New Year Revolution...

My last rant for 2016.  I don't think my writing has been better, richer, or more prolific, so thank you for reading.  I have taken advantage of my natural talents to unload a lot of rubbish that I have been carrying around for a lifetime.  As humans, & so many of us sleepwalkers, it is easy to accumulate a lot of lies, deceit and bullshit, and I have spent MANY years trying to untangle it, challenge it, and dump it like so much toxic waste, so I can move on.  Enough lies...and enough complaining.  My book is about to hit the 1000 page mark, and I think it covers just about as much bullshit as I can tolerate, which leaves me with a fresh slate.  Now all the work is done, I can write pretty much what I want.  I can stop bitching about things I never found a way to come to terms with, because now?  I have.  This year will the year of redemption.    But there is one more job on my list, before I die.  I want to confront this...lousy piece of work. 

 

 

This is the priest who molested me when I was a little boy.

I think this was taken outside the courthouse...I don't reckon they got his best side.

His best side was behind us, as he bent us over an old tea chest.

Where we couldn't see him.


I didn't see him again for years after that.  

Until it all went to trial.

It was curious cops, concerned counsellors, and a mute Vatican.


I'm not asking for sympathy...I don't believe I deserve it.

Allowing myself to be raped by a priest is basic...cowardice, I guess. 

It's...hard to explain.  


I would say a couple of things in my defence...I was a very scrawny kid.

Also...I had already become used to violence and torture at home at the hands of my father, so actually...I know it sounds weird...but I thought this was just the way the world worked.


I really believed that everyone got raped and tortured.

I think the head injuries from my father's beating might have made my brain a little bit soft.

But...I thought this was just the way humans lived.


To be quite honest...my childhood was like a dream.

A fog.

I am told this is a symptom of ptsd...

but I thought all children were raped by priests.

I assumed it was on the syllabus.


As I got older...I realised this was not the case.

I'm lucky...I have my brain related issues, but I never turned out to be a rapist, or a murderer, or torturer, like many victims do.

The only person I tortured was myself.

There is a strange kind of guilt that comes with being raped as a child.

I still think it is my fault.

 
Abuse in childhood scars you in very strange ways.


This loving servant of the god of horror in the picture was charged and sent to trial a few years back.


I remember at the time when I gave my evidence, people asked,

'why didn't you do something sooner'?


Unless you have been used as a sex doll by a priest in a dungeon under a school...


don't ask this.

you know nothing.

Some people...don't WANT to dwell on such horror.

Why did we not say something sooner?  We do not want to dwell on this crap.


We just want to get on with life, like everyone else.

But sadly...as the saying goes...

'you may be finished with the past, but the past 'aint finished with you'.

I knew it would come and find me one day, and it did.


The matter was heard, the priest found guilty...

I was offered lawyers to get me money in exchange for my sexual favours...

I mean, how do you put a price on this?


I couldn't...so I didn't.

I just wanted it over with.

This is not pleasant shit to have to deal with.

Like the Vietnam Vets say, 'unless you were there...shut the fuck up'.


even if we did try to explain what it does to you...your mind...

you will never understand.  '


feel free to call me gutless...don't think I haven't said it of myself.

My father used to call me a coward from a very young age.

I thought it was my name.

'Coward'.

It turned out to be 'John'.

But 'coward' still sticks more.

It is woven into the fabric of my subconscious, where you can't see it.

Like a lot of things.


I have a hard shell now, so you can't see these things.

I write about them and it helps...

But I still can't feel properly.

Or love properly.

But I also don't hurt in the same way you do.

   
So...you can't hurt me with your judgements.


Nothing can hurt me anymore.

I can't feel...



no, that's not true.

I DO feel things now.

Compassion.

Love.

Empathy.


I also still have nightmares.

I get the horrors, most nights.


Nothing I can do about that.

I don't hate anymore.

Actually, that's not true either.

