Can’t Wait

Elder man with depression

I can not wait.
( I will chase some bitter blues away by sharing the most rude item on my “bucket list” that my ADHD-Aspergian-whatever-the-heck brain can muster.)

I can not wait until the vain overseers of our plantation end up in their various nursing homes, unable to care for themselves in their old age. I don’t wish to see it.
Believing in what will come to pass, for at least a few, is satisfying enough. I’ll be more than generous enough to sweep a spot clean, on the floor of the box car, for them to take a seat next to me.

When the tight facelift finally collapses into surrender.
That costly “nip and tuckery” combined with swell designer suits and high heels. The one meant to fool us into “seeing” a younger face. Not that many can see it without chuckling, because the strained chicken skin of the neck underneath is practically clucking the truth.
When the echoes of their heels no longer sound importantly down the great halls where younger and more vital lawmakers and liars will prowl.
When there aren’t any more hearty ” hee haws” and cackles during expensive dinners. Nor compliments on “healthy tans” from vacation spots; eye winking lies told because someone’s alcoholism is now shamefully branded upon his red and mottled face; reminding the world of how yet another shameless drunk is considered better than any of us to have control over how our lives are to be “lived”.

When their soiled bedsheets are rudely yanked from under their frail or grossly obese bodies.
When they are left helpless, feeling more like a thing than the important official they were once considered.
When they are forced to accept the humiliation of living as a “nothing”.

But most of all, most importantly… the looks on their faces when their caregivers disappoint them in the fast vanishing and once guaranteed human blessings of empathy, tenderness and kindness.
When they struggle to utter words, while their heads involuntarily nod with palsy, as if answering unheard questions every second of each minute .
When they try pleading with a rough attendant to be more gentle and receive a snicker or angrily muttered command to “shut up” as response.
When they look wildly around for someone..(anyone!) report how deeply humiliated they were upon being the butt of a cruel joke between two caregivers -slick enough to stay well out of the reach of any cameras or recording devices. A cruel joke about their explosive lack of continence and worse, discussed in front of him or her while helpless on that bed. As if the notion of feelings were not much more than rumors.
And they never find any one to utter their grievances to and have anything come of it..

Despite a lifetime of spoiled expectations on how others should treat them, I can’t wait until the day they experience exposure to the societal nightmares that too many of them helped usher into this darkening and maddening world. At the very least, ignored.
Where chemical lobotomies have stripped nearly every mind, to highly varied degrees, clean of the “frivolous” emotions that long dead masters spent decades maneuvering into nonexistence. With incredible “mad scientist” schemes for efficiency and “purity” -sprung from their own ASD  riddled narcissism .
They may ignore the massive outcries of bewilderment, fear and pain flooding through inconceivable numbers of families, work places and every interpersonal relationship imaginable…and the screaming groans from collapsing bridges of civility…
And they may sneer and wag fingers with the harshest insults over people’s intelligence in the light of frightened resistance and growing panic of what’s becoming of us…
The horrid and sad truth is that there remain things a good number of them won’t easily miss sharing with Us .

Like not being heard for what their words say, but instead being ignored, treated maliciously or with great suspicion for assumptions created through broken neurological pathways.
Where the chance of being understood dies. Never mind being loved.
Where even best intentions and deeds are intermixed with the bad and imaginary.
Where there will be no choice but to remain silent-
For we , those of us missing (deactivated) the part of the brain which helped humans (over millions of years) register that other individual humans carry different likes or opinions….. will consider those who engage in such “clinically selfish” behaviors as threats to what they will come to know as a “perfectly ordered world”.
Lord knows, whether we lift our poor heads to acknowledge it or not, it is already well under way.

A pure and living Hell on Earth; where all will ache for compassion, warmth and respect without begging for it…but choose to ignore, abuse and mock others who have the “audacity” to expect receiving even the smallest same measure and matter in return.
A pure and living Hell on Earth where our self glorifying  “lords and ladies”
find themselves  weeping on cold nights..painfully aware of and suffering from the plight they dared let happen to us so carelessly. Too old to be of use, with no where  to run.
And so full of regret.. that they spend most of their days angrily confused as to why they had to be born in the first place.. if all Fate had waiting for them was to “live” with no more purpose than a toy or tool, a pet or a pig.
Like too many of us, worldwide, are feeling now…and are doomed to suffer soon.

photo by


Big brother electronic eye concept, technologies for the global surveillance, security of computer systems and networks

And for the saltier tongued appetite….

