Shoved down the stairs on the last day of June, 2016

I am trying to go through my notebooks.  I buy Picadilly; moleskin is too expensive and snobbish for me.  I want to throw them out after rewriting or posting or reusing things I write.  I get to do this less often than I wish.  I do want to keep lessons of the past and move on, but it is very painful; and with being in physical  pain since March 2016, the challenges are intensified.  Some stuff I wrote a little bit less than a year ago here.

First of all, I want to write that I was superdosing myself on ibuprofin while sporadically taken prescription pain pills because none of the doctors would actually assess my injuries.  I was doing this because I was living in an expensive city at that time, and working 20 hours a week to augment my SSDI and SSI payments as my rent was too high.  I was struggling to numb my pain enough to function.

Besides my upper body injuries, Starting the last week of June 2016 I have been dealing with ankle issues.  I was shoved down the stairs going to public transportation to the place I was staying at.  I couldnt walk.  I didn’t stay for an ambulance to try to sue the city because I was taking care of cats.*  My ankle was blown up to abot  16 inches in diameter.  I walked very slowly and had to elevate my ankle whenever possible.

So I wrote last July:

I was going down the stairs backwards because my ankle could not flex and hold weight enough to lower my healthy ankle down steps.  I was on my way to work.  I was told by a 30 something hipster to go down the stairs “right”.  There was nobody else on the stairs in the middle of the day. He was carrying a stroller.

Ok, so this is what I wrote:

I want to blow him up and his baby.

I worked very hard to not be a narcissist. I don’t get to hook up with men and boys in this day and age because of the reprecussions of the outcome; women being jealous, being stalked, males believing that they are entitled to my pussy because I have fucked others, the list goes on.  Yes in my teens and 20’s I was kind of wild but I kept getting into bad situations.  So I don’t get to use men and boys as objects- I am working hard on not being like my parents.

So I just cursed out that hipster father and didn’t limp over to him to shove him down stairs.

I was always told that I have no rights.  “You aren’t allowed to feel scared or sad, you don’t own yourself; you don’t pay rent” ; “You aren’t supposed to feel pain because I own your body”; “Those hand me downs are not yours; they were given to me, not to you; you don’t own anything because you don’t pay rent”**

Beacause of the way I look and present myself, I am often accused of being a rebel; the accusation is partly correct.  Most have no idea that I am rebelling against being lazy, irresponsible, and selfish.

My parents won by not getting caught.  I would go to school with bruises, black eyes, bleeding mouth, pass out and wake up in the nurse’s office (concussion) and they never got caught.  I fell of my bike, or fell running in the park.  I was always clumsy from dissociating.  I was already awkward from hypervigilance, and never being safe; from not developing a prefrontal cortex.  Please look at My post from June 9, 2016 titled “ACE quiz”

I was not able to get that college  free ride when I was 19 years old (Please look at “Why Didn’t I better MY Life?” from January 22, 2015).   They cheated on taxes and I didn’t get that education.  I lost they won.  They didn’t get caught when I had a vaginal injury when  I was in 5th grade.  The white pediatrician did not wan to bother asking my parents about the sexual abuse, or was thinking of me as another one who would grow up to be a cheap high volume brothel whore, or massage parlor whore or cruiseship whore, so he and his sons will always have a supply.  It seems like some wives look over their powerful mens’ cheating if the women or girls are cheap, not high end.

They won, and I lost.

They did not parent me nor they have to work for a living.  By being dangerous narcissists, their rich relatives sent money for living expenses to keep them in the USA.  they didn’t have to work and they were able to get away with addiction and spending money that was supposed to be for raising their own children on their addiction.

They got away with it.

They got away with damaging me physically and mentally in such a way at age 45 I haven’t had a safe place to live since 2011 and still living on benefits and still in pain and cannot work.  Yes I worked full time since age 15, but I had psychotic episodes around 13 years ago and have to be on disability.

I actually don’t know if I can ever get even.  But I became an artist.  When I lived 1100 miles away from where I was born and performing and choreographing, 3 dance artists from that city told me that they know who I am and may have met me.  My name and photos of me have been in publications (I was never reviewed, I never made a press package).  I have made work that I wanted to make and have them produced and presented.  I also danced for choreographers that I have wanted to work with; not necessarily  right away, not necessarily under optimum circumstances, but I have had a lot of time on stage, in sold out houses, and had a lot of fun.

I may never get even but I am always working on trying to live optimally.