  
I hate god.  If he exists, then I hate that sadistic bully so much, and I want him to suffer for the evil he created, and seems determined to do nothing about, even though he keeps threatening us with the return of his son to wipe everything clean again.

He could stop it with the stroke of his cosmic wand...

But we won't.

GOD is the coward.


Hiding behind his cruel deeds, and his failure to act.


To put an end to cruelty.


Well, I will hate god for this til my dying breath.

For allowing what happened to me, to happen.

Frankly...I don't believe I deserved it.

Nor do all the other children raped by priests, by anyone, all the children, tortured and abused & murdered...there is no excuse for this kind of horror.

God works in mysterious ways' my arse.

'Suffer the children' my arse.

Not on my watch.


My mission in the new year, is to confront the priest who raped me, if it can be arranged.

Although I imagine he will want to hide from me, just like his boss does.

I don't blame them.

There is NO excuse for what they do.

But I will try to make it happen.

Then I will devote my remaining years on the planet to serving the needs and requirements of those young children who are raped, tortured, abused in any way by these servants of god.


I will work tirelessly to raise money for support services for the children god has inexplicably neglected.

& I will publish my book myself, tell my story, and MOST IMPORTANT OF ALL...

I will offer strategies for working against this insidious evil.

I can't stop god and his evil sadistic ways, because I can't get to him.

But I can try to clean up after him.
 

One day, I will die, and I will have my revenge on this god, if he actually exists.

He can hide...but he cannot run.

My time here on earth, I will show him what love really means.

It is NOT a priest dripping sweat on a young boys back.

I will die, and I will find that bully god, and I will have my revenge.




      

Miracle on Beatnick Street...

Ye gods!  I won an Xmas raffle!

I never win anything!

The prizes were an Ipod Royale with Cheese, or a big ole thing of cosmetics.


Actually, I remember when I bought the ticket from a lady sitting out front of the supermarket.

I remember thinking, 'I wonder what it would be like to actually win one of these things'??

the lady said when I bought them...'I hope you win the Ipod.'

& I replied, 'I beg your pardon; I have my eye on the cosmetics.  If I win this thing, and it's not the make-up...then you and I will be having words!'

'You want the make-up'?  she laughed.

'What man wouldn't?'

She giggled in her girlish way, and I walked off, never expecting to hear anything again.

& I won.


I'm glad it was the cosmetics...

Because I gave them to my mum.


She has suffered.  God has given her hell, the poor woman.

No one suffers like a mother...

With three boys all handfuls.

& a husband who was second only to god, in the cruel sadistic and insane father stakes.


yet, she battles on.


Waiting for a fictional being to deliver you from the horrors of this world is a fools errand.

We have now scraped that monster in the sky off our boots after a long battle, and things have started to look up around here.  Without the threat of torture, horror and eternal damnation hanging over our heads...things are actually looking good.

We can breathe.


2017 might be our year, with all the make believe bullshit behind us.


We made a decision- mum and I- to walk away from all the horror and madness & god...the zombie mantras of the pedaphile torture death cult, & walk toward the light of love, peace harmony and human kindness.  We decided to opt out of the torture and sadism of religion.


You see...we bought that crap for a long time.

They get you early; when you are a kid, and they start the brain washing.

The torture and the rape...makes you vulnerable to all sorts of garbage.


Over time...many years...DECADES...

The more we prayed, the worse things got.


You would think we would have gotten then hint...but that's where they get you; they trick you into thinking, if things are bad, you aren't praying or believing enough.

HORSE SHIT.

You see...I'm a little brain affected.  My father used to hit me in my head, & as I grew up, I believed in all sorts of fairy tales, lies, myths, deceit and bullshit.

Well...I must have woken up.

Prayer does not help.

Hint; nothing is happening.

You know why?  There is NOTHING there!

You are waiting for the biggest NOTHING in history to save you!

There is NO god but ourselves!


A doctor told me, sometimes the brain just corrects itself.