Big brother electronic eye concept, technologies for the global surveillance, security of computer systems and networks

The Promise of Glittering Specks

Wheat background

The Promise of Glittering Specks

glittering specks in chaff extrusions
are vomited out from the guts of
reaping machines of perfect vision and
many spit out bits of us
post threshing
lifeless and
light brown stalks stems and seeds

glittering specks cling to the
insides of chutes
escaping showers of shucks
eventually embedded back
into the soil where they came from
glittering specks will grow leafy and tall
bearing glittering seeds for the meal
meant to
nourish us back into being
Human again.

photo by felinda

poem by ramsy

Fluffy, Felicity and What Big Sisters Do

Considered a ‘black’ woman as I am (I’m a mix of multiple ethnicities) and deemed “ASD” as I am, I would love to believe that I’m free to express my thoughts in this country without some “master of old” telling me to shut up and sit down.

But having had a few of my posts go “missing” and an account suspended , I have been absolutely reminded of where my place is. Despite this talk of “free and equal rights” for women, minorities and the developmentally disabled being proclaimed ever so loudly and constantly by The System.

All others may enjoy this alleged “generosity” but I remain reminded.
Considering that The System is in fact, the master of old anyway, I have lived long enough to suffer this ridiculous irony with a grain of salt. There are more important things to tend to.

I will try to share a short hypothetical story that I’ve cobbled together.
With no insults. No blatant TOS infractions and nothing that can even be dreamnt of as being “illegal”. It is meant to simplify a very important fact. A fact which is of , or can be of, urgent consideration.

Because there will be a massive amount of disabled adults in the near future…our children…
and it is our RESPONSIBILITY to make sure they are not in the care of entities who will hinder, enslave or destroy them. That’s all.’s my story; it requires the reader to imagine him/herself in it.
Imagine, please, that you are a young child. It’s passed your bedtime and you happen to be standing by a doorway to the kitchen where your parents are engaged in a low but urgent discussion. Obviously, they are trying to come to an agreement as to how to take your little sister’s cat to the vet to get euthanized without her knowing.
They can’t see you, but you can hear them. Your little sister is snoring sweetly in the bedroom you just left.

Mom: “She’ll be upset.”
Dad: ” Don’t you think I know this? Of course she is. This is why I came up with this story you seem reluctant to tell.”
Mom: “But she’ll know, Honey. I mean, she knows you and your whole family hates cats anyway and she will know you had it killed.”
Dad; “Not if you keep smiling and remain calm. It’s simple. We need to stay on the same page
for at least a couple of years until she’s older and we can tell her the truth…if she even brings it up. Okay?”
Mom: (sigh) “I guess so…”
Dad: “That’s my girl. Come on..let me hear what you’re going to say.”
Mom: ” I’m going to say…..’Sweetheart, remember that family we adopted Fluffy from? Well,
they just had a new litter and they asked if we can bring her back for a visit to meet her new brothers and sisters. Isn’t that sweet, Honey? Me and Daddy know you are absolutely, without a doubt one of the most understanding little girls we’ve ever known. Selfishness has never been a problem with you and neither have we ever worried about you.
Now, we can’t say for sure when she will come back home, but I promise that we’ll go back to get her if you can be a good girl and wait at least a month. So she can at least have time to make some memories, okay? That’s my girl.’ “
Dad: “Perfect. She won’t suspect a thing if you say it like that.”

