All We Need

(It’s a long one. I thank you very much ahead of time. Grab a drink, a smoke..have a seat)

If I were to pretend that not a single thing more could ever come out of these past few years of study, I’m still left with resolutions and answers for the most painful issues of my entire life. Mercies, which I was convinced would remain impossible.

Three things..

The first twenty years of adulthood= a vast amount of drinking, depression and high degrees of sassy assed and uncalled for tempers. The last twenty years= I was blessed with a preference to take complete and eventual responsibility for my own actions-aided mightily with the cessation of my drinking.

However, these three things I’m going to write about had their  rot gut seeds planted into a ground which I had nothing to do with.


The first issue I’ll make brief, because the total of human beings it surely applies to, measures in the “Whew!” numbers. The issue of my beyond typical childhood behaviors, odd lapses in basic functions and whatever made me a frequent target at home and school.  Psycho megalomaniacs screwing with human DNA=pretty much covers it. I no longer feel the need to wonder about or regret my “conditions”.


The next issue involved the yearning and working for companionship, mostly in my young adult years. The seeking of it and the blasted being knocked back time after time, by different men and all including eerily identical reasons.

The time frame is from my best and younger years. When I was a rather flat chested, slender and not-bad-looking-snub-nosed-half breed. The last 20 years don’t count.

(Unlike a growing and troubling number of my middle-aged female peers, I find it a rather rude thing to expect and demand any male attentions, just because I happen to stand and breathe. If this society still resembled a land of choice, free from hell spawned harassments..it is every man and woman’s divine right to secure the best and most fetching mate they can manage and desire. I’m rock solid in my confidences. However, to insist that a 200 and (no comment) pound old lady, with grey whiskers poking merrily out from her expanded chin expects the same enthusiasms as a beautiful, less jaded and adorable younger nymph, I’m “sorry”, those aren’t real world stats. At all. And, again, rude as Hell.)

Time after time, I was being doubted, suspected and accused of “playing around” and of being “patronizing”. If it didn’t eventually manifest itself as anger, then it turned into “tests” to determine my sincerity. Tests which I could never understand until I grew a bit older and kept being forced to defend against..and lose each time.

Each time the words “I thought you girls wanted”, “you women keep saying” and whatever else I was being presented with, they were things I’d ever heard said in media or, sadly, actually coming from a few females who absorbed this superficial garbage as their persona.

It was never Me.

Yet, I found myself thrown in the mix and fighting this assumption each time I had the rare opportunity to find my exact delight of a ‘perfect’ man. The most frustrating thing, as far as those years scratching my head goes, was that my preference was also the very same type which other women, nice looking gals and sane women ,whom I respected , would be seeking, bemoaning the scarcity of and/or wanting to marry.

 It may sound like a trivial matter but it was not. Many people know exactly how much pain and frustration can be involved. When you keep reaching, keep working on yourself, keep hoping and refusing to lose hope. And then, you just grow old..having lost a lifelong fight, when your hands were tied behind your back.


Oh, I eventually got it. The second time (first time I skimmed and dismissed in my early 20s) I finally read and understood what this specific section of Bilderberg garbage meant. First paragraph need only apply-the highlight was for another post.

This is where I started studying in earnest. It led to the evidence which lies in eighty plus years of monopolistic control of the film industry and it’s jam packed into decades of countless songs.

The promise of a sledgehammer. The intention to grind and decimate. The wicked and truly unbelievable planned abuses..of the single most needed and sought after reward that a miserable young girl could have ever fought for in her “nothing” sort of life. When one truly faces just how much it’s infected every corner of our lives..it made it damned near impossible to get, and keep, any words in at all.

I’m a fortunate woman to have met “my man” along the way. From years of earlier and extensive travel, friendships, prospects and such. Also having met him as someone’s father, husband or neighbor, I’m proud to say that he remained superior to any exaggerated and ignorant “substitutes’ which Massa insisted on keeping in front of our faces. Although the damages have overflowed to heavily affect and destroy three back-to-back generations to the tunes of broken marriages, continual misunderstandings and the real life horror of our bio chemical manipulations. Some have referred to this as an ongoing “war” between man and woman..I simply consider it as the deepest wound in the heart of this world..aside from the ripping apart of the mother-child bond.


The third blessing will come as a shock to even those who know me best. It involves Brigitte.

Having never used her name before, she’s the woman I referred to as being the woman who brought an amazing amount of pain to my youngest years. My German mother, my adoptive mother and my severely alcoholic mother. The woman who laughed at and took delight in reminding me of my “retardation” and having been “dumped like a bag of trash” at birth. The woman who tricked her family into believing she was pregnant with me but, at age seven, let everyone know the truth and just how very much she regretted ever adopting me at all. So forth and so on..

Now, how I think of her on this very day..after coming to grips with the scope of this “population program”, the actions and propaganda which have saturated this world regarding the purposeful ruination and only heaven can fully know what else besides and for how long.

I now think of her, tenderly and soberly, as a very poor young girl who was born in 1942 in Idar Oberstein Germany. A young girl who helped raise ten other siblings and still went to work as a silversmith’s apprentice at 15.

Knowing what one knows about the intolerance and disgust which the wealthiest elite (with the loyal dedication of men of science) have felt against the multiple breeding of “lower” human beings, one can’t help but wonder if her sterility weren’t something a bit more sinister than “unlucky” breaks. I’m aware there was a national campaign to uplift the native population at the time, but I didn’t study enough to know whether it survived in post war Germany when Brigitte came of age. Then again, it doesn’t matter anyway.


She has, surprisingly even to myself, become the one human being whom I shed the most tears for these days-her and the children from both generations of my own children.

 I recall her final years. The hours she would sit and stare out of windows, with her cigarette dangling from between her long nails and with tears constantly in her eyes. The moments she would scream and point outside to a tree where she saw heads hanging from it, begging me or Papa to agree that we saw them as well. Of course, we never did. It wasn’t that sort of neighborhood, you know? (small smile).

I can still remember the force with which she would slam a brush into my scalp or twist my arms, often yelling about what a “this” I was or what a nasty “that” I’d always be. With that constant refrain, which would make her cry more, about not having her own baby. A finer baby, a better behaved baby. A fantasy of a child who would have deserved the beautiful clothes she dressed me in (long before the days I was dressed in boys clothes) and a child who would never have been such an “animal”. I suspect this is how I developed that whole “hating children” thing, on top of Media’s “sly” and persistent digs and pot shots.

Although it all deteriorated into a chaotic and final ending (she killed herself in ’85), these days, I’m focusing on the occasional and youngest years where I do remember sharing laughs with the woman.

As I played my kiddie organ next to her big one, filling in my coloring books with her and sitting on the stool with my chubby little legs swinging, as she handed me a spoonful of batter..in the long gone days when she was able to cook the perfect meals.. before she no longer could bother.

I’m not going to theorize or analyze whatever or whichever things affected her. I do know, however, that I’ve seen “her” in the households of many more families than I would have or could have imagined.

Whether it be via the monsters who take delight in our women’s deteriorating mental conditions or the well heeled kiss asses who have allowed all of this mayhem and mess to tear us apart for some “better good” fantasy and “by all painful means” necessary bullshit..on my honor, or what remains, what’s in the past truly doesn’t matter anymore. It can’t.

Considering how blessed I was to avoid any number of “pitfalls” over five decades in this giant laboratory of hellions and high monied hooligans, my true joy and faith rests on the knowledge that we will right whatever wrongs have been done us for the future generations-the ONLY ones who should matter-by gaining our rightful freedoms as human beings one final and for ever time. It’s something I keep in clearest focus as I creatively imagine my being able to time travel back to hold Brigitte (as I’m now older than she ever made it to), rock her and soothe away her tears..and tell her

Shh, Honey..it’s okay, you’ll see.” or to assure her how very much I understand how she could only do her heartbroken best.. only so far in this society.


I say that we can right these wrongs..

By this “forgiveness” I keep writing about.

By ditching the idiot facades we’ve held onto, which made it much too easy for another species of “human beings” to clown us…because they are the ones who created and sewed those idiot facades straight onto our very skins. And gave scant choice in whether we wore them or not.

By dropping this self-centered and crybaby focus on piddly assed personal “plights”..as if the world is supposed to come to a screeching halt upon the complaint of each and every single one.

(Pff..as if it hasn’t had some major and jolting brakes applied already)

Not that I’ve any major draw (and thank you very much to the dear few who did stop by. Enemies included) but I do take heart in my personal experience. They are examples of resolutions to pains which I thought I’d carry to my grave, like the ones I know that millions of us are suffering each day.

Instead of being further plagued by “horrific” and “disappointing” revelations..they blossomed into little miracles instead.

Healing ones, satisfying ones..that’s all that’s needed.

Whether “they” keep on with their maniacal marches or not, if we can free ourselves from our individual ills, memories and burdens by simply acknowledging the truth of what they did to us..release the guilt, the false accusations and shed the foul self esteems they drowned us in..that’s all we need.

That’s all. Good night.

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