Well...hooray henry.

Let the sun shine in.


We deserve a chance at happiness, right?

Goddamn right we do.


The way I see it...rather than waiting around for the god of horror to give us a hand...


We will march forward, & make it happen ourselves.


You wait for jesus and his mates...

you will be waiting a long long time.


This year is going to be our year...


finally.


I love you mum...

we can do this.


the promised land.

& it will be right here...


on earth.



Not some land of eternal bullshit in the sky.


Right here...


right now.


peace and love.

A Conversation While Waiting For Some Wise Men To Show Up...

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A Very Darko Xmas...

There he is; ole Grandpa Death.

Back and forth, back and forth...between his house and the mailbox.

"Someone oughta' write that bitch...'


Well, you don't getting many xmas cards when you are an atheist.

Nor should you.  

The truth is a very lonely business.

By the time you get to a certain age...you have unloaded most of that religious crap.

They say you should allow people to believe what they want to believe.

That's fine...but these bastards infect the minds of young people.

I don't mind adults believing this crap about the virtues of being nailed to crosses, eating jesus flesh and blood and spending eternity in Hell...

But kids are damaged for life with this kind of horror.

Can't you think of the kids, with this horrific horse shit??

Damn!  I like 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre'...but I wouldn't show it to a child!!!


& please don't tell me it's any less a horror show than fundamentalist Islam...

It ain't.


I know the way it works...you want friends?  You simply drop to your knees, worship a bearded fictional man in the sky, and join with all the other zombies who have no idea what compassion is all about, telling us all about how 'god hates fags' and what have you.

No thanks...rather be alone.

If you can't kick your addiction to this horrific fairy tale bullshit for yourself...

then for fuck's sake...think of the children.

Think of the kids.

Damn.

Children always suffer.

'Suffer the little children...'

goddamn right.

.

But if you slavishly pursue the truth...you will live and ultimately die a lonely death.

You people still tweeting and posting about Mr. T?

Did you expect it would be any different?

The sheeple who voted for him...business as usual.

& those who didn't?  They bitched for a while, then went back to sleep.

Keep on fighting.

Fight the power.

You will find it a very lonely fight...

But most people who fought for the truth died alone and miserable.

We all die alone anyway.


As Donnie Darko discovered, 'every living creature dies alone'.

If there was a god...and there is NOT...

then I reckon he would want us to be true to ourselves.

& our mission.

Otherwise...

wtf are we doing here?


NO MORE LIES!!!!


for Donnie's sake!!



Have a very Donnie Xmas and a Darko New Year...

The Fire

5124 DeLongpre.

Yep; you guessed it, it's Charles Bukowski's house in Hollywood.

I checked it out a few years back.


& when I have finished my book, I am going back In January.


I am going back to Buke's house, with a copy of my book...I am going to set that book down on the footpath, and I am going to set it on fire.

And I am going to walk about in the burning pages...

& I am going to show Buke just how well I can walk through the fire.


RIP, my twisted, beautiful old friend...

dancing now with the gods.

while we are still down here...

walking through the fire.

The Wrong Book...

I bought a literary anthology this morning from the thrift store called "Growing Up Gay/Growing Up Lesbian".  As I said recently, I'm not queer, but I find stories of young people battling with the dilemmas of confronting their sexuality very interesting.

In fact, I find any stories of any people battling any thing interesting. 

Why else do we read, but to hear about the struggles of others, and how they overcome them??

Anyway, none of this would even come up, except when I took the book to the counter to buy it, the shopkeeper looked at me as if I were a mad person, handed me back the book disdainfully and took my money, shaking her head. 

I didn't even engage.  Small towns, eh?  

I was going to post something this week about how glad I am that bigotry is becoming a thing of the past.  I think I might revise that.

  

Wouldn't you think we'd have moved on from this?  

Yes...it was a Christian shop.  

The Salvation Army. 

  

Guess I shouldn't be surprised...hateful religious bullshit.

