The begining of a prisoner's daughter PART 1

This story isn't about pity. This story is about reality and strength. Fuck your pity. Awareness and action solves inhumanity not just patting yourself on the shoulder BECAUSE you believe or FEEL something. ACTION


   Three days fresh from her womb THEY waited. THEY were my grandparents. THEY drove to Southern California to come save me from being separated from my siblings. My siblings were taken away from the family they had known and placed with another family.

     Baptized in the prison to give me salvation for the sins of my mother. That sin was the killing of my father with a rifle.

    Waiting, according to familial folklore so that I wouldn't be adopted out. Infants were a commodity. Fresh from a womb constantly fed Thorazine aka Chlorpromazine which is an is an anti-psychotic medication. Being that according to a newspaper report my biological mother was "acutely psychotic" during her court proceedings, I am sure this is not just family folklore.


  Yellow, jaundiced and screaming is how I came out of her womb. She was shackled when she went into labor with the other prisoners yelling telling her to keep it together. According to my grandparents my bio mother was shackled quite often with bruises on her tiny wrists noticeable during visitation. Bio mother says from her knowledge I wouldn't stop crying.

   I have no clue where I was born. If I was born at the prison or in another county. My county of birth was changed to avoid the stigma of being a child of a prisoner. They wanted no one to know of  my beginning. My mother was incarcerated with Susan Atkins and Patricia Krenwinkle.

  My mother had a friend in prison whose middle name I was given. She was a bank robber or embezzler. I'd love to meet her but those chances are slim.

This is it..now

Fear 

Here in the now is an ever fluid place. Time is a man-made concept.

  I don't want to be stuck in a place that was a great time for me and constantly use it as the only defining time in my life. An overflated ego that causes some of us to repeat what we viewed as the best time in ones' life regardless of the impact it has on our bodies and others surrounding us.  I also don't want to be alive in this body forever.Endings make time more valuable

Human beings normally run in packs. Once comfortable others prefer to not change the concept of others in that pack. 

Fear of moving towards the ever present threat of change aka death/ mortality

 Finding knowledge on your own can be a scary concept. Looking at all of who you are is scary, and only for the truely brave. In that search you might find out the bullshit that resides within, or you might find out how strong you are. 

Acceptance is fine,but changing who you are takes courage.

On my time in this realm i've chosen to continue and that's what I need to do. Others can judge me by my past because they choose to stay stuck in a safer place. My goal is to live and die with my own sense of loyalty, strength and courage. Not like some of you cowards who run away from life.

Fight the good fight.

Do not let your enemies destroy you...ever.

Acknowledge fear but don't run from it.

Easy Street

Easy street?

Wonder what brought you here? Here, can mean many things. Hear can mean " How did you get to be such a pathetic shitbag who deposits your scum then bails." or, it could mean for those with high level trauma " How the fuck did i get this low? How can I pick up the addled mind thats been scarred through an early set of unmet needs".

Of course I look at some people and wonder " Is that it??".

 If that is all just wait until life REALLY gets scary and unfair to the point your life is literally on the line. Its my opinion but we life in a culture that largely celebrates victimhood, versus rewarding accomplishment and thriving.

Are you a coward?

Violence is Violence

Platforms

  Whose been murdered and slaughtered that you love?
Yes, murder IS sad. It happens everyday. I know for a fact the impact.

  A blurb in the news,then you go back to your life spouting to friends,co-workers, and random conversations with people encountered along the way pondering the reason you think the particular murderer killed. 

  If you are directly impacted by murder and the tragedy of your own personal hell that has been choosen to be used by the media the chances it will be used to further some cause is high. Direct impact gives more validation to the cause. How could it not. I find it interesting how the larger media circus uses it to explain and question entitlement,misogyny and its relation to murder yet contributes to those very topics in some manner.

  I am not shocked people murder( as sad as it seems). I also don't know the reason/s each individual murders.Myself Being closely related to a murderer/ victim of that murder and the acute-long term bullshit you have to deal with constantly, can give you insite to the coldness and brutality of humanity; The facade humans put on in public. When you are DIRECTLY( not some little fodder for your entertainment to give cool points when you show your social media friends how shallow and brutal you are! I mean like your fathers gut are blown apart, your mother is shipped off to prison with you in-utero and your family is ripped apart. That kinda direct impact.) impacted by a murder.

  An act of murder creates complications on so many levels some of you would rather not believe ,I suppose. On a public level social media and other forms of media will spout like they have the answers. 

  After a small period of time one to one conversations will consist of one or more of the following: "moving on",questioning the motivation of why you'd want to reveal such a DEEPLY personal tragedy,asking if the victim "asked for it"(Why yes I am SURE my father wanted to be killed with a .22 rifle in front of his children. Fuck you),pitying you,be enthralled that you are so closely related to someone who has done such a taboo act,become a scapegoat for your family because YOU'RE the fucked-up one and not your family's inabilty to accept that you've also been impacted and its not just about their children not having a grandparent...forget you don't have a father! My bad).

  Death is always at your door. People just need something grandiose unordinary to actually feel it. Reality is ugly. Reality is painful. Reality is the greatest teacher and in reality is brutality,seeing our true colors as well as others true colors when life slaps us in the face.

Lost among the Vultures

Searching through paper work I come across a manilla folder. I've been going through pictures and paperwork for whatever reasoning. Looking in the large manilla folder I see something labled " Guardianship". Glancing over the top of the paper I see my full name. It always seemed like dream to me to be a ward of the court until the age of 18. Feeling like I could be taken away at ANYTIME; the blood that had become my family could be torn away away. My siblings felt like the only real family I had in my youth, my remaining family members seemed to not know what to do with us three kids.


 Growing up you could hear the snickers or voiced opinions of me being spoiled from snarky family members who felt like they know it all. Obviously, they didn't. How could they??? I know one family member compaired my father to a drill sargent. Stand-up! Sit down! Shut-up!  I felt like a black sheep you assholes. I encountered other situations where I was told by this dick: "Hey she killed one and stabbed another!" then laughed. He knew my biological mother. SO fuck you if you think I was spoiled. My mom's friends were drinks,misfits,pimps,cop-killers,rapists, a guy who'd been deemed "guilty by reason of insanity" for killing his wife spending over 20 years in a state hospital. Yeah exposed to that but I WAS SPOILED,huh?? Weird.


Going back to the paperwork. I found more papers. One written to the IRS by me;dictated by my father explaining the reasonings he didn't claim the money we three kids got in a trust to be given at 18. It wasn't his. But in detail reasoning he explained how *my* biological mother couldn't profit from her crime. A state law barring criminals couldn't benefit from a crime they were convicted guilty of. It was all so surreal.

+

Lost

Ward of The Court

I was a teen aged runaway. part 1

  It was Feb of 1988. I had enough turmoil. I decided to bolt for the first time. Sick of taking shit. Sick of dealing with a killer for a biological mother trying to obtain my affection, I decided to run away with someone I loosely call a friend. She was sick of her drunken dad, too. She was 14. I was 15. She stayed over the night before and stayed out all night, scaring the crap out of me with worry.

 We decided to grab some cash and meet on bus 51 at a designated time. I went on the wrong bus. The creature went to Old Sacramento (which is the MOST obvious place the cops and parental units would find us!) and got caught. Stupidity I thought. I ended up taking the 62 then got off at the wrong spot. I walked and low and behold I see James. James was dressed in spikes,combat boots, with a huge red mohawk. Instantly, I told him my story; I was now a teen aged runaway! We walked to some fast-food joint convincing this guy we were siblings that needed to meet our parents asap; the guy questioned us, " You aren't runaways, are you???. "No,sir", we replied. The kindly soul took us to Java City.

  I had two bags in tow, got out of the car THEN saw my older friend Niki. Niki was a street urchin in some glam band about 5-7 years older ,who I had a HUGE crush on! He scanned me immediantly. With my two bags in tow he asked if I was running away.Admittedly, I said,yes. After some talking he introduced me to T.C. aka Troubled Child. I have no clue T.C.'s story. He was pale thin punk rocker with a mohawk. Niki spoke with James and T.C. telling them they'd better protect me until he could meet me in the morning; they agreed to protect me til the morning.


  This was the first time out of three that I had decided to runaway. I never stayed out long. The longest time was maybe 10 days-2 weeks.

It was getting dark. So we wandered around going to the K-Street Mall(which was outdoors with fountains and weird artwork.Nothing like it was now). We wadded in the fountains getting change to go to Denny's near Old Sacramento. It was getting dark and cold. While walking towards Old Sacramento we encountered a teenage "street-gang" called the Soldier Boyz; they were joy riding in the stolen bikes they happily obtained. One of the leaders rode the bike into the fountain, jumping off before the bike disconnected the cement flying into the fountain. The leader smirked at me taunting me with " Why don't you go back to your suburbia!".I told him it wasn't that perfect. He taunted me more telling me to "Go home little girl!" Fuck him.

  We walked to Old Sacramento and met-up with other street urchins who told us to search for change under the wooden walk way. We went into the old abandoned hotel, then I waited for them to look for change, as I acted as a look out. Eventually, we walked to Denny's being harrassed by the cops at one point. I doubt they bothered to check my description because there was a report out on me as a missing persons.

The Tenderloin Hotel Circa 1996

Gwar was playing at The Warfield. I was just barely with my son's father. We decided to go! Hell yes, Gwar! We took the Greyhound to SF.

We ended up on the bus the at the station getting dropped off in SF. We  hooked up some sort of transportation to Market street to find a hotel, then walked a block or so to this hotel ( which wasn't scummy I had stayed there before in the early 90's.), thinking " Sure, We'll get a room! Nope! We don't have a credit card! Fuck! This means...going to the Tenderloin.

 We walk up the street where I see shit literally on the ground. People selling drugs openly here and there. Hard drugs. I wasn't scared. At the time it seemed normal. My son's father and I  walked up to a dilapated hotel. The only one who would let us rent a room..walked up to the front desk; a room is available cause we have the cash in hand. Exchanged.

  Walking up the stairs we bump into this huge african american gangster drug dealer. Opening the door I notice a fucked-up looking bed, a sink and a window. Old orangey brown carpet with shitty patterned wall paper. There was NO toilet in the room OR shower. I lay down.We have sex and talk about Codeine. I might have been too loud! I hear a knock knock at the door. A loud voice tells us "I got codeine 2's,3's and 4's. Want some???".... It was the gangster drug dealer.  Holy shit did he hear us fuck???

  Then I notice cockroaches crawling up the walls..on the bed. Gross. Before walking to The Warfield I had to use the bathroom bad. I waited 20 minutes until I had to go desperately. The bathrooms were communial.Fucking Shit! My son's father walked to the lovely restroom for protection.I quickly straddled the toilet hoovering until I get terrified and book it like a bat out of hell. Out of the corner of my eye I see a transvestite hooker talking to my son's father. I'm safely in the room. He comes and tells me that the hooker told him " Honey if she don't want your money i'll take it!"

  Moving on. I was all fancied up not realizing I probably did look like a hooker in tall patent leather boots,fishnets, boobs pushed up in a black dress, black eyeliner and red lips.

Gwar awaits. My son's father and I get to the Warfield and I vaguely remember one of Gwar's roadies talking to us. I have no clue what exactly. I think he was performing in the stage show chaos. The show was fun. I refused to get blood on my pretty face and clothes, So I stayed a litttle distance from the stage. My son's father came back covered in fake blood and semen.

We walked back to the Tenderloin Hotel intact admist gunshots in the background and the next morning I washed up in the sink, walked the streets soaking all the bizarreness that is the Tenderloin. True Love ha then the next year I was with child.

Your band sucks

  Being a music fan and former teenage virgin wanna be groupie "poet", I've made observations during this time.You have the dreamers,bar bands,has-beens, truely charismatic artists types with ambition and determination.( I know there's other types, duh.)

  Maybe, I'm mean, a bitch or a "fan" with "standards and self-respect" these days. but I can't be so silly as to ask the "bar band/has beens" for an autograph. In the old days, yes ,sadly Warrant did sign my boob. My friend and I did follow James's Heitfield or whatever his name is to the bathroom at The Stone. BUT this was 1988 or early 1989 when he was still "cool" in my eyes. Anyways' my point being YOUR BAR BAND BAND SUCKS!  I want to see some angst,pain,hatred,happiness live!

  GIMME ME ANYTHING but your "fake ego pretending you like me so i'll like your facebook page or just hoping i'll happen to stop by your show flattered because YOU in a band gives me any attention". Tee Hee.

Give a piece of your soul..or IF that is your soul I feel so sad, angry, and angsty! Whatever happened to healthy competition that made artists strive for something bigger and deeper?  Sometimes, I wish I had the power to take the guitarist, or singer out of a band and say the rest sucks but you could really do something interesting!

Do you wanna sleep,fuck and eat......

  I''ve avoided the subject of sexuality for a bit, but recently projection has reared its head.  First off,i never asked to be a person of the female gender. I never completely fit within the paramaters. I really didn't fit the mold. I wasalways: too ugly but not ugly enough at.points,too mouthy,too cerebral,too crazy,too fat,too quiet,too sexually repressed,too sexually precocious,too honest,too broke, too slutty,etc  ad nauseam. It got old!

  My upbringing was filled with underlining undertones of Catholicism. I was one month in utero when my biological mother killed the man I though was my biological father. She was incarcerated in a Chino California.Chino prison was my place of expulsion from my biological mother's womb. Born from the begining baptized at three days old to keep me safe and protected from my mother's "sin"." Original sin". Two of the most hardcore sins. That is the begining of my knowledge of religion-Intermingled with biology,religion,sexuality and punishment. This is where it all started.


                                                                    Drug Baby?

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