My Cousin Didn’t Commit Suicide

Allen died a year ago, tonight.

Wanda reported he died around 11:50pm, she thinks — and she was in Virginia at around 2am maybe when she got the call. She knows nothing of the details

I told her 6 “or 7 steps” and left it at that. No Halloween or kids that night. Married, as Jessica Marié. Aunt Wanda agrees.  Wanda is also on the hunt for a new man for her “custard stand”.

Jamie at 23

Jamie, you would have turned 23 yesterday. I had shots of tequila on my mind the night before, thinking of you and your daddy. He went down to the beach last night to spend time alone with you.

I don’t know my daddy’s birthday and thus is just once a year I mourn.

I think about how different everything would be. You know she wanted to split you kids up leaving you to your daddy, and they divorced after your baby sister was born eventually anyway. I think they’d divorced if you’d lived too, but I fear you’d have both the burden of us if they were your fault, splitting kids not to be as obvious.

Oh Jamie. What I do think is that I heard there will be 144,000 men who were chaste virgins reign as kings with Christ for a grand thousand years before you’d return daddy’s princess.

By the time your heart loves honor will be.

Jamie, how I worry for your little sister.

On a happy note — how I love my husband.

He lays bare butt and beautiful. I can’t seem to stop looking at him, and I love him for so much more.

Dear Internet Friends

This is the diary to begin the end.

March 2016

Had Darryl not added me to his insurance they would likely have released me and secondly there would be no bill.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

Darryl had to leave early this morning for the airport — travel on Sunday, and six weeks straight of travel all week. We’ll miss the memorial together.

We’re being swamped by medical bills from them 5150-5250’ing me. I need to get it all sorted, scanned, and posted.

Might as well mime a fight. I feared the thought of showing up at Paradise Valley to protest the out of network 5150 bill, but to find myself taken in again.

March 30, 2016

Nearly through the month. One more day. If only catching up here meant filling in a few days

No. This is the diary to begin the end.

January brought 2 5150’s. Sarah, the canadian neighbor with her darling Stella said she felt threatened. I had been at the ocean and left to walk back up the street to go to the burger joint, The Promiscuous Fork, and tell Darryl to meet me there. He was almost home, returning from Los Angeles, and though I didn’t know, he actually had stopped just up the street at El Pescador to bring home dinner.

From across the street the cops see me and come detain me. I’m 5150’ed without being identified and taken away.

I was taken to Scripp’s Mercy where I was drugged an spent the week.

In the course of waiting I became friends with two female patients. My roommate who slept all day and stayed up all night keeping from sleep all week. That I sleep wasn’t their priority so I was left waiting all night long in the hallway so as not to disturb her. Where is fair in that?

I was finally released to spend the weekend with Darryl. As usual we had a fight before even leaving the parking lot. Cops left me a free woman.

That Sunday I wanted to go to Cracker Barrel on the border for breakfast (practically speaking it’d be brunch). Darryl drove but took me to Paradise Valley instead saying “if I don’t someone is going to call the police”. Molly.com

My instincts told me not to go in. From the parking lot I tried quickly & casually to reason with Darryl. I called Aunt Kristina, Sister La’el, and she understood but gave me the courage to make the choice to go in. Inside we made it from the ER room into the back to be seen. They had me in a corner room, had me undress, but waiting to be seen.

At Scripp’s a man, a known sexual predator, twice sexually assaulted my friend. He had been harassing me, but unlike her I was adept at dodging his physicality.

I didn’t want to sit waiting.

I redressed and went to leave. Walking through the lobby again and striding to the doors, I said “Don’t shoot me in the back.” pointing over my shoulder at the point.

They drugged me.

I no longer remember the names of the women.

I can’t report the assault.

I was released February 16th.

From Paradise Valley I was held in the ICU where they finally could verify insurance and put me into their system.

Had Darryl not added me to his insurance they would likely have released me and secondly there would be no bill.

As it is Paradise Valley was out of network. It’s $25,000+ later, out of pocket.

They kicked me from PV to API, Alvarado Parkway Institute because the hospital guy said it was too expensive.

I begged him to leave me at Paradise Valley for the ONE MORE NIGHT. I was to be RELEASED the next day.

They moved me that night where despite still being without sleep I was kept up waiting for a bed.

It was two weeks later I was released.

At API I was first held in the area for violent patients where I was sexually assaulted by another patient.

I was in a room with two other girls and it was freezing. I feared sleeping for having been assaulted already.

I was moved again, this time to a small area for the elderly.

Then I was moved to a different ward, the one for geriatric care though most of the people were a mix of ages.

Cesar Benitez, the doctor assigned to me was, as usual, evil. He took no time with me, and pursued the 5250 as well as the Reis to drug me against my will.

Twice my mother flew out to defend me but I lost the court’s cases and somehow knew that would be that would go. God’s will be done.

Cannabis for Kids with Autism

Cannabis for Kids with Autism

Last night I met with Phil Ohme a UX’er from Intuit and learned his two sons are both autistic. I hold him about cannabis for kids and autism. It brought me to the conclusion: cannabis is like wine. Where it is to be used for pleasure like the way wine brings happiness to ones heart. I was influenced by two glasses of Malbec to find the clarity. You wouldn’t drink red wine on waking or working, would you?

April 30, 2016

Today I have the aspiration that life begins anew ahead. To work and enjoy life like I did when I was younger.

Darryl, and with the help of my mom’s supplements, have brought me back to me.

Soon we shall see, so exciting to once again look ahead in excitement.

The brink! Just on the brink!

Methylated Folate

Since getting out this past series I’ve come to grasp the strangeness of having self-diagnosed the MTHFR gene mutation — or at least its assumed mom passed hers on to us — in me. It was 2011 when I posted about it, much like the hyperthymia.

Now I finally really have begun to use this knowledge to effect: I’ve been taking L-5-MTHf, methylated folate, to find a serene sense of well being this week.

Jehovah’s Witnesses and Child Abuse—Is there a problem?

News reports claim that the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, the official name for the organization that governs the Jehovah’s Witnesses worldwide, has been engaged in covering up child abuse within the religion on a massive scale.

But are these reports justified? Is this a case of an innocent religion being unfairly maligned because of the actions of one or two bad apples in their ranks? How many victims are there? Do the Governing Body know about these issues? What’s really going in the multiple courtroom cases that Watchtower has been fighting across the world?

Jehovah’s Witnesses and Child Abuse—Is there a problem?  is a painstakingly researched documentary that draws together evidence from sources spanning the past twenty five years…

Continue reading “Jehovah’s Witnesses and Child Abuse—Is there a problem?”

Daydreams of God

I left my McDreamy in bed as I’d had a horrid nights sleep myself. We had watch “Spy Hard” and my active brain is in the mode of being the God daughter, as it were.

I once toyed with the idea of Darryl as God on earth but he rejected the notion. One day He’ll live here and I just imagine what he’ll be like. He’d be a lot like my husband.

Beauty begins the moment you decide to be yourself. — Coco Chanel

Beauty begins the moment you decide to be yourself. — Coco Chanel

Trying desperately to play it cool like some school girl knowing she’s got the night of her dreams planned ahead of the last day of Jacob’s last flare.

Dear God, she begins as sincerely as she is clear…

 

11:36 am 3 days later, yeah, I’m still here…………..

 

February 26, 2016 Moving day 2016 II

Govi — Garden of Eden J’ovi Jamié

Legacy Podcast XV #74 Playing.