Postscript:  A year later I still haven’t performed dance, but am doing non dance performance art; had a performance in September of 2016, as well as performing text based work in May 2017 and have been curated into a July  2017 performance art festival where i will show (not perform per se) text based conceptual art, exhibited a drawing in a gallery in May and will be part of an arts festival next month (july).  My parents have some old canvases and paper drawings hanging around.  Some of my father’s canvases gott water damaged with molde growing on the acrylic paint from a flood in his storage sometime in the 1990’s.  There is nothing on them on  a google search.  They never can find contentment, only seek supply, get excited when they can make another person miserable, and did not accomplish anything, not even parenting.  I have a pretty nice artistic resume, and had a lot of fun on stages and theaters.






*I was petsitting as much as I can there because I was living in a very oppressive situation.  I will post about that soon.  I decided to not go through the emergency room (it always takes more than 8 hours) and legal system to gain from this fall.  The person who’s cats it was was very insensitive about the situation.

She was to come back two days later at 8pm.  I got an email that she will be back at 3pm, 5 hours earlier than she said.  I emailed her back that I couldnt get out in time and that my ankle wasa badly injured; this was around 12 noon that day, not enough time.  She emailed me back “oh bummer. you have plenty of time tho”

This is a grown woman; a so called energy healer and teacher who teaches workshops all over the United States, hence the cat sitting.  She has no sympathy for a severely injured person.  She has more alcohol than any one who I have been roomates with, pet sat for, or knew well enough of what they have.  She has percoset and some other pain killers in her medicine cabinet (No, I did not take any, I had my own from prescriptions from unethical doctors, thank you).

The world is full of charlatans.  This fake healer has a very nice apartment in a very nice area of the city and can’t get a cat sitter among her friends.  I am so happy that I have always lived in reality and have a very real, sincere body of work.  I have not performed dance in 14 months and 14 days, but I have spent the time to look back on my 19 years of performing, and13 years of choreographing (simultaneously,o f course)

** I was always the dirty kid who had scabs, oozing stuff from the skin, and the same clothes all the time.  My parents used to rotate 2 or 3 shirts and 1 or two slacks for me to go to school, and hide hand me downs to wear for when we went to meet the family of the clothes that they come from.










Language part 2

Philia is a combining for meaning “lover of”, enthusiast for”, which is specified by the idea that precedes it.  Latin: phiius (greek, philos) dear, beloved,

Love: intense feeling of deep affection. Gentle feelings of fondness and liking

If a man fucks his grade school daughter without feeding, clothing, and protecting her, its is not philic, its not love. There is no fondness or liking, and it is about power.  I know this world is now going through a sex positive stage, and kink is considered something to be celebrated. (please see my post “It’s not Cute, Innocent, Fun” from 12/30/14)  Please consider rethinking long term implications of buying the virginity from a child, or indulging in your own, should you decide to identify as a pedophile.  Please reconsider the language of kink, I believe that we are very misinformed if we take words for granted.  M. Scott Peck wrote in “People of the Lie” that hate is not lack of love; that lack of love is just indifference.  Hate is love gone wrong.  Please consider that we need language revolution, and that pedophilia is not about loving children

Please, if you are a teacher, social worker, doctor, etc, and see a child acting up prematurely in a sexual way, do not blame them for being dirty.  Please report them, and try to find out what is happening.  This is not doing above and beyond, this is what is decent, doing your job is doing your job.






The word pedohile is problematic. If a person really loves a child, a person does not shove adult body parts, objects, or anything else into a not yet developped pelvis.  One would not beat a child because a pedriatrician called the result an urinary tract infection, and ordered the parents to buy cranberry juice, which around 1980 was substantially more expensive than frozen condensed orange or apple juice in a can.  I was told that my memory of sexual abuse is fake because any doctor can see abuse.  I was gaslighted into believing that I had a false memory.  This was in the 1990s when allegations of false memories of abuse were all the rage.

Speaking of false memories about abuse,  the epidemic of false memories is debunked: “The Boy Who was Raised by a Dog” by Bruce Perry, an excellent book has an excellent description of what happened during the “false memories of abuse”  era.

Why did this pediatrician, who knew what was going on in my vaginal area when I was a primary school child in a large city in the USA not report child abuse?  It was the late 80’s/early 90’s and there were already child protection laws and awareness.  My guess is that it is because my mother was pretty, or because it was too much paperwork and stress, or it was because doctors and lawyers and other well off people pay for sex and there needs to be a supply of cheap whores, cheap whores are the ones that grow up abused, poor, and of color.  I would like to elaborate on the last description.

Yes there are high end whores of color too.  My theory is that rich white families look the other way when a husband goes to a brothel where laborers go to when estranged by their families, massage parlour, strip club with “private room shows” and the such. Rich trophy wives do not have to compete with these women to keep their wives.  I am almost sure that reporting my parents would have inconvenienced my pediatrician, and that his ethics only counted for those who look like him and was moneyed like him, plus he would stop seeing my mother when I needed to go to his office.