Why were they selling it if they didn't like me buying it??

That's religion for you...drives some people mad.  

On a Tram Car to Hell...

I was riding the toy tram recently, and this woman starting telling me all about how they were thinking of putting on a historical drama, involving use of the tram.

Something set around the 1800's, when Portland was just a fledgling community.

It would have squatters, diggers, troopers, bushrangers, and all that period folderol.

I listened politely.


Then she pointed out to me a portion of the route where she wanted to have a woman in period costume getting raped by some drunken farmers, and I looked at her.

'beg pardon?'

She smiled reassuringly; 'It's OK...she's a prostitute.'


So...by inference she was saying she felt that it was OK for a prostitute to be raped, here, or in any other century.


Where do you start with people like this?

This...from a woman?  Old enough to know better?


BTW, this actually happened.  It is not a literary device I made up in my head...

it really happened.


I'm sorry it did.

I think this woman belong in a period well before the 1800's when there was no one here.


But a few kangaroos, & some territorial blacks.


I didn't ask her position on any other minorities...I can scarcely imagine.

Her view of the koori's.


But ship her back to the colonies in a time machine...



I'm sure she'd fit right in.    

“Pinnochio Heart.”

I have been trying to find a way to encapsulate the essence of my book, which should be finished by xmas.  I guess I'm going to need to describe it to people if I want anyone to read it.

 

So...what's it all about?  really? 

 

the thing is about the same size as salman rushdie's booker prize winning first effort, & not so easy to sum up in a few words...

 

But something happened over the weekend that comes pretty close to getting to the core theme...

 

I met this woman in town over the weekend.

At the market.

She had a dog.

 

I stopped & patted the dog, and we got talking.

About…some dog related matters, and some not.

 

After a little while, she looked straight at me, and she asked me if I would like to have dinner some time.   That’s pretty bold; I don’t get asked out often.

I never did.

 

I told her I don’t really date anymore…

& the silly woman asked me why.

I told her, it was because I used to have a problem with the truth.

 

Now I have a problem with lies.

She looked puzzled.  “What do you mean?”

 

So I told her a few years ago, I took some time off from being with women, because I couldn’t tell the truth.  I mean, I mostly could, but I noticed that lies tended to creep in, and I wasn’t sure why.  & in particular, I couldn’t understand why this happened mainly with woman. The lies just…crept in.  I didn’t ask for them…they simply arrived, like cops at a party.

All uninvited like.

While you’re trying to have fun.

 

So…I took a year off dating, so I could figure out what this lying crap was all about. 

I took that year…then another year, and now in my third year…

All of a sudden I find I cannot tell a lie. 

 

It has gone to the other extreme. 

The moment I am about to tell a lie…

I can see it about to happen…

& I get these awful heart palpitations.

I feel like I am going to vomit.

 

I told her this.

 

What the hell, I have nothing to lose.

By telling her the truth.

& it is good practice, telling a woman the truth, and observing what happens. 

 

She thought for a moment, and she said, ‘I still want to do it’.

We talked a little more, and she told me…she was a cop.

Of all things.

Can you believe that?

No.  Me neither.

& I also can’t believe she stuck around for any more of this.

& then I thought to myself, ‘What the fuck does a cop want with a man who can only tell the truth?”

Things must have changed radically since I left the force.

 

The thought of an honest cop made me nervous. 

Just when you get used to cops being one way…

I’m not sure I feel comfortable with them being something else entirely.

But then…I suppose change is possible. 

I was pretty sure I had changed…& I’m not really sure yet whether it is for the better or the worse.

But this is how you find out.

 

I said to her…  “Look.  I’m not joking.  I really can only tell the truth these days.

& it can be a REAL problem.” 

 

“Why?”  She asked.

I replied, “People say they want the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but let me tell you something; when it comes down to it…that is not true.

People cannot stand the whole truth.

They can’t handle it. 