“There is always hope.” — Banksy 🏹🎈💔

 

Dear Daisy, your dream guy is getting out of the drone business. For this he seems less de-pressed. I pressed him again about his fit n’ readiness —fore!— love.   He is ready. Connect.

 

Don’t shoot the messenger. Let them do the walkin’ through the yellow pagers — Goldfinchers Harley Grey of …. Hillcrest. 2.26.16

Almost Famous Mona Lisa’s and Mad Hatter’s

“Now you know all my secrets. You’ve got me.”

Photo Bomb

And now I know
Spanish Harlem are not just pretty words to say
I thought I knew
But now I know that rose trees never grow
In New York City

Until you’ve seen this trash can dream come true
You stand at the edge while people run you through
And I thank the Lord
There’s people out there like you
I thank the Lord there’s people out there like you

While Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters
Sons of bankers, sons of lawyers
Turn around and say good morning to the night
For unless they see the sky
But they can’t and that is why
They know not if it’s dark outside or light

This Broadway’s got

It’s got a lot of songs to sing
If I knew the tunes I might join in
I’ll go my way alone
Grow my own, my own seeds shall be sown, in New York City

 

Subway’s no way for a good man to go down
Rich man can ride and the hobo he can drown
And I thank the Lord for the people I have found
I thank the Lord for the people I have found…

—Elton John

Almost Famous Script

              All right, you chipmunks. Ready to sing your song?

            - I’ll say we are! - Let's sing it now...

            You wanna be Atticus Finch. Good.

            - I like him. - Why?

            - He's honest. - Yes.

            - He stands up for the right thing. - Yes.

            - And he's a good father. - He is.

            - Did it all by himself. - Did what all by himself?

            - Raised his kids. - He didn't raise them by himself!.

            Who was the woman that came to their house every day?

            - Calpurnia. - Calpurnia. He remembered.

            - And what about Boo? - What about Boo?

            Boo Radley is the most interesting character in To Kill a Mockingbird.

            Boo Radley is the most interesting character in To Kill a Mockingbird.

            Mom, tell me more about Livia.

Watchtower Society Building Beth’el on Toxic Dump

Fullscreen_12_12_15__7_01_AM-Watchtower-Toxic-Society

Toxins cause leukemia, at least according to Mr. Rob0t,” Angela warns the volunteers working for ‘the Society’ at their new headquarters in upstate New York. Concerns are that while the Watchtower Society may be able to protect their vested interests in the property and it’s financial value, they cannot protect their volunteers from exposure to the toxic chemicals.

This is the story of how Brooklyn “Beth’el” became “Warwick“.

The Watchtower Bible and Tract Society began as simple American religion financed by William Henry Conley (11 June 1840 – 25 July 1897). William was trained by his uncle in the printing business for ten years, and was a Pittsburgh philanthropist and industrialist. He was married to Sarah Shaffer (1841–1908). Together, they provided organizational and financial support to religious institutions in the United States.

William Conley was the first president of Zion’s Watch Tower Tract Society, from 1881 to 1884. Continue reading “Watchtower Society Building Beth’el on Toxic Dump”

Dear Mols

“How are we supposed to bring up the network if we can’t bring up the servers?”

Posted by Angela Glass on Thursday, December 10, 2015

 

I’m ready to create—to use the tools we created, the platforms, the surfaces, the languages, the software, the servers, the networks,…

Remember when I was a wee one on the internet
Long before we’d ever met?

Violin Recital

Continue reading “Dear Mols”

Dear Diary…

If you could see me now, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you how sad I am.

That’s the problem I suppose, it’s all relative, and relatively speaking, at least I’m still alive.

Life is tough. Just when you think you managed to escape in the nick of time, you realize that you were running from your own shadow all along.

And the thing about shadows? They’re hard to shake, unless you wake to find yourself six feet under ground.

So, all-in-all, no complaints, but man, this world is not a nice place.

Yeah, sure, I’ve got stories to tell.

But first I want to tell you about not telling them.

You see, that was my badge of honor as a “woman in technology”.

Truth be told I never felt much like a woman in technology. I always felt more like a little girl hanging out with the guys than a woman in a man’s world.

I began to learn the jokes guys made in the bars were the same jokes the guys at work make. Guys are guys. You can take the guy out of the bar, but you can’t take the joke out of the guy.

Most of those jokes were about women or race—I thank God that in my life I have been mostly sheltered from gay-bashers.

I learned to laugh at the jokes that were funny, and how to laugh it off when they weren’t so funny.

My uniform became t-shirts, sweatshirts, and jeans.

I didn’t mean to, but I besides these boobs, and that butt I hear about back there, I was just one of the guys.

Then the day came my momma warned me about. That day when someone was going to ask you to do something that ‘bothers your conscience’…

That Aft

Dominos begin to topple, I stand tall /shakeitoff

Why "Below the Fold" still matters. Liken it to receiving a punchline "below the belt".

Posted by Angela Glass on Monday, February 2, 2015

Vanessa and Cadenus

Record // Cover : Are You There God? It's Me, Gidget.


Continue reading “Vanessa and Cadenus”

The priest

by Angela Marié Glass

Beautiful. Wish I worked there. :0)
Bean there, counted that.
Themselves religious? Read here: ”
I bet he wears a hat.

She knew he’d get no relief.
Own personal custom Barbie dream.
Good grief.
New eyes from (Album Stream)

By Weezer and believed in paradise?
Founder of the Shadow Guard
Bored Cruz Cruise
From a thing, you little bastard. …
Bad / variant of Signal vs Noise ?

all kinds of blues

On Sun, Oct 12, 2014 at 1:37 PM, Angela Marie Glass <angelamarieglass@gmail.com> wrote:

Hey and don’t you think this photo of Eilon and I could make us relatives? 🙂 I think it’s the nose? 

http://spunkygidget.com/2006/03/19/grand-canyon-a-quick-helicopter-tour/

In other news, I finally told the truth about why I left Microsoft. The CEO made some stupid comment about women—at a conference celebrating women in technology, no less—and I lost it. I feel better. Lighter.

I’m telling you because you know Eilon and I are tight as blood but keep up like we have eternity. So he’ll hear somehow I’m guessing, but I’m sharing with you as my kind of dad. 

The story, if you want to read it, I can send. Otherwise, I just wanted to say hello and send some love to you and your family!

Hello to Shlomit! 

Love,

Angela

a ? cline'd U yet...

 

https://rd.io/e/Qj5F1E0/

Begin forwarded message:
Reply-To: halipton@gmail.com
Date: October 25, 2014 at 11:15:44 AM EDT
Subject: Re: Thinking of you…
From: Howard Lipton <halipton@gmail.com>
To: Angela Marie Glass <angelamarieglass@gmail.com>

Dear Angela,

Please pardon my tardy reply. I am always delighted to hear from you, and I truly hope that all is going well with you and yours.

Like so many, I was astounded at what Nadella said. Even though he is Indian and only came to the U.S. as an adult, he has been here at least a quarter century and runs the 3d largest company in the world. He knows that women are woefully underrepresented in the coding sectors of his own company, and he certainly knows that teenaged and college women are as interested in the future financial security of their eventual families as are boys. He cannot possibly believe that a paternal attitude where the bosses will “look after the girls” will attract the brilliant women that Microsoft needs, even if he grew up in that culture as a child. Just as does everyone else, these women want transparently equal opportunities for advancement and financial security. While I do not know a lot about him, I am exceedingly suspicious that he actually spoke his mind and told the world what he really thinks. If that is the case, then regardless of his skills as a CEO, I would hope the board considers a change.