Mental health, lifestyles, creativity, productivity, and success

Hello, it is 6/11/17 This post is from 2015 or 2016 I am going through drafts and thought to post this.  My physical health is improving.  During my 14 months and 5 days since my last dance performance,  I have been spending many hours and lots of energy rlecting on my 19 year dance career.


I just read this.

I am not a writer, but I agree that in any low paying creative endeavor, you sacrifice.  I agree that you try something, and if you like, it, you do more.  I didn’t have to “buy” experiences as the author of the above article implies, but I did have to be training daily, and have spent my earnings for tuition.  That kept me from falling into the trap of substance abuse.  When I started seriously studying my discipline, I was 17 years old, and doing restaurant work.  Before the city I was born in gentrified, I was able to pay all my bills and study while waitressing, it was not unusual.

I did not start this art form it for the money, but dancing (yes I have kept my art form vague to stay anonymous but I will disclose this detail) kept me from descending into addiction.  I did not know about depersonalization at this time, and did not even know that not everybody experienced this phenomenon, but the mixture of disciplined physical training mixed with the sense of flow when dancing snapped me into my body, and for short periods of time, I was feeling embodied.  I got attention from teachers because I had “the right attitude” and I improved quickly, as I was very focused and consistent.  These two attributes are due to my mental health issues; I was focused because I grew up needing to be diligent in school and sports, and because my attitude was just a by-product of the abuse that I experienced: be quiet don’t talk.  I was extremely shy, and never small talked in class.  If you have studied dance, you know how teachers hate when students talk when they are giving corrections, changing music, changing sides on the bar, and demonstrating.  My hypervigilance, or the fear of getting hit, thrown into walls, body slammed, hit with objects, etc, pushed me to “make” myself pirouette, embody music, get the positions right.  I was definitely not the star of these classes and studios, but I had a lot of positive reinforcement from teachers.

I kept spending all my “fun” money on dance classes, because it made me feel good.  At that time, I did not know that it was actually small glimpses to what felt “normal”   That is why I studied consistently for 8 years until I went to auditions.  I never thought I can start dancing on stage.  I loved to dance so much, yet I knew that you needed an early start, and that it is competitive.  I only started to go on auditions because my friend encouraged me.  She more than encouraged me; she kept telling me I need to; she started dance late and got into a post modern performing group, and thought I needed too, so I went on 3 auditions and failed; on the 4th, I joined a small post modern performance group.  Someone in that group invited me to join his group.  Someone in the audience liked my dancing, and 3 years later I was in her group to stay in her dance company for 6 years.





This is a blog entry that I started in 2016 and never finished.  Not much has changed in this area.


Social Darwinism is not new in the USA part2

It has been 2 months! Thank you all who read my posts and those who are following my blog.

So to continue, I want to back track to what happened to me in the 70’s Here is an example of white, classist fascism in the 90’s

I was doing my student teaching in the 1990’s in a highschool with metal detectors, and teachers and security guards who verbally abused the students.
My art students told me about their English class where they sat and read from a book and the teacher sat at his desk. I liked to eat lunch in the classroom while grading assignments, and eventually letting students who did not like the school cafeteria due to bullying, or students who wanted to make up their missed work instead of going to lunch, or chatting with my cooperating teacher, the experienced teacher who advised my student teaching.

My  cooperating teacher,  Mr. D told me to occasionally go to the teacher’s cafeteria to eat lunch and to learn.  I was appalled at what was going on.  These white teachers who commute in from the suburbs. They were naming students’ names and calling them “losers” and “pains in the ass”.  One teacher told me to just go through with my student teaching, but the “Kids are not worth it” I recognized some of the names; some were students who had to work from after school until night in the other side of their area, or been homeless from time to time or under some other stresses.  There were some students that fell through the system and held back many times because they cannot read, though they showed evidence of high conceptual and problem solving skills, and signs of dyslexia.  Mr. D. also had me follow him to his substitute appointments to special education classes.  Again I saw students were stigmatized as not being worth teaching.

I can just imagine the teachers talking about me in the teacher breakrooms in the  70’s.  I can imagine that this is still continuing.  Poor people of color are put through the system to work for low wages and be held down.  The American Dream of meritocracy is a lie.

I was told to call mother, honorable maternal parent, my father; honorable paternal parent while my sister called them mom and dad.  I was taught to be  docile, and the mental and physical abuse programmed me to be docile and small.  I was fed different food than my sister.  My sister was the golden child in the narcissistic parents’ dynamic; I was the scapegoat.  Because they have never apologized to me, they are still in this dynamic, although I haven’t seen them for more than a decade and a half.**

I once asked my mother why my sister was treated better than me and that she didn’t have to make money for them, my mother said that she was not as smart.  My mother also said that I was the one that people paid attention to, since I was a baby.  I was told that people stopped to admire me when she was walking me in a stroller in the streets.  I was told that her friends, and friends’ children wanted to talk to me.  I was told that her friends’ children, when they were toddlers, told my mother that they wanted to marry me when I grew up.  According to my parents, their revenge on my diverting attention away from them was to use me as their property so they do not have to work.

I was the chosen one to start being sexually abused at age 2 or earlier, dance sexually for their friend before I knew the alphabet, and starting at age 6 or so, beaten everyday, sometimes thrown into furniture, floor, stairs, and sometimes hit with hammers, frying pans, lumber, lathes, encyclopedias and kerbanger toys.

I was taught that i will be sold when I turn twelve.

When I tell P.O.C.s they listen to me as a human being.  When I tell white people this the women get uncomfortable that I suffered more than them, that I have had a more bad ass story, and they see the docile, “knows how to treat a woman” sexually objectifying my own self for men subtleties that they probably are not cognizant of, but are threatened.  The few white men I told, they think its part of culture, poverty, so what.  There needs to be people like me for when they get low end outcall services, cheap lap dances, sexual massages, or free internet porn.  If they are not sex services consumers, it would be rare that these men have not though about it.  People who have benefited from others being oppressed are wired to see people as beneath themselves, and thus dehumanizing their own self.  This behaviour results when one thinks it is ok to degrade others to take back their power.  People are programmed to be white supremist, and act out of anger into hurting others by TV, movies, literature, and internet and magazines.

I didn’t know that I had this high end prostitute toolkit of mannerism embedded in the way I hold myself, talk, and gesture.  I started noticing about 5 years ago.  I have exploited it when I have performed in my friends’ nightlife shows (though I am an artist who has had work  in arts organizations and theaters).  I want to turn it off and just be neutral; I try to catch myself.  I want to be part of a new human, the ones who look past neoloberalism to stop the denigration of people.

This is why racism, classism, dehumanizing people has been embedded in the USA before President Trump.  The USA was built on General Custer’s Army lying, stealing, and committing genocide on the First Nation people, then on slaves working for white people, to make them money but not get paid.


I know it has taken me 2 months to finish this post.  I have an appointment with and osteopath next week  I am in less pain than last April, and over the summer and October through February.

It heartens me to see that people read my entries, and follow this blog.  Thank you for reading.  I hope you join me in communicating to people.  At this time communicating and learning is all I can do in this class and race struggle.  I hope you join me in class warfare and class struggle
*After I was in 1st grade, my parents seldom worked.  Their parents sent them money.  They did not manage their money wisely and spent it on partying and alcohol.  I had very few clothes, so I wore the same clothes all the time and out of season.  When their friends gave them their childrens’ clothes, they would hide them, saying that they were not given to me but them and that the childrens’ clothes are theirs not mine.  I do not own anything because they (my parents own me) I wore those clothes on occasion that I would meet them.  I never told anybody this until today.

** November 2015 was the first time I learned about the scapegoat/golden child dynamic.  I am so grateful for all the courageous people on youtube who are coming out with their stories and informing us about narcissitic abuse.  There is a lot more information on this subject as there is more technology available for more people, and I hope that the stigma of being a survivor mitigates more and more










No justice

No justice. That is why I wanted to kill parents, teachers,nurses, guidance counselors, lawyers, psyche ward technicians and nurses, emts cops, men I blew and fucked, men I supported, bosses, co-workers, social workers, case workers, landlords, children, clients, and students today. I wanted to stab them, smell their warm blood, see their expression as I took my power back. I finally decided to start telling the truth about my life. I tried as a child, a teenager, and a young adult but noone listened they were too busy plotting to take advantage of me or being lazy.

Killing would not bring justice, because I suffered more than the pain of being chopped up and bleeding to death.  That is why I see the world differently, I make art that noone thought of.  I am feeling less pain these days.  I want to be part of the overthrowing of white supremacy. Us P.O.C.s are strong from disturbances, things not going right, having to do with less or nothing, and living on through discomfort and pain.  When white peopel have to work 5 times as hard for half the income, live cramped in bad neighborhoods, then it will be a meritocracy.  We do things 10 times better.

I still havent finished the post about social darwinism, of fascism.  I will.  WordPress says that i have 11 saved drafts.  I have unfinished essays since 2015 but my health has been bad.  I will see an osteopath next week.  In 5 years, I couldn’t  get a referral to an osteopath in the city I was born in. (2011-2016) This different state/city took 3 months.  Still horrendous but a great improvement