I know from experience.

 

I live alone, with my disease that makes me tell the truth.

I don’t have any friends left, because I tell the truth.

It’s just the way it is.

 

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t mind.”

“You say you don’t mind now…” I assured her, “But you will. 

If not now…

Then further down the line.

 

Sooner or later…

You won’t handle the truth.

& I will upset you with the truth.

I observe myself to make sure I tell the truth, every time I open my mouth.

Every minute, every hour, every day…I make sure what I say is true.

& it causes problems.”

She said, “Do you mean THE truth, or YOUR truth?”

I said, “Is there a difference?  MY truth is the only truth.  It can only ever be the only truth.  The way I see the world is the only absolute truth, because no matter what I see, or what people tell me, it is still filtered through my own perception.  My own prejudices.  My own programming and conditioning.  I’m quite old now, and this is unlikely to change. 

In fact…there are some physicists who say reality is merely a projection of what we see inside our own consciousness.”

 

All of a sudden…I got a headache. 

If it’s not the heart playing up on me…

It’s my head.

 

I said, “I have to go, I think I’m getting a headache.”

She smiled. “So am I.”

 

So, she gave me her number. 

And asked me to think about it.

 

So I’m thinking about it.

 

Or rather…my heart is thinking about it.

 

I can only guess what the fuck my head is doing…

 

Looking for the absolute truth at the other end of an infinite & unpredictable universe, I guess…   

“The Real Deal”

“The Real Deal”

 

I want to marry Kim Deal.

 

That’s all I ever really wanted to do. 

The rest is just white noise.

Played on an invisible bass.

In an empty auditorium.

 

I think that is what is wrong with me- I live in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction…

because I can’t marry Kim Deal. 

We want most what we can’t have…& in a way , we, all of us, the vast army of human beings who want to marry Kim Deal…

We have this emptiness inside, & we try to fill it with all sorts of things…

That are not Kim Deal. 

 

Drugs, alcohol, possessions…art…

 

All to kill the pain of not being with Kim Deal.

 

And it just doesn’t work. 

 

One day I will die, and I will wake up, & get to do it all over again.

The Buddhists believe…when we die, if we didn’t marry Kim Deal, we are reborn, and we can try to do it all over again.

 

Each time, inching a little closer to tying the knot with the bass player for the Pixies.

 

We keep coming back, & we keep trying to marry Kim Deal.

Again and again…

 

It never ends…

This endless cycle.

 

Until we finally wed Kim Deal.

        

& then…everything is OK again.

 

We come full circle…

 

& it all makes sense.  

A Happy Accident

This gorgeous creature just happened to fly into my frame as I was shooting the ocean.

I love a happy accident.


I was on a friends wall the other day, and she posted something about her daughter getting into film school.  She was very proud, and she had every right to be.


She is a hard working single mum, and a great writer.

She inspires me, as do most single mums trying to make a go of it.


I thought I would post this quotation on her wall...

"God bless the single mum. These women who surrender the so called 'security' of a family that isn't working, in order to go it alone. This is a Sisyphean task. Single mums are heroes. Women who truly love their children, and who have the courage to say 'no way’ to a situation that is not healthy…all I can say is...this child in the adult body wants to say...to these brave single mums...indeed, ANY parent TRYING to build a healthy relationship with their children...Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. THANK YOU."

Now...I always thought this quotation was Terence McKenna.  Whenever I have referred to it over the years, I always attributed it to him.  There was his name, under the passage. 

  

So...I looked the quotation up on the internet last night, just to confirm my source.  

Nothing.  No record of him saying this.  

So...I went back over all my notes and all the files that contained this quotation, going right back to...god...five years ago at least.  And I found out who the author was.  

It was me.  

Now there is quite a bit wrong with this state of affairs...there are about 17 things wrong with it, top of the list being my memory is shot.  My notes are in disarray, I cannot verify my sources...blah blah blah...but there is one thing right with it.  

And that is at least one person thinks I am quotable.  

And that person is me.  

Michelle is a busy writer with her own work- she will never read this, and the quote will disappear in the sands of time like tears in rain.  

& other mixed metaphors...I love mixing it up!

But it is nice to know...that there are people like her in the world. 

I am glad I could thank her, and acknowledge her. 

& I am glad I could do it in words that even I was happy with.   

Life is good.  

Peace and gratitude...

J

"My Morning Shirt".

I love this shirt.  Spidey.  He's pretty sweet.

I don't wear it very often, & I have put on some weight since I last did, so it's...a little tight!

Anyway, I put it on this morning, because the weather was beautiful and mild, and I thought...it just feels right.  I felt in the right mood.  I even took a few pix to show my FB mates.


So...I head into town, and while I'm in there, I see this young lad with his mum, looking at me.  He seemed fascinated by my shirt.  His mum came over, and asked me where I got it, and of course, I don't remember.  It must have been years ago.  I really couldn't remember.


When I saw the look in the lads eyes, I took the shirt off, rolled it up, and gave it to him.

"I'm pretty clean, but if your mum wants to wash it...it's yours."


The kids was pretty happy.  Long time since I made anyone happy.


So...I don't think I will miss the shirt.

I have these pics, to remind me...


I always wanted to be the kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his own back.

Well now...


I am.  

A BIG FAT XMAS THANK YOU TO ALL MY MATES...

So here we go again; another year down the plughole.  As the Yueltide season takes us up in it's talon-like clutches, I like to think of all my mates here on FB.


I'm not going to bang on about it forever as I usually do...actually, no, I might.  I start out with good intentions to be brief and succinct- but I noticed things never go that way.   I guess when you have something to say- & I always have summat to say- then I guess it takes as long as it takes.

So here goes.  At the top of the hour, I just want to say that you people are extremely good to me.

Over the years, you have made me a better writer, & more importantly, a better man.


FB is actually a pretty handy place for a writer- in fact any artist, really- to thrash out ideas.  Run them by people.  The kind of stuff I write- basically personal development- is pretty heavy going.


Sometimes, it seems like I am dealing with the same stuff, over and over again.

& I would not challenge you on that.  It might seem that way.

See...when I was a kid, I was always in the remedial class.  I was a bit of a drop-kick.  & things haven't changed much; I am a slow coach for sure, and some ideas, no matter how obvious they are to others, can take a long time to sink in with me.

Maybe TOO long.


Stuff like how to be a good man.

However, I know it is important, to me and my own self actualization, but more importantly it is important to other human beings I share this patch of turf with.

So...I tend to thrash it all out here.  ALL of it.


I try to reconcile all sorts of conflicts I have going inside me- & they MUST be reconciled, not because they are an amusing diversion, but because if I do not...


they spill out onto other people.  This is known as projecting.

It's why we love war so much.  We don't feel good about ourselves, for a variety of reasons, and in order to assuage that eternal self dissatisfaction...we turn it outward by blasting the living shit out of others.  & it's NOT cool.

The most important conflict inside me (& there are MANY) is knowing what inside me is simply who I am, & integral to my own unique personality, and what is just junk I have accumulated on the hard drive over the years from bad programming and conditioning.

It's a balancing act; I want to get rid of rubbish that doesn't serve me anymore, but on the other hand...I don't want to throw the baby out with the bathwater.


& I am a bit of a baby; abuse tend to trap you in a perpetual state of arrested development, so in a way, I am spoonfeeding myself stuff that hopefully will help me mature as a person.


Including unloading bad habits...thoughts, patterns...stuff that goes around like a merry go round.

Terence McKenna said, 'Habit is circular behaviour', and he is dead right.  I often find the same stuff coming up here, and I deal with it, often in slightly different ways, until I get the lesson.

& when I do...I can move on.

I find this is a great place to thrash out some pretty heavy shit, so that I can at least go home and sit down at my work desk and deal with these matters in a much more civilised manner.

You see...by the time I have gone through them here, & you have had a chance to give me the feedback I sorely need...things are much clearer by the time I get to the book.

& they need to be.  The book MUST be tight and disciplined, if it is to have any credibility at all.

I can do my rough work here...so that I can sit and do the solid stuff at home.


However...I don't intend to sit on this merry go round forever.  I can see a time in the not too distant future, where I will be ready to get off the merry go round altogether, be an adult, and move on.


You help me do that; time and again.  You never get shitty with me (well, some of you do) but we seem to find a way to get through it friendship intact.



This is important.  I need for you to STOP...

& acknowledge how much you mean to me.

How much you DO for me, just by being here and being supportive.


I will never be able to repay you, but I guess, I can start by giving you this virtual cake!

& I suppose I could also make sure every day I think about how I can do better, and be better.

Not for you, of course; well, not entirely...because I feel somewhat accountable to my friends, and that is important...But for me.


Because let's face it; in the end...


we have to look ourselves in the mirror.


One day I will be someone you can be proud of.

I will achieve all my dreams; & that 'aint easy.


I can feel it; I am on the verge of finishing the book I was put here to write.


Your patience...helped me to write that book.

Make my dream come true.


I knew nothing about writing until I met you.


& you taught me...to PERSIST.


Keep hammering away, each and every day, until the dawn breaks through.

And all that work...starts to make sense.



& I hop off the merry go round...


& move forward into a better future.


So...

THANK YOU...


& wishing you peace love and happiness all your days,


from your loyal and faithful friend,


John Warwick Arden

 
      

The Reptile Clause...

Okay, my fine feathered friends, I think it might be high time we put a stop to this nonsense in the wedding vows, "To have and to hold, as long as you both shall live" & the "In sickness and in health" bullshit. 

FACT:  not everyone has a storybook marriage. 

In fact...I only know of one, and they have been together...I guess since 'I Love Lucy' had it's first run.  & they swear they have never had a cross word in that whole time.

I have to take their word for it. 


But for the rest of us living in the real world?

Let me put it this way.

Alcoholism is an sickness.

Sociopathy is a sickness. 

Borderline Personality Disorder is a sickness. 

Being a Cunt is a sickness.


Some sicknesses...just go a little bit too far.

I would say, when Mr. gets to the point where he can't control his drinking, & starts slapping the living jesus out of you and the little-uns...


You have my permission to rescind that to 'have and to hold' shit, cut your losses, pack the littleys in the nearest vehickle, and get the flock out of there. 


You can suspend indefinitely that irresponsible, archaic, anachronistic pseudo religious pie in the sky and doe eyed bullshit about 'long as you both shall live'...


because you might not live long if he can't control that rot.


& you NEED to think of the kids.

I know it's 'not so simple'.  I realise that. 


You think I don't know how 'difficult' life is??


Life is not black and white. 

But a woman or a child with a black eye...


Is a pretty straightforward warning sign.


So...I don't care what your vows said, I don't care what contract you signed...

If he is beating the living shit out of you, raping you, fucking up the kids lives hearts and minds...


then you get out of that war zone PRONTO and get you'all somewhere safe.


You don't have to put up with needless cruelty.

NO ONE does.


You might be doing him a favour; he might take the hint, and get some help.

You might just as well get those pigs fed and ready to fly. 

who knows; he might be the most vicious bastard who ever walked the earth, and immune to empathy or change. 


but as long as he can get as drunk as he likes, as sick as he likes and as vicious as he likes without consequence and with the blessing of the lord...


He will do nothing to change.


So do everyone a favour...you AND your loved ones...


burn that 'piece of paper', can the fairy tale talk...


& look for the love you and your kids deserve. 


there are plenty of medical facilities for him to avail himself of...


Let them have and hold him. 

In sickness, or in health...



as long as the law allows...



peace and love.