Yes, I am interested in why you left Microsoft and would love to read your story. Also, I briefly noticed the comment on your website about “walking after midnight.” While I do not know if that was your reference, that song by Patsy Cline is one of my all-time favorites.

Thanksgiving is approaching, and you know what it means to me. I hope D’ar’r’y’l realizes how lucky he is.

All the best,

Howard

 

Vampire Weekend

Dedicated to Candace Conti and other little boys and girls who are dead or molested.

www.seekYeHoWaH.com and escape Christendom.

Jehovah’s Witnesses need not apply. Where did anyone say that anyone would be serving that god in the end? Oh, you’re right. He does factor in…

Screen Shot 2014-10-28 at 8.05.34 AM

— Angela Glass (@Baxley) October 30, 2014

I wanted to design software for the Watchtower when I was 15 years old at it’s headquarters, “Brooklyn Beth’el“.

Guess what? God created Eve, and Eve was naked. And it was good. God said so. He also created weed. He also said it was good to eat.

origin_4110421350

angela-marié-niblick-matthew-raymond-niblick-art-paradise

I was turned down. They don’t generally “take sisters“.

Now I am a Silent Lamb. Sacrifice me.

Here’s what I did instead: www.linkedin.com/in/angelamarieglass.

“Angela experienced a crisis from an ill marriage and lack of support from the congregation.”

I am a Silent Lamb?—Sacrifice me.

For the record, you don’t lose your faith when you stop believing God is Jehovah. But Melissa doesn’t know what losing my religion is all about. Girl, I was a hoarder, and I still am though that was back then. Show you a few things, pretend to be my friend? Oh don’t mind slandering the Baxley’s while you’re at it for the blood of the noble Niblick’s.

Funny, baxleyvsunitedstates.org versus the Dominican nephew determined to shame me—calling me the “shameful aunt”.

I took it in silence. I have learned how to turn away so it doesn’t sink in. No, not really. It really hurt. But hey, I haven’t got time to buy a new deodarant stick of Tom’s every two months — so I use it but it doesn’t work. I have no cash and thus I stink and am not buying it on Amazon and paying for shipping. So I am waiting until someone thinks I stink enough to do something about it. They have a pretty high tolerance.

Thanks mommy.

When I asked if they were going to stay there—in the DR—he sold me this line from his daddy’s mouth: they aren’t living there, they are missionaries. — For Christ’s sake, who hasn’t heard of God? Oh, yeah…

God isn’t Jehovah. Jehovah isn’t peddling love, he’s got Watchtowers to print and has just discovered the Internet.

Well I was in the middle of pestering this corporation called “The Watchtower” on Twitter, when I realized I needed a mood swing. Being a heavy hitter dealing with porno and pedo’s is a bit much for this do-gooder.

I mean the internet is for porn, right?

Well anyhoo, distracted again from that to get the video to prove the point that I’m not lost on how I feel about life, I’m just so DAMNED tired of having to stay up all night to work against all of you.

So I /quit.

Yeah, see I’m not a cultural fit. I’m not a woman in technology and there’s no way come hell or high water, well—we all know which—I would never have a daughter, as I could never let her see this world. Dear God, preserve my seed within me. Save my belly for the beast. I am yours and have ever been devoted. I am sorry for so long I thought that the Watchtower’s disapproval of me was somehow was the directive from God. Dear God, if you don’t love me—Um? Who could you?

DSC01336

A couple of weeks before she died, Rebecca informed us that she was about to be a big girl of six years old, and Becca was a baby name. Once she turned six, she wanted everyone (not just me) to call her Rebecca, not Becca. She made it to six. For almost twelve hours, she was six. So Rebecca it is and must be.

 

Pedophile alert!

Travis Foote, you touched me one too many times. And my mother blamed me. The Watchtower will pay and you shall be certain you won’t see the outside of that cell. Enjoy.

Tangled Up in Jews

I’m ready. I’m not a clown, exactly. I’m the last generation.

I’m the joker. Hello thief, it’s time.

Sleep No More with @xtianbovine @dens

Dear Watchtower…

Continue reading “Vampire Weekend”

Spunky Gidget Links In Zalkin

Posted 12/9/2015, and backdated to original thread date:

spunkygidget-links-zalkin

Mr. Zalkin,

I have been considering reaching out to you regarding my own personal experience with the Watchtower. I’m 33 years old, and was baptized as a JW at 12 years of age. I married ‘a brother’ the night before I turned 17, and subsequently was abused for the four years of marriage.

During that time, while still underage (living in North Carolina), I was raped. When I returned home, my husband immediately called the elders and it became a judicial committee. They “handled it” the same way they handle pedophile cases. I was reminded (as I had already been told in regards to my husband’s abuse) that contacting the police “would bring reproach upon Jehovah’s name” and it was “discerned” that in my case, it was not rape, since I could not recall whether or not I had screamed or said “no”. (It is assumed that I was drugged as I was not fully conscious, hence difficulty with remembering details to satisfy the elder’s questions.)

They reproved me for the rape, and later I was disfellowshipped for being unrepentant when I kicked out my abusive husband who continued abuse, including raping me himself that night (to prove that he still claimed me as wife, instead of exercising his ‘right’ to divorce me).

I don’t know what is and is not a legal case but I wanted to offer my support, and my ‘case’ if there should be one, in the fight against the Watchtower’s horrific handling of children in the congregation who have been abused. I understand your cases focus on pedophila, and mine is different, but just in case it’s something that could be used against this awful organization, I wanted to reach out to you. Continue reading “Spunky Gidget Links In Zalkin”

Hello God, It’s Me, Gidget.

Angela Mari

I was on some kind of a never ending silent treatment as if somehow God would actually read my blog and somehow respond to me—among everything else going on in this mad, mad world, including and not limited what seemed like the near blanket agreement that if one was to believe in God then it was merely a delusion which at best should be considered a form of mental illness…

As if…

“Got some attachments and baggage I’m working on leaving.”

10,000 hours, met Malcolm Gladwell at Microsoft.

“Sounds of the city on Capital Hill,
I wore cowboy boots
and did line dances on the bar
where the time went slow
while I learned to drink PBR.”

Here’s looking at you, Rosie.

You thought you could distract me from my homework? I’m going after the belly of the beast, and I couldn’t be more hungryYou carry the blood of my brothers, sisters, prophets and prophetesses.

Following this I saw another Angel descend from Heaven:

His authority was immense,
his glory flooded earth with brightness,
his voice thunderous:

“Ruined, ruined, Great Babylon, ruined!
A ghost town for demons is all that’s left!
A garrison of carrion spirits,
garrison of loathsome, carrion birds.

All nations drank the wild wine of her whoring;
kings of the earth went whoring with her;
entrepreneurs made millions exploiting her.”

Just then I heard another shout out of Heaven:

Get out, my people, as fast as you can,
so you don’t get mixed up in her sins,
so you don’t get caught in her doom.

Her sins stink to high Heaven;
God has remembered every evil she’s done.

Give her back what she’s given,
double what she’s doubled in her works,
double the recipe in the cup she mixed;

Bring her flaunting and wild ways
to torment and tears.

Because she gloated,
“I’m queen over all, and no widow,
never a tear on my face,”

In one day, disasters will crush her—
death, heartbreak, and famine—

Then she’ll be burned by fire,
because God, the Strong God
who judges her, has had enough.

I am strengthened by fortified wine, I nibble on dry bread and think of the dust which composes my flesh, upon which you tread with scaled measure.

Welcome tothe Heist.”

A girl and her kite, following the lead of a boy who decided to fly his and brought her holy spirit while she bathed thinking she was alone in the world.

Time to fly guys.

Eagle is in formation.

Our virtue is in our name.

I am Christian.

I treat this like my thesis

Well-written topic, broken down into pieces

I introduce then produce, words so profuse

And then amend it, every law that ever prevented

Our survival since our arrival documented in The Bible

Like Moses and Aaron

Things gon’ change, it’s apparent

And all the transparent gonna be seen through

Let God redeem you, keep your deen true

You can get the green too

Watch out what you cling to, observe how a queen do

And I remain calm reading the 73rd Psalm

Cause with all this going on I got the world in my palm

I’m making sure I’m with the 144

I’ve been here before this ain’t a battle, this is war

Word to Boonie, I make salat like a Sunni

Get diplomatic immunity in every ghetto community

Had opportunity went from Hoodshock to Hood-chic

But it ain’t what you cop, it’s about what you keep

And even if there are leaks, you can’t capsize this ship

Cause I baptize my lips every time I take a sip

Lauryn Hill, Final Hour, The Miseducation Of Lauryn Hill

You won’t find me in the “Kingdom Hall” on Sunday, as I no longer confuse being a Christian with choosing a Religion.

No, you’ll find me talking to the “homeless” wanderer who I can’t take home, or in the bar the true ‘neon chapel‘, not in one of the apostolic mockeries down the street.

Angie Baby, Airwalker

Closed Head Injury

Letter to a Friend

I graduated to a larger keyboard in procrastination.

I went back to do the dishes and thought to myself, ‘this isn’t the life I want’. Did I tell you? I had even tried to convince myself that I just had to get things all in order so that everything in life would be ‘ready’. See how that worked out? Needless to say these hands have yet to hit dishwater. So much for Southern.

But is there really anything wrong with that?

If someone would give me just one cup, plate, bowl, spoon, fork, mug and what else do I need?

I’ll tell you what, just a really cool place to put them!

I need to figure out how to be happy, or this is going to suddenly feel like a very long life, I get the feeling, from here on out…

Today is the day that my daddy died, 30 years ago today, or some time within 12 hours or so either way, because I can never quite remember if the accident happened the night before, or if it was already considered the next day, and when it was that he died, or rather, how long it took him to die. And since I move so damn often, the paper which answers this question every year when I inevitably go searching for it to determine once again, for another year, just it was ‘when’ that ‘what’ happened, is buried in boxes which are worn and disheveled from the packing, repacking, and moving again, again, and again.

https://rd.io/e/Qj5G4Is

Any way, I’m listening to Yo-Yo Ma do Johan Sebastian Bach while considering doing my dishes, or just throwing out all my clothes, …or just moving to a life I’d prefer to be living?

It wouldn’t take a psychiatrist to be able to tell you that if I could have anyone with me here tonight to have a glass of single girl microwaved a few seconds to knock the chill off red refrigerated wine it would be my dad. No, not the one who called yesterday to make sure that I was okay, I think because he knows even if only from the signs from my mother’s odder than usual behavior triggered by it nearing that day again… No, I mean my father, the one who gave me life. He was an artist and a lover, a singer and a movie maker, although I have to tell you his song in the band is pretty much dreadful.

Here’s Dog Sweat, by Matthew Raymond Morris Michael Niblick. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, you’ll want to cover your ears. But to me, it’s music. That’s my daddy’s voice. When I heard this ‘song’ this past year, it was the first I’d heard my daddy’s voice, since he died thirty years ago. Still, Dad! What were you thinking?!

My Daddy, the artist Matthew Raymond Morris Michael Niblick (movie footage 1979-1983) from Angela Baxley on Vimeo.

Daddy and Father Al

Years ago my aunt, the nun, apparently worked in the same parish as Father Alfred Kunz, a rebel Roman Catholic priest who performed exorcisms. They became friends, and like all friends of the Niblick’s at some point he was at the house with the family. Father Al admired my father’s art and invited Matthew out to work on his church in Dane, Wisconsin. What artist would deny the Church as a patron, not even Da Vinci?

Just a few years later, my father dies in a tragic accident in the lonely hours of that pre-light March morning.

Nobody foresaw it on that cold, gray March morning, but the aftermath of Kunz’s death would get strange, and then even stranger. There would be stories of exorcism referrals, a satanic assassination and, eventually, innuendos of sexual impropriety by Kunz, who was known at St. Michael simply as “Father Al.”

Later, there would even be allegations that his murder could somehow be linked to evil in the most unthinkable of places: the vast Catholic hierarchy that Kunz was tied to as a diocesan priest. Some even blame the Vatican in Rome.

In the absence of an arrest, the Kunz case also has developed into a religious Rorschach for many — certainly among those close to the case who consider themselves traditionalists within the troubled Roman Catholic Church, which all but invented the Easter holiday as Western civilization knows it today.

Fifteen years later—March 4, MCMXCVIII—fifteen years ago today, Father Al was found murdered.

“Fifteen years later, someone could still be haunted…

The all-consuming rage at the cockeyed old priest; the uncontainable hatred, day after freezing winter day. The wee-hours confrontation in a dim school hallway outside the priest’s office, where he’d slept like a castaway for the past 31 years.

The attack, the frantic struggle: It all ended in a heartbeat, when the killer plunged a razor-sharp blade into Father Alfred Kunz’s neck, slicing the major artery below his jaw.

And then came all the blood — warm, slippery torrents of it, coating the painted cinderblock walls and the worn, gritty floor tiles. Almost instantly, Kunz fainted into a lifeless heap, his white T-shirt and black slacks soaked from the gaping wound. According to emergency room medical experts, he would have lived for about another minute, probably in a deep, dreamlike haze.

Asperges me domine… Thou shalt sprinkle me, O Lord…

… et mundabo. …and I shall be cleansed.”

Pedophilic Satanism in the bed of Roman Catholicism—the Vatican, otherwise known as the house of Babylon the Great—exorcisms, animal sacrifice, Luciferians; it’s a terrifyingly truthful tale entitled “The Devil and Father Kunz: An Easter tale about murder, the Catholic Church and the strange paths of good and evil“.

Kunz had also traveled to Rome and met Pope John Paul II as the pontiff prayed alone one morning at a secluded Vatican chapel.

One of Kunz’s closest associates was best-selling novelist Malachi Martin, a one-time Vatican insider under Pope John XXIII, who convened Vatican II. Martin would later leave the Vatican circle and become an exorcist, as well as the author of six religious novels, one of which, “Windswept House,” was compared to “Dr. Zhivago” by the Washington Post in 1996…

“What Luciferians resent is interference with someone they regard as theirs,” Martin told me in that interview, adding that his friend believed his life was in danger in the weeks before his death. “We are all convinced beyond anything that Father Kunz was killed in hatred of the faith as punishment — and as an example for the rest of us.”

Martin also repeated his belief that the aftermath of Vatican II was nothing less than a coup by Satanic forces – that, he said, was why he eventually broke with the church’s new mainstream after Vatican II. Martin wrote about the alleged dark influence often in his novels. In “Windswept House,” for instance, he described a satanic animal sacrifice linked by telephone to the Vatican’s Chapel of St. Paul – and the account does bear eerie similarities to a calf mutilation that occurred near Dane almost exactly 24 hours before Kunz was last seen alive.

It’s been thirty years later now, and I wonder more than ever of the short days of my father on this earth. I find 33 a little young to feel so world weary, just look at all my father got in by 23.

I had wondered about whether or not my dad had ever made it to San Francisco the year he hitch hiked across the United States to California for his summer vacation when he was 15. As I realize that he escaped from a Moonie camp, whose home base was in Boonville north of San Francisco out past wine country, it dawns on me, of course he did.

And maybe one day I’ll make it out to Father Al’s church in Dane, Wisconsin, to see my father’s art, though I doubt it… I imagine it would be hard to concentrate with the image of the slain Father Al, hanging before me, throat cut from ear-to-ear, beheaded and bled.

He’s not Happy, He’s my Brother

Daniel Zackariah Rhodes: He ain

What persuaded me?—It was the Word, alone…

There was a summer,
not the last,
the one before,
where it was decided
that my ignorance
should be no longer.

Fade out on scene.

I was taken prisoner.

More accurately, I was carried away in handcuffs to the San Diego Psychiatric Hospital because someone I had known less than seven days had thought I was “strange”.

I was abused, and I was amused—they were not.
It was fear, not faith that they sought in my face.

https://flic.kr/p/pc6TGc

I had no fear: “What can man do to me?” (Psalm 118:6, Hebrews 13:6)

Fickle fuddled words couldn’t confuse me.

“Do you hear voices”, she asked?
I hear them calling my name, I sang.

Wasn’t this all a scene to amuse me,
to carry me from the boredom of insanity?

Indeed it did.

https://flic.kr/p/oUAX1W

Man can cuff you,
rough you, drug you
and count the hours you lay wake.

Still I thought they did it somehow for my sake.
They couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t cower and quake.
I couldn’t understand why they thought I would break?

 

I felt my mind pull away from sanity
as the days lithium laden drew longer.

They wondered, ‘why won’t she sleep?’

There is no man
but the one
who came from above
who knows what it is
that is best for me.

The lithium,
only a dose of two
or three keep me awake
for more than a week.

What is meant to cause sleepiness,
sedation, to make the violent meek,
made me lose my mind
and left me with only my eyes
with which the truth I might seek.

Have you ever looked into your own eyes
knowing therein alone is the truth?

 

They’d sought to convince me
I’d never been there before.

You see, it takes quite a journey
to bring me to my knees.

The day I went in in handcuffs,
taken from the garden where I’d sleep,
three needles and they lay me asunder
in the authority of their keep.

 

I awoke to see a vision,
a woman whose eyes I needn’t seek.
What a beautiful moment of awakening—
Her eyes looked back at me.

I knew that she was Angela,
beautiful skin the color of
the nature of Peru.

I’m not crazy
and coincidence
is beyond
belief.

Her name was, of course, Angela.
And Angela, yes, is also me…

But there is another,
as I am Angela Marié

The other is Maria Angela,
or Angela Maria, as I knew her,
she explained once to me sixteen
or as many years before.

There inexplicably,
with the moment of sight eye-to-eye
she lay before me.

Only you must know that I am sane—you see?

With what it is that I knew,
I also knew it could not also be true.

Another moment of reality:
Sanity holds true.
Her name was Angela.

One day
I’ll tell you her story.
I do not worry for her,
for in her I saw me.

Our brief moments,
or at least those brief moments
where consciousness was once again mine,
were interrupted by the authority
which told me I should no longer “be”.

They brought me in, condemned,
to 72 hours of detention
but now they didn’t want me.

I believe there was something
in all I had said the night before,
when they laid me to sleep
from which I wasn’t certain to awake,
that made their soul wonder, worry and shake.

“If you can call someone to pick you up, you’re free.”

 

Drugged, bruised. I had no family.

I called someone, and he came, and we’d leave in a hurry.

He didn’t ask about what it was that he’d seen.

Some people know you,
though they’ve known you not long,
I imagine you’d believe.

 

He drove me home,
and I asked
if we could not stop
at the coffee shop
on the way?

https://flic.kr/p/oUBKTo

I tasted the elixir which became my sanities keep,
little did I know my body knew what it was I did need
caffeine is the remedy when lithium dost thus leak.

 

Back home he left me, returning quickly to his life which he could only leave briefly.

My roommate, the Trojan, was surprised to see me. I looked into his Greek eyes and told him it’d no longer be.

At once he got out, and I had the day to open the doors wide and see what might come inside.

 

I swept his room clean, nice and empty, and there I prepared it for what I’d long since wanted it to be to arrive.

Girls came to help, friends like arriving like angels, children who’d come to play with me.

They helped me pitch my tent, safely where I could lay.

That night in my delight, I entered and slept on the hardwood floor.

As I closed the tent folds behind me, I had only that which I adore. I had carried in my bible, that one which I had before the day I was baptized, in it is still taped a hair, the one he taped the first time I considered sharing my life. I had my violin, it is a mere symbol, that it be that one or an earlier of mine, it was simply my red violin.

I suppose here I must stop to introduce the tall lanky weed with blonde hair, the child I knew was my grandfather before time thus upon him grew.

Daniel Zackariah "Johnny" Rhodes

You see the night before after the free had been freed, I decided to take the light out which bothered my sleep.

https://flic.kr/p/oUBTwr

It was three in the morn when out of my room and into the street I’d sneak. I stood there midway in bright as day, equipped with a step stool and coffee mitt in either hand prepared, there’s no wonder why it is that they’d stare. The lost then wandered around the corner, and they looked on at I, as I at they and we neither much mattered if the other so much cared. I asked if they’d see anyone rustling bikes in the night, they countered—”why?”—stiffening as if I was prompting a fight. Oh, I told them, some have gone—disappeared. Since they wander in the night, perhaps they’d look out from now on? What is it that you’re doing, not so innocent yourself? I told them what it was I was up to, with night as my only stealth. The one offered to take that mitt off my hands, and the stool he’d too take, and he promised tomorrow, from sleep I would awake. I offered my home for their slumber, they walked it off waiting to drive to their sleep. While one would humbly accept the offer, the other not accustomed to the kindness of strangers, would slink away after the good deed while I slept in his promised sleep.

https://flic.kr/p/pa4qmN

I woke in the morning. The cat in hat on my couch did sleep! Oh, momma, oh my! How is it that wonder did not pass by-and-by?! Is this really, could it, would it truly be!? Did he hear the prayer that my soul groaned though my knees had never relented, never ever before meek or weak?

https://flic.kr/p/pc4qCy

Truth I do tell, my heart did swell as the child like golden death did sleep. I slipped out the day for my plunder, and my routines to return to upkeep. I went to Harry’s, the 1960’s family diner that I adore, and Harry’s adored me as ever before. I stopped in Bird Rock for coffee, cappuccino in hand, I pressed on further beyond the border of my imaginary land. I met the mechanic, a good hearted man, he promised he fix it, “if he can”.

https://flic.kr/p/pa5now

I set off determined to venture further, into the Pacific I’d determined to be, there was a bike for sale I’d ride back along the beach. But mere blocks later—who knows if it were the woman or the dog that I’d first meet?—there walked love, three Cavalier King Charles Spaniels and their mommy who they lead. I asked her, who are they? A doggy I’m in need. She said, well here have one, I have one more than I can keep. She handed me the leash to the mommy, opening her heart to love to lose later and for love lost later to bleed. I said why don’t we walk the block or two towards the ocean, and when it we meet, you go the one way, and I the other—when she thus notices, she’ll turn back and toward my home we’ll walk whilst it is you she seeks? Thus it in my life full of wonder, that she did give me her child, in mere moments of meeting, and in mere moments later of meeting did part, her with love and me with her heart. Rosie was her name, a saucy red head more beautiful than anything I’ve ever loved. A red headed daughter of a black Irish man. Pure breed and with papers, she and I could ignore, we were a pair made in heaven, and heaven we’d explore.

https://flic.kr/p/pbQrHe

We weaved and wove, wandering where the street drove, making our way back home. Along the way, as life would stray, Rosie became Roxie, and thus began what felt like the dawn of new day. She and I tired as we made our way, and eventually came upon a man who had decided he was too. He stopped jogging to walk aside us, and for a moment my heart arose. In childlike wonder, my mind did ponder, would I recognize my father if my father had aged and appeared before my eyes? He was a physicist, he taught Alice in Wonderland, and at night he wrote. He had a screenplay, of which apparently I was already the star. He stumbled and nearly fell, in a few blocks learning what was relatively little, but recognizing what it was in only dreams he had previously he’d saw. The only difference between her and me were the dreads upon her head, he said, and as he faltered it seems the sight of me nearly brought him to his knees.

I explained that he were going home, and she was going home with me. He marveled and stuttered, my life is unimaginable, or imagined by most to be a dream. He said he has a puppy, and he could go home and fetch food for her to eat. He left us at my corner, the wrong-way one-way dead end at the ocean where sky meets dreams, as he headed up the other way, climbing up the street towards the peek.

https://flic.kr/p/oUAWwZ

So it is that later that night as I climb into my tent content that my life is nothing like others, that which seems so bleak, there remained a child of flaxen hair, an abused spirit with a bored debonair stare, and with him in tow, suddenly, his only baggage—a guitar, and a suitcase bearing the cross marked for the Hell’s Angels, upon which a book of words to sound smart with worn edges darkened by frequent thumbing did lay. He kept Roxie, and made me a milkshake to end my day. I ate from the box, it made by some combination of who knows what but I’ll never forget; luscious, delicious and creamy with berries! I laid my head down to sleep.

https://www.flickr.com/photos/spunkygidget/15035420878/in/album-72157635775591966/

It seemed he’d slumber pulled asunder, an escaped angel of death, I marveled at what length he dozed. Only on the third day from this arrest was it he rose. He wore my socks, Dr. Seuss striped woven warmers of toes. So happy was me, to finally be free, the Trojan having been disposed. Alas my mind’s sass should have held back for fast it was that the next wave thus goes.

https://flic.kr/p/oUAhxH

As he sat at the table which sat by the window, the writers seat looking out at sea, he gazed aimlessly at the book which lay before him his eyes suddenly I worried would be deceived. Buddha sat fat and lifeless one of those epic idols of stone before the lost child who sat listless, lonely, dejected and alone. He drank a coca-cola, and I asked he leave it alone. He wondered what was wrong with it, and to reason at that moment I was not prone. Exchange exchanged in a toss and a throw its with shame I admit, first the coke soaked the cover, before out the door, um, well you know.

https://flic.kr/p/pbQV9M

Anyone would be angered by the arrogant dismissal, oh you know, there’s no excuse for anyone to take someone’s possession and even out one’s own door take aim and throw. It seems somehow not much later with things much sedater that I sat on the couch, my lap Roxie’s throne. My feet up and resting, my sleep not yet recovered from drug’s dressing. Behind me a rustle, the police they entered in a bustle, no privacy no concept of domain or that it was my home.

https://flic.kr/p/oUCc5f

They entered and stood over me, and their eyes I did meet, no wilting flower, what ever did they want to thus dare to interrupt my dear darling Roxie’s sleep and stand before and above and behind me?

https://flic.kr/p/pc81H4

Oh rile me Satan and I thus shall scorn, your work at which you weary is thus on my nerves thus worn. I say get behind me, and the serpent does seethe. Reject the devil and he will flee, but it isn’t immediately he’d leave me. They picked and they lingered, loitering and looking, until finally I was peeved.

This is my message to you...

What is it, I ask, that you seek? Do you have an address book? (For what should they need an address book, indeed?) I sent them with detailed instruction to where three lay precisely, though each would give them nothing but that which they said they’d seek.

Have you noticed, my nature, gone sour from sweet? Three days after my freedom would bleed, drugged into stupor and stupidity with an edge of a nicotine fiend, they ask will you go willingly or, proverbially, shall we put you on your knees?

I noted that that was no choice at all, and with a sigh I rose in dignity the last moment of peace I recall.

They had asked a myriad of questions, each one asked I answered as fast, precise and accurately as the last. Their questions amused me, how little it showed they’d know. For instance, who asks a girl geek for an address book, not asking instead to see her iPhone? Did I drug my dog, um no? Was it out the door his book I’d thrown? Yes, I didn’t want it in my home. Did you let this man stay here, yes? Does it matter if he had no place to stay? I offered him a place for his head to lay. “A homeless vagrant” though I told them his name and his licensed address no shamed claim to fame. Thus Roxie got fleas, Daniel Zechariah Rhodes took leave, and I’d lose my home.

There’s nine days in between, but at twenty-fours of persistent wakeful sleep speed, thats more than a chapter, and less than a dream.

Suffice to say its somewhere between Angela’s eyes and a tent wander’s dreams.

Though I took the Word into my tent and slept in a wilderness of my own, it was months later I read the book which told me my heart knew I had a home.

So either it’s something in that story, which is long from being done and told, or it is simply the answer.

“I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.”

It was the Word and the Word alone.

https://flic.kr/p/pc5WF7

We fly away…

I am emotional. I feel betrayed. I was raised in faith that the Watchtower was God’s organization. I believed that my mom and dad knew the answers that one day I’d come to learn. I just felt slow and stupid and that eventually I’d get it. I trusted. I had faith. I believed. I knew my parents were smarter than me. I had read it in the poem that hang on his bedroom wall.

I now learn that while they can’t answer me from the scriptures when will my father live again they will deny the scriptures as they are written as truth.

“And the rest of the dead do not come to life until the end of the thousand years.” — Revelation 20:5

Despite that verse, and the one which precedes it which clearly defines who will partake in the first resurrection (which is immediately followed by this verse—”And the rest of the dead do not come to life until the end of the thousand years.”) she’d say that “apparently” my father, and all other loved ones, such as my uncles and my best friend, will come to life again during the thousand year reign.

“But who will they rule over?”, she asked. Continue reading “We fly away…”

ChannelC OneApart

Association

Baptized at 12 years old coming from multiple generations on my [step] dad’s sideMelvin George Baxley—and my mom and [deceased] father came in [to the truth] together, baptized at the same time arm-in-arm, literally.

Now I am a Silent Lamb. Sacrifice me.

Family all still are “JW”, but I’ve been disfellowshipped twice.

I got back “in” this year to be able to speak with family but my parents pretty much shun me because my intent was to share and research the information I had learned of late about the religion.

Left

I’ve faded, immediately after reinstatement.

I live on the west coast and the timing went well as I moved for a job right after reinstatement.

So I am a ghost now. My family is east coast.

Perspective

I believe in God—even more so than before when it was a religious thing.

I am trying to learn what the bible really says.

Dealing with shunning

Nothing makes you crazier than being ignored and feeling as though you don’t belong.

My family wasn’t strict about it near the end this time around, but our relationships will never be the same after more than 5 years of shunning.

What is your objective for the Channel C panel?

To find association among like-minded people.

Somewhat more private and probably more intellectual than the posts I’ve read on the other public forums.

I’m not into bashing as a past time—Looking for a place that’s more mature [than www.jehovahs-witness.net].

Any other information you think is pertinent or interesting?

I recently started a site (I’m in technology as a profession) : seekjehovah.org.

It’s a work in progress with the intent to be found by witnesses, not immediately repel them, and instead perhaps reach people with information I wish I would have had sooner in life.

Thank you!

On Aug 12, 2012, from “cc-questions@channelc.org”

Angela:

Based on your responses and candor (below), I think you would be an excellent contributor to the Channel C forum.

I looked at your seekjehovah.org Website and it appears excellent as well. What a genuinely Christian endeavor, appropriate for Jehovah’s Witnesses.

What would you like for a user name and a password? I will register you and look forward to your participation in the discussions.Thanks for your interest in Channel C.

Blessings,
Channel C Admin

Angela M. Baxley <abaxley@gmail.com> 8/12/12 to cc-questions

thank you. How about “oneapart”.

Rosalie the Channel C admin, and friend of Franz.

An Apology to My Mother

Mom, I know that I’m scaring you. And I’m sorry for that.

I don’t know how to explain with words what I’m going through.

I can however share with you what I’m fascinated by, and perhaps you can judge whether or not I’m “okay”.

I’ve been studying the Bible for months now, and I’ve perservered despite the fear that what I would learn might mean that I would separated from my family. I miss you guys so much. You seem nearly as a conceptual thing to me as “daddy” is. I understand what that relationship is supposed to mean, but it’s not something I’ve experienced. Likewise, I don’t really know how to be a sister or to be a daughter, it seems so long ago that I was a part of a family. I’m not sure I ever knew how to interact like I belonged.

Here’s a night in the most recent nights of Angela:

I’m an experience designer, so know that it’s an “experience”. I’m giving you my recipe as it were. I could send you the “Notability” file for instance which recorded me and the background (music in this case) while I studied the Watchtower. You can go along as I highlight and respond, and can hear the music that I was listening to and how I interacted in my study with God.

So. First, it starts with Faith. Continue reading “An Apology to My Mother”

To Thy Own Self, Do Not Be Truest

It’s incredibly exhausting to be happy all the time.

People just don’t get it, and that means you end up in a state of performance for a good portion of your life.

“All the world’s a stage, and we are merely players.”

Showing off my Team in Training practice jerseyI get that.

I look back and recall Brian being upset because he didn’t get the same spunky Angie that others did. We shared the private intimate space of a couple, and thus he really knew me.

 

Why did I leave Microsoft?*

Because my manager was found guilty of sexual harassment on multiple accounts: one of which was harassing me, another was of harassing a girl who worked on our team after I had (in the end with the help of another female co-worker/manager on the team) shut him down.

* Edited to stop protecting the not so innocent. I’m sorry Mackenzie. I should have realized it wouldn’t have been just me.

Wayne Smith, Microsoft 2008

How did it happen?

Gump asked me to report to “The Brit” in the “new org”. Professionally, I found The Brit brilliant. But I told Gump I wouldn’t be comfortable, and kept my mouth shut about why. I don’t know why he waited so long to push for why, but for weeks the “new org” was held up apparently by me.

Eventually Gump pushes and I explain how he made me feel uncomfortable, which was tolerable as a peer, but I couldn’t report to him since it was already a problem. I recall mentioning how my mother would look at the situation, and then feeling embarrassed for raising my mother’s perspective in defense of my own.

That’s where Gump then explains to me about European culture set against our American (puritan) cultural backdrop. I was insulted. I had traveled to Europe, and I had already run from European rapists.

Gump said he’d send The Brit to “sensitivity” and “management” training classes, to make him U.S. Corporate Office ready, and let me work from Rome with UW over the summer.

You’ll find it ironic then that the man who then reported that The Brit was harassing me was also from the U.K.

My friend walked into my office and caught something on my screen in an email from The Brit.

Microsoft found The Brit guilty, but also, on the same report, found that his harassment did not affect my performance. How is that even possible?!—I’m not Super Woman.

That was that—just keep working and ignore the guy on the other side of your office wall.

I never asked for a raise at Microsoft.

“Angela left and went to Yahoo!”

My new manager told me it was SxSW or my job.

Bam. That was my first year at SxSW.

So I got a job, a raise, and left Microsoft and Seattle—Yahoo!

SXSWi08

And now you know the rest of the story.

Brian would have been the only person to see me slip from Angela, the “Spunky Gidget”, to one given to hypomanic states induced by psychoactive drugs, namely Clonazepam.

Unfortunately, he had a perspective of the unfairness. Like life was playing a cruel joke on him. They got the girl, and he got what was left over.

I left Microsoft, Seattle, and the great Pacific Northwest that I love for San Francisco.* More sunshine, more freedom, and a future. Unfortunately the bottle of Clonazepam and the few pills it held went with me.

10-10-10 photo booth

In San Francisco I enjoyed my new found freedom and lit up like a firefly to the light. I joined the nightly happy hours and brought my wardrobe up to snuff, relishing in eclectic pieces which finally did some justice to the style that was suffused in my cells but not on my palette. Oh, remember the white sailor girl dress, black boots (I coupled it with various pairs, the short retro looking bootie boots, the classic riding black boots, the pointy skin tight witches boots…) and white hat?

Digg Meetup SF

Oh how I loved to dress!

Jeez, do you guys know how you kill me day to day as I try to fit into this boring life you lead and love? The fantastic stories my clothes could tell you, era-by-era, multiple stories I could tell per day?

I’m a creative person, and I’m happy. Can you just get used to that idea?

Then I met Fabien. On our first date we met at a Luna Park, it was loud and his English wasn’t nearly as good as his French, and that did neither of us any good. I had left friends (some guy friend who I’d been having a blast with, but just a friend… was that Bill?) and was measuring the date against the moments I had left just before. Completely unfair, but a reality given the circumstances. I mean, I had been having tons of fun, and left it for what?… a date?! But I’d made plans, and I stuck to the plans. I don’t really recall what we talked about, or if there was even really any talk… between the loud music and his charming heavy accent, that is.

We stepped outside to the corner to part ways. We went to hug goodbye.

It was an embrace.

Wow. What was that?!

In that moment he won the second date.

Alas, while we shared a romantic convertible ride to wine country, a day written in someone else’s daydream between sparkling Chandon, strawberries, dinner at Angele, and a moonlight drive with music on the way home… it was a short lived romance in the pages of our overstuffed technology dayplanners. He was a CEO, and I had no interest in being the CEO’s wife.

giving up

We parted ways to remain friends. I later took him to New York for his birthday—tons of fun and drama between the serendipitous Fuerza Bruta: Look Up show, wine, cheese, dinner and dessert, with Rachel, at Pastis, dancing until we fell asleep at Cielo, the passionate fight wound through the sidewalks of a brisk and cold walk in Central Park, back to the Waldorf Astoria, into the cab, and onto the plane home to the cool grey city of Love.

In the end I found San Francisco to be the leftovers of what once was. It’s the mecca for artists and lovers and dreamers, to be sure. But it’s overrun with abundance, confusion and people. It’s not Kerouac’s city, and it wasn’t to remain mine. There’s something of an arrogance to just being there. As if residence is validation in and of itself of having arrived, of not just being alive but living. I found it to be a surface level dream with no depth. I was lost and lonely and couldn’t have had more friends if I tried.

Abuse of Power

Every holiday was an excuse for an escape.

My first July 4th took me on a road trip to L.A. to spend the weekend with my friend who makes dreams come true by making tools for Spielberg. He proudly peacocked the city of Angels knowing good and well I both enjoyed it and found it profoundly lacking. I’ll never forget our debate via Twitter regarding women’s rights and who’d get to drive. He knew all along that I long for an era back in the day where men loved to drive women, and women loved to look out the window to day dreams of ways to make more love.

Furry Critters make everything better

Halloween was a race to Los Angeles which was marked by my descent down the wrong escalator into the San Francisco Virgin America gates back when they were in the International Terminal… I turned to race up the escalator, was reminded of my silliness, and ended up on my knees, jeans shredded against the ridges of steel, my flesh fairing not much better. Stickel and I made it, but not on that flight, but we made it ultimately. You see I was the maid of honor in my best friend’s wedding, Tara Brown to her Sean Bonner.

https://flic.kr/p/5yxMg9

Words are flowing out in endless… pools of sorrow, waves of joy, possessing and caressing me… nothing’s gonna change my world. Nothing’s gonna change my world.

https://flic.kr/p/5ytti8

At the top of the Runyon Canyon I witnessed Tara and Sean exchange vows, officiated by none other than Optimus Prime. Just a little while later, I feel a tinge of guilt when I learn she’s pregnant. I know it wasn’t in their plan, though Tara had long held dreams of being a mother. She absolved me from my guilt, and I attended a baby shower in LA that confused every bit of my sense of reality.

https://flic.kr/p/5ytnqg

Tara had left, she’d found her love, her life. I’d left Microsoft, and Seattle for San Francisco, and she’d soon followed. I found Cindy in San Francisco, but now they’d both gone.

The city no longer seemed amusing, but cold and grey, dingy and dirty.

Oh, wait, but did I tell you about Memorial Day yet?

No, we save the best for last, and I’m perpetually amused at how America’s major holiday’s serve merely as markers for memories in my life.

You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one.

101010kcc

Jeez, what do I do when I know the matrix exists? The connections, the lack of coincidence? Divine, meddlesome, controlled, variables left tied up in neat little bows on packages that don’t seem to be the right presents. You made it right this time? Only if my mustang shows up, and heavy is limited to a state of mind and not a reference to my brother. He strolls in, and I wonder where are my hemp sandals? Black toe nail polish, blue on his fingers. A look as if death has washed over him, but he may yet be clean? I’m sorry what you see as my being stubborn is nothing but the exalted standards by which I deem myself deserving. Or maybe you could say I find myself divinely so. Oh, is it ironic or merely coincidence that the sun warms my keyboard for those few strokes, only to hide again at thought’s completion?

I’m beginning to love all the hidden tracks. Reel Big Fish, Gorillaz.

It’s enough to tempt a girl.

https://flic.kr/p/5Kn6Ma

In my play I’m happy and creative.

I want to day dream, write, sing, dance, make movies, and music. I want to fall in love and live forever in paradise.

In my play I get to write the ending.

Now, whether it’s God or Natasha Bedingfield, well, that’d be a debate I’d take up over a fine deep red wine and a beautiful bleu cheese and pears.

Spunky

Continue reading “To Thy Own Self, Do Not Be Truest”

Think You Got What It Takes? Leadership, “Madness,” and Empathic Power

Ghandi + Karma

 

Think You Got What It Takes?

Leadership, “Madness,” and Empathic Power : Mockingbird

What makes the great ones?

Ask almost anyone anywhere, and you’ll get the same response: some form of personal exertion, “determination” or “perseverance” or “vision”.

Ask almost anyone, and you’ll receive a response rooted in the individual’s uncompromising leadership–they’ll speak of the necessary qualities which brought him/her to helm in a time when he/she was most needed.

Others might go so far as to say that this kind of leadership sits within us all, but is only activated when one realizes it, believes in oneself, and confidently makes the strides towards achievement.

This mythology speaks for presidents as much as social activists or stadium rockers. It is the “I will” and not the “Can I?” that brings one beyond one’s constraints…

be infectious.

here’s to the crazy ones. Continue reading “Think You Got What It Takes? Leadership, “Madness,” and Empathic Power”

Send in the Clowns. Roger Dale Niblick, 1928-2011

Listen to He Walks With Me (In The Garden) “Song for Grandpa” by Tina and Herbie Niblick

My grandpa, Roger Dale Niblick, was Roscoe the Clown in the style of Emmett Kelly, and had also stepped into Ronald McDonald’s clown shoes.

Niblick Family of Hessen Cassel, Fort Wayne, IndianaHe and my grandma Madonna conjured up fifteen kids to fill up an old large white house on Hessen Cassel in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like to go to school with the Niblick kids. My momma has a clue, rumor has it that it was not just one, but at least two of the Niblick boys that she’d dated.

You’ll note that there are just three girls, and twelve strapping handsome boys—my daddy is the long haired one, cross-legged, front and center, Matthew Raymund Morris Michael Niblick.

Roger Dale Niblick (1928-2011), as Roscoe the ClownIn 1983 when my daddy died, I remember my momma “getting sad” from a song on the television. It was Judy Collins on the Muppet Show, Send in the Clowns (video below).

Until now, it had never occurred to me whether or not any of her sadness came from the fact that his daddy was a clown,… and how it must feel for a parent to lose their child. Isn’t enough that she was just 21, widowed with two children, and pregnant with her third?

Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

I had wanted to talk to my Grandpa Niblick about his time in Nicaragua. A little bit after my grandma died a few years ago he up and moved to Nicaragua.

It wasn’t entirely shocking as my Aunt Tina had been in Barbados for what seems like forever. She, known in her work as Sister La’el, tells me, “he clowned for MANY years, even while in Nicaragua. During the service years he was also in Africa and Greenland.”

I think it’s only appropriate, twenty eight years later, to play Send in the Clowns.

This time, it’s for my grandpa, who was always the only clown that mattered in my life.

 

https://rd.io/e/QisAwVM

Continue reading “Send in the Clowns. Roger Dale Niblick, 1928-2011”

Academically Gifted

“Angie has so much potential. I hope she will work hard to achieve the maximum.”

Academically Gifted

5th grade, studied Self Actualized Leadership, World Community Systems, Communication & The Media, Science Technology & Energy Sciences, Geometry and Spatial Relationships.

Only satisfactorily respects the ideas and opinions of others and expresses ideas clearly. Noted; something’s don’t change much.

Academically Gifted

In fifth grade they said I’d never finish, and in 8th grade I knew they were right. In 9th grade I dropped out to go to college, but they wouldn’t let me in until I was 16. Thus I started college on December 1, 1995.

Bored. Bored. Bored.

My last “good” report card: Note the number of absences. Never was good at sitting still when bored out of my mind. I have crazy feet, Dr. Seuss diagnosed me so.

One of my last "good" report cards.