You hear Dad give Mom a quick smooch and you hurry back to your bed before they can get up from the table. You don’t think of it too much as you go back to sleep. After all, your sister is only five years old..and your parents, as far as you’re concerned, have ….Best Intentions.
Fast forward twenty years, please. You’re coming back from vacation and returning home.
You called on your aunt (Mom or Dad’s sister) to housesit for you. The most important chore was feeding and looking after your cat Felicity. But as you wander through the house, there isn’t the familiar purring and rushing in that Felicity usually does after you come home. You call your aunt and you ask where Felicity is. The conversation which follows-

Aunt: “Hi Honey, what’s up?”
You: “Um, hello Auntie…I just got in and I don’t see Felicity anywhere. Do you know if she found a new hiding spot or…..?”
Aunt: (merry and light chuckle) “Oh for goodness sake, I’m sorry, I totally forgot to tell you.
You know that nursing home I work for? Well, a new resident arrived who was having a hard time adjusting to a strange place.
I, knowing you’re one of the most absolutely, without a doubt one of the most understanding
women I’ve ever known, took her there. Selfishness has never been a problem with you and , heck, no one has ever had to worry about you being selfish.
I decided they could borrow Felicity for a little while, just until the resident’s settled in more comfortably. I promise that I’ll get her back to you as soon as possible..that is ,if you won’t mind. Honey. I only ask for a month, just enough time for her to get a new cat of her own…”

Now, back to us, Reader.

The following is a documented lie (found in The Kissinger Report) that Henry Kissinger suggested that officials tell in order to
tell citizens…….covering up population controls. Population controls that were obviously not in the “right” because if they were, there wouldn’t have been such deception.

Kissinger would “be” your parents.

Fast forward a couple of decades, and that same body of a lie is written into
The United Nations “Declaration of Rights for the Disabled” and written into
a document from The World Health Organization concerning disabled individuals.
These organizations would “be” your Aunt.


The cats are subjects  surrounded by mysterious circumstances and one may superimpose
the subject of our children and their mental disabilities on top.

We know how Fluffy ended, but we’re in the dark about where Felicity went.

My point? That you need to know the history of the words which have found their way into
laws that will affect our children as disabled adults, under seemingly charitable and “kind”

Though we are kept in the dark, the VERY least right you have…I strongly believe…is to figure out if blatant (if not sarcastic) deception is occurring, how it is and why.
It is information that no one will inform you of and information I have been literally stopped from posting.

I believe you should have the knowledge given to you to decide if it is important enough to YOU and your children.

After all….that’s what big sisters do.

Playing with YOUR Son

African American mom and her son.

The message of a “village” raising our children is no longer limited to being an insulting suggestion.
It is now an incentivized expectation and we are no longer asked permission for strangers to  invade our private lives to usurp control of our children’s upbringing.


As helpless as various groups of us feel, we are not hopeless. Not yet.

I’m an ASD labeled adult woman. I raised and am raising boys who obviously share a great deal of the issues and habits I myself went through as a young child.
I picked up quite a few tips on raising boys over the passed thirty years. All the way back to where the notion of boys behaviors being seen as “mental illness” brought snickers and outright hoots of laughter from the crowd. Unfortunately, now, the crowd has been manipulated into a complete and unfortunate twisted mindset.
No tip will work all of the time. This is why one needs to practice and practice often.
Just as The System has taken slow and deliberate steps over the course of decades to see our children are herded and groomed into manageable groups as adults …we too must take slow and deliberate steps to keep them.

I will share one of the things I came upon through the years.
Go buy some Legos. Tinker toys. Lincoln logs. Any toy that needs to be assembled-buy it. If he already has toys like these, I still suggest you purchasing your own set to bring into play.
One wouldn’t want to risk upsetting whatever story may be in process within his kingdom that you’re not aware of, if you think borrowing an existing set would be an easier option.
(We’re going for curious gazes. There’s no need to risk evoking hostile glares over how Mom relocated the kingdom of “Ooptie’ with the citizen “oopties” now doomed for eternity.)

Come home and without saying anything to your boy, start unpacking and playing with your new goodies.
Don’t invite him, don’t announce this “great surprise” you have for you both to enjoy…let him find you.
You may not think he’s paying attention, but he will be.

Standing off to the side or eyeballing the colorful contents, mildly perplexed over what Mommy (or Daddy) is up to, your darling’s attention may be piqued to some degree.

Rustle the bags a bit more while unpacking, whistle a tune..make as much extra noise while setting yourself up to play without making it obvious that you’re trying to get his attention..again.

You’d be tickled over just how savvy little guys truly are.
If he has approached the table or spot on the floor where you’ve camped, I will suggest a little bit of playing pretend. As excited as you may be ( if this is the first glimmer of hope you’ve had interaction wise), you should contain the excitement and play it cool.
Play it to the tune of needing his help or pretending to be “confused” by the heap of toys you bought for “yourself”. Even if he’s three years old and has never worked a set of blocks or seen a ball of clay before.

You’d be charmed and surprised how “knowledgeable” a young soul comes into this world knowing he ‘is’.

You may hear excitement you thought you would never hear. The quiet burbling of fantastic imaginative stories may come trickling out from those simple minutes. If it does, you’ll know how to run with it. If it doesn’t, there is a helping heaping of Tomorrows you were born having access to.

Instead of trying to wrangle our way into their world, we need to create a room from their world under as cool and unstressed ways as possible. We need to remain calm and act as natural as is possible while we create situations.

Situations where they are allowed to feel they’re in control in a positive way-where they can offer “advice” and their chests can swell with having taken initiative to show Mommy and/or Daddy what they can do and what how helpful they can be.
Without feeling watched. Analyzed. Scrutinized.

Forced to meet deadlines or measure up to some mysterious standard which is still unproven or presented to us from “on high’.

To this day I can remember how hot my face would get and how desperately anxious I would get from my parents waiting for my responses.

For, you see, I didn’t crow and giggle in delight opening gifts that were given. Inside, I could be trembling with happiness but my external reactions were labeled as being “ungrateful” or worse as a “spoiled brat who had no appreciation for what she had”.

I didn’t run after balls that were thrown and shied away from playing with other children-for this I was called “lazy” and (even at a young age of four) a “brat who thought she was better than everyone else.”
Many times I would feel complete opposite emotions to what I was accused of being and doing, but as many of you may know, there is a sort of unexplained prison that comes built many a sensitive ASD child’s psyche. The more I was watched and could feel the weight of the wait and eventual disappointment, the more it encouraged me to hide myself even further away-away from the constant reminders of how “broken” I was.

This was just one key to that prison that I’ve presented to you.
It may not work for every child. It is better than turning to a system that has only invested decades of time and money to surveil, monitor and herd our children like animals.
The younger , the better.
The more consistent you can be, the better.
The more variety of toys and projects you can fit into your days with your child, the better.

If you can afford a tattoo or nights out, you can most certainly invest in a video game console to play games WITH him, not set in front of him and walk away. There are plenty of puzzle video games and bloodless games that he can walk in and “find” you playing on your own. Never mind how high on the “cool” charts you will skyrocket to when your five year old sees Mommy playing.
Start gaming with him young enough and it will be many joyful years you’ve shared before he realizes your gaming skills aren’t any better than a cabbage. The point is to start.

The point is for YOU to be the one he is introduced to, not some faceless and heartless System.
If you are blessed, like I was, the role playing of being a parent “in need of help and guidance” will naturally evolve into expected play dates and surprising hours of chatter you may have only dreamed about since the days you were presented with the fear of a “vanishing” child.
The more confidence you work up to tune out the noisy babble of outside “experts” the better you’ll become to flex your natural superiority as your child’s truest Expert.
Your child’s truest and LOVING expert.
As it should be.

Side tip: eye make up to pronounce the eyes and smiling lips are very effective attention getters for toddlers. It’s just you and he at one is trying to turn you into a clown or force uncomfortable habits into your routine if you’re more of a natural beauty. It’s just a very small practice that’s been known to entice the attentions of babies who are constantly on the look out for visually stimulating images; like clowns, picture book characters and the toys they play with.
It’s all about the play time-no different than theater stage play or the many costume parties you will enjoy planning together in the future.

photo By digitalskillet1

Touching W.O.W Memorials Tribute by Avendesora

Beautiful lilies on dark background with space for text. Funeral flowers

You’re going to craft a few silken kerchiefs for this.

It’s a Tribute to World of Warcraft Memorials
poignantly composed by Avendesora of Thunderhorn.

In a virtual society where the darkness can be just as black and deep as one can imagine, creations like this practically explode with beauty and brilliance in contrast.
Within a virtual vehicle where hideous trolls with more money than decency waste no time and spare no souls wrecking psychological havoc …

…creations such as this  remind us how caring we were meant to be, how considerate we can be and how humane we will become once again.
Wherever and in spite of Whatever.


photo By New Africa

%d bloggers like this: