Memo Regarding The Prior Memo

MEMO REGARDING PRIOR MEMO

TO: All Recipients of This Memo
FROM: Me
RE: The Last Memo

This memo regards my Last Memo in which I instructed All Recipients to immediately evacuate their homes and Head Directly to Hell.

No detours will be tolerated save for the one mandated below.

The sole purpose of THIS Useless Memo is to follow up with a few questions:

1. Are you there yet?
2. Are you at least in the car?
3. Do you have your phone? I’d feel better since you won’t leave without it.
4. Do you have your wallet and something to drink? You might be getting thirsty soon.
5. Are you in possession of sufficient fuel to remove Yourself and Your Property from My Neighborhood?
6. [I don’t think you’ll be needing an overnight bag]
7. Lastly, are you heading in the Correct Direction?

You’re welcome to Head OVER to The Hotel California: I don’t THINK you’ll be checking back out, but if you do, the correct direction is

HEAD SOUTH AND NEVER STOP.

Thank you for at least being Able To Read (it’s terribly difficult to find Legible Help these days), but I can’t say it was a pleasure doing business with you.

In fact, the Only Place I’d entertain even a Terrible Whiff of a Suggestion of Repeat Business with You is if…..

MANY YEARS from now…..

BOTH downtrodden and down on our luck (or DESPERATELY horny; either works)……

We BOTH turn up looking Far Older Than Our Years, fully realized into
The Most Liver-Pickled Barflies of All Tine…..

In the Lobby Bar
at The Hotel California.

PEOPLE OF THE LIE: SCAMMERS, 2.0

PEOPLE OF THE LIE, 2.0

Why are you always watching me?
Why are you tracking my every move?

I feel your eyes on me constantly.
It’s reaching stalking levels.

It totally creeps me out.
You seem to be waiting for me to slip up,
Ready to pounce when I say…
What exactly?

Which words would send you into
Paroxysms of spleen and
Shivers of delight
At YOUR outrageously-good
And MY “Little Miss Fortune?”

At YOUR Hand, no less!
What varied forms of punishment
are YOU dreaming up for ME??


I possess no Currency,
I’m only lush with Penury.
So these efforts are a waste of time;
Surely for YOU, and
Most Definitely for ME!

JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!!
There’s no treasure to find or mine.
I’m not flush, so run not rush
To find and mine
Others of Greater Account;
That’s where YOUR damnable
Treasure is found!

#Wetoo Were Screwed

#Metoo and also #Youtoo
Have ONLY been screwed
By the perjured, false words
Sworn to under Oath and told
By non-victim, Amber Heard.

It makes me mad and pisses me hot
To know that valid victim claims
Have now been shot.

VAMPIRES

VAMPIRES

You are dead and fully retired
To me; you must not know,
Persisting as a vampire.

You came on very, very hot,
But you’re NOT.
You drained me of my energy
And leeched my blood from me
When I was in need of food;
Would’ve gladly offered YOU my blood.

I no longer see your reflection,
Its so grimy with deception.
There’s clearly something wrong with you:
The most confounding and astounding
Person that I never knew.
If I hadn’t seen your face,
I’d be certain that you’re fake.

You were a giant waste of time
And the pleasure wasn’t MINE.
You Immature moronic fool,
Why’d I waste a nanosecond on you?
The most passive person under the sun;
The lengths you’ll go are slim-to-none.

And though I know you personally,
You were never there for me;
No active participant,
Just an active follower.
These passive “likes” grow hollower & hollower,
Such empty gestures make me scoff;
Why not just cut them off?!!

You didn’t do a single thing for me,
So If within the throes of misery
Or the throes of reverie,
Go ahead and Forget about me,
Cuz I’ve forgotten about you.

And next time, maybe grow some cojones,
Barely shadowed, Empty Phony.

BILE RISING

Thoughts of Sweetness make me feel Sick to My Stomach, Pained in My Heart, and Intolerably Dark today.

This combination is only Enhanced by the flood of Bile and Hatred currently Rising,

Resulting in these pesky digestion sounds I hear.

Though of course I haven’t eaten all day! I’m always forgetting to eat. My Empty Stomach makes it even Sicker.

Thank Goodness!

Rest Assured: I won’t be Happy until You’re Half as Miserable as I Am.

————————————————

Welcome to My Head once I perfected a “Thought-Stopping” Exercise I learned last year. I finally realized how/why I got Cancer twice by aged 45. And perhaps all that pain medicine was numbing more than physical pain?

Clear as Mud


You Claim you’re not the one to Blame;
I don’t Hear a word you Say.
Your Lies I’ve tracked all through the Mud,
Bound them to my back and such,
Then set about to blaze a path,
Search you out and hunt you down.
What lengths I’ll go to stretch the Truth,
And unconceal Answers from You.

(Thanks for the photo, @shrimp144 ).

Throwing Stones

You’re never happy, always mad.
You keep a long list of “My Bads.”
My flaws are labeled with great care.
The most egregious then are shared
With me and then my family.
You detailed them with blatant glee
While eating dinner at their house!
What made you “holier than thou?”
Did you think it wouldn’t matter
That these bombs caused family scatter?
Your view of me’s become so muddied;
Barbs and cuts have left me bloody.
Remember that your house is glass,
So I’d suggest your sorry ass
Leaves me and those I love alone
Or I, too, will start throwing stones.

(Thanks to @scottwebb for the photo)

Journal, 6/20; The Greatest Estrangement

I transcribed this verbatim from a journal I just discovered. I wrote these two entries a little over a year before I started my blog here. I think this older writing proves I’ve gained much ground in the areas of freedom, peace, and joy. I’m still confused, but believe all will be revealed…

6/27/20

Dear God:

I have to admit I don’t understand you anymore. I used to think I did, but I totally don’t anymore. What I can’t wrap myself around is why – when I loved you so much – you’d allow me to get so broken, ruined, and hopeless.

Where WERE you? And why didn’t you step in when everything in my life fell apart [over and over and over again]?

I know I have disappointed you. That I’m stuck in a prison I partially made. But I didn’t make it entirely on my own. If anyone knows this, it’s you. But now that I’m here, you’re going to judge me when I die and say I gave up on You and didn’t use the gifts you gave me?

Let me point out: I think it was you that left me first. I’m telling you how I really feel because you can take it and I obviously can’t. I can’t “take” much of anything anymore. The only thing I feel is pain. Just pain and only pain. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

I am the walking dead. No joy, no laughter, no hope, no faith, no anything. Certainly no charismatic “fruits of the spirit.” I’m dry and hollow from the inside out.

So does this mean I’m not a “real” Christian? Because it doesn’t feel like I’m one of your Chosen. Chosen by the devil for torture and suffering, maybe. But surely not chosen for “life and life abundant!”

6/30/20

I can’t get through more than 3 sentences of my letter from Saturday without feeling cowed. I’m hanging my head in shame. You are holy and sacred and righteous and true and you don’t deserve my accusations.

I guess I just really need to FEEL your love – and it seems I only feel pain. I realize I was the one who turned away [because you say it was me], but it’s getting hard to turn back. And I miss you! So very much! But I need to know the TRUE YOU and not someone’s interpretation of you. I know you say your word is all we need, but it can be vexing to read. It makes me feel that if I don’t understand parts of it, I’m not really yours.

These reformed theologians have me doubting my salvation every moment of every day. Do you still love me? Did you ever? Will you not choose me if I’m not written in your book of life? Even though you’ve always known me, would you abandon me over a technicality?

It doesn’t matter much because I can’t imagine a hell much worse than my life as it now is. I’m sure if I’m to spend eternity tortured by demons, it will be much worse, though. I’m sure I’ll be screaming in agony for all of eternity future.

The thing is: I don’t understand why you’d let anyone do that to me.

I know I’m selfish and ugly and evil, but I thought you saw my beauty? Was I wrong all this time? Or did you un-see it one day?

I’ve served you, repressed myself, lived in fear, and felt like a disappointment to you my whole life, and in response? Are you really going to allow my already-shredded soul to be ripped to shreds all over again, every day for forever?

The tears, the prayers

The tears?

The ones on my knees, when I was pleading with you to let the baby stay?

The prayers?

The relentless, always-in-pursuit-but-unable-to-escape guilt?

The kind I couldn’t exorcise, no matter how I tried?

The feeling like less than a slug for decades?

I think it was “dirty menstrual rags” you equated my beauty to?

The believing I had only to speak the words and have the faith of a child to make my dreams come to pass?

The dreams which never, EVER came to pass?

Even when I was a child (therefore having the “faith of a child”)?

If it was in your sovereign will for me?

Without ever telling me what your sovereign will for me was in the first place?

Well, it never did me an ounce of good.

So, thanks for that kindness, too.

If you’d been a plain old debased human, I would’ve cut you off years ago.

Then again, I happen to have a fondness for brokenness.

I don’t get all mad and wrathful trying to beat the sin out of the sinners you so brilliantly and beautifully designed.

So: your goodness and mercy never cease to let me down.

If you’re as omniscient as you claim, I’ll assume you picked up on the sarcasm in my last sentence.

If not: go ahead and insert dark, jaded, broken-down, angry, disappointed, soul-crushed sarcasm all throughout the fabric of my last 3 posts.

It’s intentional.

I think it’s obvious, but:

I’m pretty sure, if you even do exist, you stopped caring about what we humans had to say centuries ago.

We haven’t killed enough people in your name lately, so I guess you moved on to angrier people.

That was your mistake.

Because I’m probably the Angriest Bitch you’ll come across for a long time.

In fact, I’m so angry, if you had the guts to face me:

I’d probably kill you myself.

If you weren’t already dead.

[At least to me]

Sexual Molestation at Your Local Neighborhood K-Mart

“I frigging love this❣️ I don’t know why we insist on only using “lovely” and “lavish” language in poetry. Poetry should reflect life, an observation you and only you are equipped to make. So if I didn’t already say it: I love it!”

This was the comment I made on the poem Your Design by Kait King. I’m linking it, not because I have any exposure to offer Kait [she’s a professional, and I’m not], but because I obviously like what she wrote. I can guarantee you that if you like anything I’ve written, you’ll feel the taut determination of justice in this piece. It’s also important for you to read it for us to move forward. So please, 30 seconds:

https://kaitkingthewriter.blog/2021/11/15/your-design/

Okay, you’ve read it. I want to link a poem I wrote about a murdered child after binge-watching true crime videos on YouTube. Please do me the honor of reading it. I believe it honors predated children by shining a light on their predators. And again, it’s necessary to proceed with this.

https://comewordplaywithme.com/2021/09/23/a-child-cries-unheard/

I know: it’s not a light read. I didn’t know it at the time, but I’m starting to realize that my more imaginative writings have a way of amplifying my inner voice. I don’t know if that requires elaboration (which is a bad sign at this point), but I’ll try:

The week I wrote that poem, my first-ever (of 2) based on lyrical patterns in songs I particularly like, I was thinking a lot about the time I was “sexually molested” (I don’t even know the term for it anymore) as a 6-year-old in a K-Mart in Atlanta, Georgia.

Those were different times and I don’t blame my mom that this happened. She didn’t even know about it until I told her years later. It was during the summer, and every time we went to the store, my mom had to “struggle” all five of us “summer siblings” into an impossibly-small car. Seriously, there were no Tahoes in the ‘70s! I don’t even know how we got to the store in the first place, I just…don’t. I only know that as soon as the car officially came to a stop, children and adults had dispersed and were on their ways to their own favorite dark corners of the store.

Of course, I was the child who made a bee-line for the Toy Section…because that’s where the Barbies were. And I adored Barbie, Skipper, PJ, Ken, and their “Malibu” cousins. All I wanted whenever I had a birthday was a Barbie. And if I didn’t have enough birthday money saved, I’d buy barbies clothes instead. I had a large vinyl box that held all of my barbies and all of their clothes and accessories. I had a mental inventory of every single item in that box.

So I didn’t see the old man near the toy section until I was next to him, separated by an aisle that was about 3 feet high (I’m not very good with height and depth perception). I just remember looking (up?) to see an old (because he’s bald, like my Grandaddy), nice (because again, he looks like my Grandaddy, and Grandaddy loves me) Man standing there.

Who looked DOWN at me and said Come Here, Little Girl.”

He must need my help, because Grandaddy only ever tells me to do something in that mean kind of way if it’s an emergency. So he must need my help. And you’re not supposed to not mind your parents or grandparents, especially when you and your mommy and sister used to live with your grandparents. Since your Daddy didn’t live with you anymore.

Now you only know that your new Daddy Mike says it’s very important to mind grownups, and you’re a good girl. Maybe your older sister Stephanie isn’t, but you are.

So you go to help, and the nice old man tells you he has an emergency (good thing you listened!). He describes his emergency as this:

“I have a “pin” stuck in my [this is one thing I don’t remember: the term he used for it] __________,” but it really didn’t matter because he was busy demonstrating with what he was holding in his hand.

He said he needed me to help get the pin out.

I remember I sucked in my breath very quickly, because immediately I knew I was seeing something that I shouldn’t see.

And there wasn’t a “pin” in it, either.

That man, positioned right in front of the toy section, proceeded to shake his grown man’s penis in front of my little girl’s face. Why? Because he got a thrill from trying to crush the Innocence out of a

Little.

Tiny.

Baby.

Girl.

Well, guess what, Cocksucker (because I’m sure if you’re not dead, you’re professionally sucking cock in prison right now):

You’re a sick pedo fuck and you and the rest of your kind with your disgusting shriveled cocks can rot in your own level of hell for ten eternities, alone and with no one to keep you company but each other.

P.S. You didn’t succeed. I refused to let you steal my Innocence.

P.P.S. I know you sick pervs get off on reading shit like this, but as does Kait’s character in Your Design, I want to expose you for the cowardly, crude, contaminated criminal you are.

With The Back of My Hand:

Or, “A Hannibal Kind of Lust”

—————————

I love you so much that

I’d like to Eat You Alive.

And then wipe your blood off of my mouth

with the back of my hand

that still has

chunks of your hair and scalp

threaded through my fingers.

And later,

after I burp up your digestive juices,

I’ll sleep more soundly

than I ever have before.

—————————

Photo credit: Catalin Pop. Thank you!

Eat Shit and Die, Motherfucker

Is that the trash from the bottom of my shoe talking again?

I’ve tried and tried to scrape your fifth off, but I guess I’ll finally have to burn these shoes.

Then I’ll order a brand new pair

at the absolute highest price possible, and

cover them in the ashes from the burned pair

until they’re completely ruined, and then

I’ll burn that pair, too.

Eat shit and die, Motherfucker.

I’d hate you if I cared.

Tighten Up Your Game, Scammers!

Hello, Beloved Scammers in Scamville❣️

I’m starting to get a little worried about you. For one thing, one of you let drop you were “mirroring” me. Which I really appreciate since my father never did it, but all the same, I think deliberate deception and the loving desire to build another’s self-esteem are mutually exclusive intentions. And intentions still matter for most people, though I know you’re not conflicted by your own. No, you’re fully UNtroubled but the annoying, restraining influences of the superego.

Besides, only mental health professionals, mental health clients, and career manipulators know what mirroring is.

And you’re losing some other things in translation. Exhibit A: the ‘Asian guy from Austin’ who claimed to be “looking for other private hippies.” It just didn’t sound right, guys. I knew in my bones he was fake when he linked me the fake website for the fake university (in Austin, no less, where I myself when to school) where he’s a fake professor. You guys must’ve blown a wad on that debacle!

I imagine my reply to Your Bohemian Professor Imaginary confused you and made it difficult to “mirror” a response:

I kind of like the term “private hippies” and feel like it resonates with me. But from a linguistic perspective, I can’t tell if “private” means “mental” – as in having a “hippie” mindset. Or if hidden means “secret” – as in it exists in a tiny little rebellious corner of the hippy’s psyche???? If you can discern the difference and elucidate a cogent reply, I’ll be more comfortable you aren’t one of the scammers who have added so much chum to Internet waters lately. And if you can’t, I’ll make sure your whole operation implodes or succumbs to entropy, whichever is most appealing at the time.

Photo credit: Alessio Zaccaria