors, but I was experiencing a lot of emotional abuse at home. Clayton’s abuse might have looked a bit or a lot worse, but abuse is abuse no matter what the cause. Most disabled children experience one or more forms of abuse, especially female children around the world. Disabled females seem to be undesired all over the globe, especially in the third world, but it doesn’t get much better in the United States and first world countries. For instance, the Braille literacy rate among blind people is now 7%, according to some new study Clayton pulled out. Not shocking, it was 10% in my youth. 7 is unacceptable, only 3 out of 10 blind children are taught Braille by a properly certified TVI, teacher of the visually impaired. Clayton and I are the lucky few blind adults who read Braille, which was invented by a twelve-year-old French boy in a blindness school, but was vehemently opposed by his French school directors for the reason that the directors wanted the students at that school to be so heavily dependent on them. Sight supremacy at its finest occurred in this school back in the day. We would visit French monuments, including the blind school in France, where Braille was invented, but what I want to really do is visit Notre Dame, listen to the sounds of a pipe organ, hear the bells peeling the vespers and evening mass or something, but that doesn’t mean I’m discounting blind schools. They might have restrictions on visitors. Foreign visitors might be intimidating, but if I spoke French, I might have the ability to persuade the heads up that I can visit the spot and learn about the history of braille. Louis Braille invented this writing system, yet only 7% of the blind read it all the time.

When you leave school, you get seriously destroyed in college. Both Clayton and myself are college dropouts, neither of us has a Bachelor’s, but I have an Associates of Arts degree, which Clayton said was more than he could get. That AA is going to serve me in some areas, but Bachelor’s degrees are required for so many things. I can’t get the Bachelor’s however because of general education requirements that may have visual things to fix. In Clayton’s case, community college and universities refused him, didn’t accommodate, or flat out violated his right to get the degree of choice, and left him with so much debt. I won’t go into detail here, but for me, that debt was there nonetheless, but debt collectors met me on the phone and said to me to pay up, but I said, I don’t have any resources and won’t enrich those who threaten or harass other people for a living. I ended blocking university style debt collections agencies instead of answering the phone anymore. Clayton was still required to pay back his debt, which is hampering him from doing other things he wants to do with his life, things like provide for his partners or buy a home for himself and anyone else who cares to say they love and appreciate him. I do, of course. I have possibly got a credit freeze, and this is because of my parents or someone hiding information about me from credit bureaus. I don’t know if this is sert in stone but that’s one possible reason I can’t use credit apps and such, can’t get a credit score in Braille because I have zero. At least I don’t use credit careds, but I need to be able to build credit. Most disabled teenagers and adults don’t even know the first thing about finance or credit, and most apartments are requiring credit checks and so on. This makes it an affront to blind and disabled young adults. We need shelter, and without credit checks, we’d be better off.

Now, when you marry, you lose benefits. Blind people should not lose anything for loving another, and to love another is the greatest feeling in the world. Clayton’s marriages ended but the takeaway is that divorces are not pretty, benefits and SSI is cut, and the women he married expected him to get a job, any job. For me, the man has to do honest work, legitimate work at home jobs included. Clayton has had some work experience, has an excellent work ethic, and gets stuff done. He recently laid out a beat for a song he composed, and he’s bound to get an album full of songs done under his stage name, esoteric Quality. I love his music, and some of you may say nay to his stuff, but his stuff speaks truths no rapper dares venture into. NOt even Dr. Dre or Snoop Dogg gets into things like blindness and the struggles of a disabled or blind man. I do want to confess his latest track, Conniving Mastermind, is a gem. When thousands of years pass, and both clay and myself are dead and buried, I want that track to be considered a classic alongside Tupak and Biggie and all the other rappers who are either dead or gone in a time gone by. Rap and hip hop is one way Clayton has found helps with his coping skills, and I’m proud of him for writing the lyrics he does, but here’s the kicker. Both of us have similar experiences with psych wards and psychological care. What some people don’t understand is that rap and hip hop artists are not psychologically unstable people. Tupak was a great rapper, so was DMX, so was the Notorious B.I.G. Esoteric Quality will go down in history as someone who’s trying to wake up the world with his music, and I love what he’s doing because having your independence or writing rap lyrics are no justification to put someone in psychological confinement, and that’s what happened to each of us. I want to say the therapists at Wuesthoff Hospital in Melbourne, Florida should have taken a closer look at the guardianship and realized my parents were abusing me with it. Clayton got his wish from what I can see about his rap lyrics, but not without a school reprimand which was unreasonable and so on. I also wasn’t allowed to socialize with my class on a Disney or Universal Studios theme park trip. Clayton got no walk across the stage at high school graduation. It always saddens me when I try to think of what our children’s future will be, Clayton having to tell this part of the story. Some disabled people don’t even get to walk because they are on special diploma and have bad grades. Exceptional education students oftentimes have to stay till they turn 21, colleges refusing to accept them.

Some kids get married out of high school, and others college. When a blind person tries to start life out, housing is difficult to find, wait lists abound, and we have no choice but to live with Mommy and Daddy, but in our case, we fully refuse to do so because of abuses. Clayton’s and my parental units do not deserve access to their grandchildren from us, which we agreed on, and my parents don’t deserve a daughter if they can’t treat my rights and my finances and yes, my person, with respect. They did none of that. Allowing a violent sibling to rape, rob and abuse the blind person is not being nice and not contributing positively to that person’s upbringing. Moving on.

While seniors can apply for untold numbers of services, blind adults are left isolated and alone, some committing serious suicide, some crimes. It has become apparent that the National Federation of the Blind is untrustworthy because of sexual abuse scandals that rocked the organization’s training centers. It is not safe for anyone to attend Ruston, Littleton’s or Minneapolis’s training centers because the staff and students need to relearn boundaries and proper relating to each other. End of story.

As for the entitlement, we’ve fought all our lives for existence. I have to fight for existence that is more peaceful, including the right to vote, marry and love the man or woman I deserve and the right to be respected. I have a right to being included in all decisions pertaining to myself, including about where I live, in whom I should trust and with whom I have intimacy. End of discussion. My rights are mine, not up for debate. Entitlement is a dangerous thing to think about disabled people. With the rampant abuse of disabled males and females, there are other people to consider.

First off, I want to consider what happens in disaster circumstances like the pandemic. Clayton and I need to be given material that helps us foster our independence, not forces us out of activities and isolates us. I was forced out of DWC and Soar because of rides and illegitimacy of any request for such. Soar wanted $5 of my wallet, but that ain’t happening. It’s not contributive to my survival at this point, and it’s not contributing to my self care. I’ll do a post on self care and what that means later.

For jobs, I want to tell you I applied for two jobs, and I’m applying for more, but they’re in creative writing. I might be a ghost writer for some random company. I don’t quite know, but it’s a romance sample they want, and that’s what they’ll get.

However, the process by which most applications work is sickening to say it mildly. Clayton can’t readily apply to just any job because it has to match skills and requirements, some including that you need a driver’s license. Even if the job doesn’t need driving, this piece is designed to wipe out disabled applicants for such. This must stop.

If no one is willing to hire blind people, that is why the so called entitlement should exist, and should be considered more than that of seniors and sighted supremacists. In fact, a white supremacist who shot up a supermarket was glorified by not only the fact that someone liked his manifesto, but that someone had the guts to say he was mentally ill, but I’ll give Jason Black credit for saying he knew what he was doing. He’s right. Sight supremacy is dangerous, and this housing crisis spells out why.

So we filed complaints with HUD and the CCRD, Colorado Civil Rights Division, and we got almost a slow as sugar molasses response from different people, but we’re chugging along.

Thank you guys for reading, and please feel free to engage in the comments.


%d bloggers like this: