New Years Eve

Another New Year
when I'm alone
feeling empty
not wanting to feel
as if I made the wrong choices
but not seeing other choices

The hard thing about regret is
that you need something to regret

Some decision that you ought not have made
but I don't have that

Saying well, go back back back and not
become involved with Norman...
no
no
I can't regret that
from that marriage came all the most
important moments of my life
nothing compares to those seconds,
minutes, hours, days that I was with him
when he was worth being with
And I can't regret
leaving him
when I learned the depth of cruelty

There is a term, 'decency forbids' in which no
matter what...one does NOT sink to a certain
level
but
he did
he always did
and he never had the sense of mercy or the
sense of compassion
and so
I don't regret marrying him or leaving him

With Alpha there were so many moments
but no alternatives

Had I a real chance with Ken...
but when I thought...
he was gone
hence
it was not to be
and it began as friendship
and never moved

I can't regret what never happened
what never almost happened
because it never reached that moment

So there is no point
that things could have been different
for there was no difference

I can't regret anything
and being alone
who would I be with?

There is no one I see maybe no one
exists who is the other side of my
circle

That is probably what I regret
that there is no other half to my
circle

I suppose I just reached a stage in which
I feel I should be
or should feel
and there's nothing
nothing at all
except today is just like yesterday
only it is tomorrow

2011

If I could pray for something I would
pray to meet the other side of my circle
I would pray for wealth and health and
to not feel so precarious anymore
for that is what I regret
this feeling of being
precarious

With Greed all things are Possible

A man came into possession of a piece of land.
How he did can be debated, but the land was
marked 'No Build'.

Unlike other governmental advisories, this one
is pretty easy to understand. 'No Build' means
that you can Not Build on it. On the other
side of the road a housing scheme was going up
and he wanted to get in on it.

But; this was a No Build area.

Being a rich man he had lawyers investigate
what a No Build area meant.

The lawyers explained in language that he
should understand, that this meant he could
not put up any permanent structure on the land;
i.e. 'Build.'

He wanted to build so he sent them around
nine corners to come up with this plan for
'vacation homes' which would not be
permanent residences.

After doing whatever it took to have this
plan passed and get those houses built
cheek to jowl, he wished to sell them

It was not going well, as people knew
it was a No Build area.

They could see how close to the sea it was
and that it was lower than the road which
ran from the Hope Bridge to St. Thomas.

He waited until October, moved his daughter
into one of the houses, had lots of hype
and newspaper pix and soon all 56 houses
were sold, including the one his daughter
lived in.

Things went well until 2004 and the arrival
of hurricane Ivan which damaged and destroyed
the first row of houses, proving that there was
no sea wall, no coral reef, nothing between the
house and the sea to break its power.

The Residents of Caribbean Terrace gathered
to decided what they should do about it.

Idea were tossed and a lawyer mentioned,
probably without tact, that they could not
consider the value of their homes, for they
were valued Zero.

Each on shrieked at how much his or her home
was valued, unable to grasp that no one in
their right mind would pay 100k for a house
in Caribbean Terrace.

"My House is valued at Sixteen Million!" one
woman shrieked, and before they sent out
for two sticks and three nails, the lawyer
left them to form committees and make demands.

In 2005 and 2006 nothing happened, so everyone
thought it was a fluke and hence would not be
selling their house, save for Full Value.

In 2007 Dean hit, and destroyed the entire first
row and flooded even those farthest from the
sea

The No Build discussion reopened
and the committee was contacted by the Minister
and negotiations were entered.

Eight Million was offered for the larger and
Five Million for the smaller houses.

The Committee turned this down.

They hooted and hollered and argued and were
no longer to be welcome at the Ministry.

As Government held all the cards what was
decided was to not officially declare the
area No Build , which would
make the Gov liable to remove the people.

However, no change of ownership could be
registered on the Title.

Hence outside of those in the first row
who got 5.1M for their houses, the rest
got nothing, and were left to await the
next disaster.

Letting it Go

I've got a lot to say.
Whole history.
But why?
Either he's too stupid to understand the consequences
of his action, which means a review is pointless, or
he intended the consequences, which means remarking
on them is unnecessary.

Josh started his crap from 1996 when I spend 5 days
with him. He continued in 1997 when he kotched at
my house and avoided me with great cunning.

In 2008 I subjected myself to his 'punishment' with
the sense of knowing...knowing before I left Jamaica
what was probable, having my expectations more than
fulfilled.

Between 2008 Nov and 2010 May he performed a
bullshitathon on Yahoo. Inquisition, veiled insult,
bait, attempts to gain certain 'confirmation' of his
diseased analysis of situations.

Escaping him there is no reason to consider.

This is a very sick boy. A boy owned by a lemur lady
who has sacrificed everything he could have by his
twisted rationalisation.

No one would have let their mother be tortured in a
too cold house for a month...and the fact that it was
kept so cold was only to 'fix' me for the moment the
temperature dropped to 40o outside, the thermo went to
80o. Which it could have sat at from day one.

I am always of two minds when it comes the the proof
of anothers turpitude. My postulates are confirmed,
but I am sad to be right.

There are times I don't want to be right.

I will never have a relationship with Josh.
If he contacts me he will get the veneer.

For he isn't even worth response.

Scarce

It was one of those days in which I had three things
to do at the same time.

I went to my usual venue, which boasted a little get-together
after, and considered whether to stay or go onto the
next site.

As I was thinking the usual crap happened.

Talking to Richard and Cox jumps up.
Move to speak to Marge, and Cox jumps up.

Now am I suppose to stand there while Cox is
facilitated in his madness?

Nahhh.

So I left.

It's something that's kind of hardwired in my
genes. If I'm talking to anyone and they are
distracted by another and don't instantly postpone
the other, I forfeit.

So I went to Venue 2.
Total waste of time as expected, save I got my
usual laughs.

Some organisations need particularly stellar leadership.
They need the Avatar in that top seat to get the best
people into the other seats.

When the best people drop out or can't be bothered to
join, one gets a typical bullshitathon, in which work
is delegated to persons who can't perform the work,
so nothing happens.

For the past ten years I've given the same advice,
so gave it again, and no one listened, as usual.

Then I picked up my cell phone as if it had vibrated,
went outside with a anxious look on my face, stood out
side for a minute, then returned;

"I have to go." I say.

The third place on my agenda was just not as enticing
as the look of the sky was repellant, so I went home.

I could of returned to Venue One, but need to be a little
less accessible.

Alas,

It seems that everything in Jamaica has gotten worse.
No matter which corner you look in, what was in 1980
is so superior to what exists today.

I recall reading history about the late 1800s and
how many children and grand children of slaves
owned this or ran that business, and lived at such
a standard that person like Marcus Garvey could
attend no more than an all age school yet go on
to be quite brilliant.

Today, most people prefer to live off of others,
whether the males are supported by mothers, wives
or daughters, or the females have a constant stream
of men paying their bills, the idea of being
independent is considered unsavoury.

The few people who stand on their own feet do not
have anyone to lean on. They either stand or
lie on the sidewalk.

And things will get worse when the Gov. gets rid
of more Civ. Ser. jobs. For the JLP has so
bankrupted the country with various questionable
expenses, it needs every cent it can get.

Not My Problem

When I was in Junior High I didn't know that I
should vote for myself, so I lost the post of
Class Rep by one vote.
Mine.

The teacher, aware of my innocence told me I
was deputy class rep.

One day something happened.
Something Big.
And I found out about it.
Which is weird cause I am usually the last
to know anything.

I ran across the school ground, fell, skinned
my knee, kept going, racing to where the
Student Council was meeting.

The door was closed, I tried to get in and
Big Fat Arlene came out and told me I could
not be allowed in.

I tried to explain why I needed to get inside,
but of course she wasn't going to listen, or
had the brain capacity to understand.

A girl named Thelma came up, heard what I had
to say, and then, oddly replied;
"It is Not Your Problem."

My mouth was crammed with so many words I
choked...
but she was right.
It was Not My Problem.

A beatific smile exploded and I walked away
singing my "It's Not My Problem" song.

The next day when the crap hit the fan and
the school was in chaos, I sat back, with
my beatific smile, because it was Not My
Problem.

Other kids were distressed, other kids were
berating me for my who cares attitude.

Much later in life, the same thing happened.
Only it wasn't a class rep, it was a Member
of Parliament. And it wasn't some school issue
but a national one.

The secretary refused to let me speak to the
MP and I realised;
It was Not My Problem.

So I sang my song, and watched the crap hit
the fan, and, well, I chuckled.

A few years later I approached the then
Prime Minister, my mouth full of important
information.
But the Prime Minister didn't want to hear it.
So
It's not my problem.

In life, if you surround yourself with idiots,
if you can not differentiate between people who
only want to speak with you because they have
something important to say, and those who are
begging or wasting time, well, you won't get far.
And if you do get anywhere
it won't last very long.

If Portia Simpson-Miller of 2006 had the same
advisers she did in 1986 or 1996 she'd still
be Prime Minister.

Crap Squared

As usual the cops pick up some guy who 'never did nothing yet'
according to his mother.
As usual they pitch him into a cell for days on end, as if
they get orgasm knowing that he's uncomfortable and his lawyer
is being lied to.

Cops In Jamaica are quite sick.
I suppose they fantasize about being Nazis...
because nothing a Ja cop likes more than denying a citizen his
liberty, save its denying him his life.

So the cops lock up a guy for a week and blah blah about ID
parade when they haven't any reason to hold him, because it
makes them feel so good.

Never Fails

You get 'spoiled brat' treatment at this business place.
You become a rabid customer.
Then, of course, there's the change.

Maybe they close the branch, maybe they change the policy,
but usually, it's the NEW Manager.

There's a difference between a Manager being moved from
X locale to Y locale, and a moron who has no personality
being made a manager.

I always get the latter.

I always get some fool who never ought have been promoted
to suddenly become the M A N A G E R and outside of insulting
me she or he has little other activity.

Then I complain to head office.

I don't know.
I think that's my purpose on Earth.
Being the one to complain.

Chisfuck

Since I came to this forsaken zoo
called Caribbean Terrance I have been subjected to various tortures.
The Head of them is an old bwoy called Chisolm.
Better known as Chisfuck.

This miserable old bastard has done everything to get me out
so he and his sometimes slam, the Mampy can capture the house
and rent out every ten feet to a different character and
get the cash.

The most recent trick was in not paying the light bill.
So the light was cut off, Melanie had to pay extra to
have it turned on.

Chisfuck showed up this morning, thinking I wasn't home,
pounding on the door like Bigfoot and when I opened it,
he nearly died, because he believed I'd gone out.
Every Saturday morning I go out.

Chisfuck gives me two bills due like on Sunday.
He got the bills about 8 days ago, sat on them,
so that I'd be put in difficulty.

Unfortunately, I can pay online.
Which I did.

Of course he doesn't know that, and must assume
that at any moment the lights will go, the water
will stop.

Why no one killed him ten years ao is just pure
laziness.

My Computer Died

My computer died last week.
I called Forge on Tuesday.
He said he'd come on Weds
He didn't.
I carried it to Roger on Thrus
He did his best.
It's on it's very last legs.

Now I have to figure out where I'm going to
get money from to get a new one.
It's 8 year old Dell laptop

Caribbean Terrace

I remember when I first came down to the Terrace to visit Lily.
Not that I thought it was Beverly Hills or Havendale
but that I accepted it as a Upper Middle Class Area.

If the Terrace ever was more than a dung heap
I never saw it.

Over the years Lily had betrayed an unhappiness.
I never realised being down here was that kind of curse.

The lure is the water and the electricity and the
garbage collection and a real address.

The draw back is living amongst souless animals.

Chisolm, who is better referred to as Chisfuck is the
paradigm of the miserable Old Bwoy.

When he can get it up he's over there by 'Miss Whyte' as
he calls her, the big fat whoring mampy.

Jamaicans are so funny, they betray themselves so easily.
Calling a pig 'Miss Whyte' as if she's worthy of respect
means she's giving him a wash off..

As Whyte is a very cheap slam she's got her customers.

There's Tinkimyoung...
this old bwoy drives a pick up blasting rap music like
he isn't dragging fifty.

Having see the young men leave their radios blasting
when they go in to slam a slut, he does too.

So for the thirty minutes he will be be slamming the slob
the radio in the cab has to be on high so that everyone
can know that Tinkimyoung is rolling on the Mampy.

I made enough noise about it so that even a moron
like Dawn Whyte would know that leaving the radio
blasting is a sign a man is slamming a slut...not his gal,
not anyone of value but a big and he knows she's a
pig and he needs everyone on the street to know he
KNOWS she's a pig.

Then there's Ugliman. Now this guy is really ugly.
She sent him up in the ackee tree last year, I
called the police.

His mouth is the loudest. He's 'one of the girls' so when
there's a Convocation of Chimpies next door, he's the
only male.

Being ugly, as ugly as the Mampy, but young, he gets to
be her toyboy. He understands that when another car
is parked in the drive, he waits.

Many times, when Chisfuck comes for his washoff, there
are cars in the drive, and he gets angry. He'll climb onto
the roof of this house to steal mangoes, having told
Melanie what a good friend he was to her father; (I never
saw him) and when Melanie came down here last time he
made himself useful.

Useful as any weasel looking for a free dollar.

He likes to send the 'gardener', a moron with a weed wacker,
who doubles as the 'plumber', so that he can split the cost
with him.

I've had my run ins with him.

On the other side is Barber. He captured a house, rents out
every square inch...which is what Lewin and Chisfuck desired
for this house.

Barber is a horny old bwoy wants to have sex with anything
female. He has a suffering wife and whore daughter who
screws his tenants and creates trouble.

He's another one likes to show ownership of this property.
He's planted in the small fenced area, along the gully sides,
he's really pathetic.

The area would have been emptied if the people weren't so
stupid. Now they wait for the next storm.

When It isn't You

You are taught that if two people say you're drunk, you lie down.
But that isn't reality.
Because two or ten or twenty people can say it, but you haven't
had a drink.

I've always given chances, because I've always kept open the
possibility that I could be wrong.
I could misunderstand.
I could misattribute.

The weird part is that I haven't.

Exactly what I assumed in 1972 is true.
What I perceived in 1983 was confirmed.
What I feared in 1996 proved accurate.

There is no way to say; "It's me." I'm at fault.

Universal Scorn

Many years ago, at an Advocates' Association Meeting, I realise I've become the Scorn.
I couldn't believe it.
Here was an organisation I had helped form, I had been committed to, and in my cosmology it was out of a clear blue sky.

My hand was up, everyone else was called on, finally I was noticed, my point was batted away as a mosquito, two speakers later it was repeated by someone else and hailed.

After it happened twice I realised I had been elected the Universal Scorn.

Every organisation has its officers; some are publicly elected, some are privately appointed, and some are secretly designated. I had been secretly designated.

I moved to get a cup of coffee at the back, then was through the door and out.

I didn't come to the next meeting, or the next, although I was sent flyers, rung up, and by the fourth meeting I was personally invited by the President. I came late, had a cup of coffee and a pastry, listened to the speaker, then left.

I missed the next meeting, and again was spoken to, and explained; "You'll have to appoint another Scorn."

As some people don't name their victims she was uncertain of what I meant so I explained. I don't know whether she was surprised that I had given a name to the position or that I was aware of my position; however, it mattered not. I no longer bothered with the Association.

It was not the first time I was selected for the position; I tend to make a really good vicitm. I announce I live in Jamaica, so all the liberal bigots assume I am black and begin their standard double standard.

Recently on Xomba some guy, nose well out of joint because I was selected for the 'Quote of the Day' and how dare some...(Use Favourite Expletive)... be appointed.
He attacked the rather straight forward article with the usual white boy entitlement.

I flicked him away with amusement, only to see him bounce back with the usual three faced bitch. Three faced bitches are those who send you pms and post their two edged sword remarks so as to take whatever side becomes popular.

Some of the posters, seeing others commenting joined in, unaware that this was not a literary critique this was an old white boy angry that the 'niggah' got the prestigious appointment of 'Quote of the Day' joined by 3Face.

It is sad to be caught in crossfire when one actually is unaware of the reason for the skirmish. Hence the few who tried to be 'fair' made their one lame post and walked away with a sense of 'something is going on, I don't know what, I'll stay out of it.'

The usual tactic is the 'man arrested for slamming his face into the policeman's baton'. The owners of the site not aware of what was going on, only trying to quiet the vehemence of the language, made their posts, but nothing could stop white boy and 3 face.

As I don't feel like being banned today...(I usually leave that for once every four weeks) I cease to respond. Eventually they 'win'. Another Quote is posted, and they go back into their holes.

Being chosen the Scorn is not a comfortable position for the Newbie. Fortunately, I have experience in the field.

If you find yourself the Scorn;

1) In real life, cease to attend meetings, if you do go, come late, support the refreshments, and leave early. Do not participate at all, nor pay dues.

2) In Cyberspace, stop responding, if you have anyone you communicate with on the site, use PMs. Become unobtrusive. Those who need Scorns might find someone else to annoy.

3) In both cases, cease to participate. In RL, miss meetings, avoid functions, if questioned make a bald faced lie that everyone knows is a lie. If it is a writing site like Xomba, write, do not read anyone else's work, and focus on other sites.

Scorns are needed to be available, unavailable Scorns lose their value. Who knows, in a few months the organisation might implode or the those on the writing site might go too far and be banned.

Idiocracy

Every day, twice a day, we get the 'Dead News'. These are announcements of the funerals of average people.

So there's this woman, schmata on her head, snaggletoothed, died at 90...leaving 110 Great Grand Children, and like 25 Great Great Grandchildren.

This woman, who probably can barely read and write dropped eleven kids who dropped how many more, and who produced, at the time of her death 110 kids.

Intelligent people have one or two, maybe three, a few four. And those grow up to have one or two, maybe three, a few four.

Village idiots are the most prolific people in Jamaica.

Right Wing Nut Jobs

Years ago, the right wing in America, (also known as facists, rednecks, racists), accused the media of having an Liberal East Coast bias. That was their euphemistic way of saying 'Jew'.

As those who would have gladly participated in Nazi Germany's extermination of the Jews, but alas, were unable to participate, only a lucky few can enjoy Abu Gharib, Camp Delta and the Sand Pit in Afghanistan. The others must satisfy themselves with representational murder, mayhem and torture.

To this end, they have plunged into the media actually getting their own television and radio stations, as well as websites.

Most of these Nutjobs have learned how to mask their actual purpose, and instead of being on the fringes, have moved into the mainstream, appearing 'neutral' at best or conservative at worst.

The problem these Nutjobs have is with the rest of the world. They can not control what others see or think or learn, they can only dumb down American schools, They can only project their twisted view points into American heads.

This is why persons outside of America tend to have a better knowledge of current events and history, even American history.

Silencing those who offend their sensibilities is easy in America. They have the money, they make threats of law suits, and in most cases, people are silenced.

Outside of America, they have a serious problem, for it is only a few weak states which will perform as they desire. Others will not. This will cause them great anguish and attempts to block information from reaching the average citizen is a full time job.

That nearly the whole world knew Iraq did not have weapons of mass destruction when America invaded, and that the whole world sees America as guilty of war crimes does not mean it has the power to even condemn.

Never Forget when you're Third World

I write for Factoidz. I offended some of the Tea Party Set. I erased their comments. So they spent hours and hours petitioning the owner of the site to demote me. So I was demoted.

I wrote an email to support, not that it will do much good. I am third world, those folks are first. And one must never forget that.

CHILDHOOD NEVER ENDS

There is a childishness among those closer to thirty than twenty.  A careless attitude in which there seems no idea of consequences.  Univeristy studens, even Seniors seem closer to primary schooler than what one expected of a High School thirty years ago.

The 'hook-ups', where meaningless sex with strangers replaces a 'date', where drugs replace experiences, and where responsibility is a dirty word seem to fill in the childhood that was 'lost'.

Fifty years ago there were many stay at home moms with their stay at home children.  The child would play all day, Mommy calling her for breakfast, then lunch, taking her grocery shopping or to the beauty parlour, because leaving one's child anywhere with anyone, save a live in relative was unsavoury.

At five the child could be entered in Kindergarten or not, as that was not mandatory.  So for six years a kid was a kid.  A kid was kid every day until school began to limit, and then on weekends.  During the summer those who went to sleep away camp had their experiences, those who went to day camp had theres, and those who stayed home for two months had theirs.

One began to grow up because of association with adults.  One had completed their childhood and went into their teens where they were still pretty much monitored, and so it was not surprising that a High School graduating class, as late as 1967 would have a vast majority of virgins, or both sexes.

Today, kids are put into day care as soon as Mommy goes back to work, for not everyone can afford a nanny or has an older relative willing to stay home.  The pre school has become what the kindergarten was in the 50s; almost required.

With the kid needing to be watched from about 8 to 5, activities are organised so that the child is regimented from about three making Kindergarten what third grade used to be.

The kids don't seem to be particularly bright or well educated, despite the fact the average thirteen year old has been in some form of schooling for ten years.

I believe it is the absence of childhood as a child which has created the adult child.  The deprivation of the thoughtless irresponsibility between the ages of 3 to 6, coupled with the recreational summers, (now replaced by summer school, extra lessons, etc.)  has led to this peculiar reversal of aging.

Culling

There are people who seem to want to use you for a mirror.  They want to reflect  their faults. Hence they are not cold, you are.  They are not always searching for fault, you are.  And unless you pay particular attention, you wind up caught in their fantasy world.

This doesn't happen without resistance when you care.  In most cases, you are listening with a third of an ear, or reading while playing scrabble, answering email, and cooking dinner.  So they get over by your disconnect.

Because what they think isn't important to you, they get the chance to attribute and then to carry their 'findings' around like a flag.  And suddenly, you find yourself stressed out because your apathy has created the monster.


Getting rid of these people, or at least putting them into 'containment' is necessary for your equilibrium.


Cutting down contact, redirecting, and letting them expose themselves in non-charged ways does have an effect.  


As soon as you find yourself 'defending' or explaining, cut off.  The next confrontation is set for pointlessness. The same intense nit-picking or 'whatever you say I take the other side' mentality, will become over obvious when it's one of those current event things in which their opinion is worthless.   That they advocate with intensity proves that they are not discussing that issue, they are attacking you.

Stopping Mid Word

It's happened to you.  You're deep in conversation with someone, actually thinking they are listening, when they turn to call to someone else, not just a wave or word, but turn to them as if  you don't exist.

Yes, it's usually the stupider folk who do this, and you really should ask yourself, 'what the ras me a talk to this idiot for?'  but of course, at the time, you are just stunned.

No matter how many times it has happened to me, I am always stunned by it.  Not just the rudeness, but the fact that the person is simply far too stupid to follow  conversation.

Now it is going to happen to you; most often you'll be talking to a male person whom you wrongly attributed with intelligence.  It happens.   As soon as he turns to someone else, stop talking. Stop speaking mid word. Stop talking, and very quietly start walking away.

If he calls to you, smile your best and say, "I finished what I had to say."

And don't ever waste your time engaging in conversation with people who have not the capacity.

Life Is Not Fair

Okay, I'm going to call her Pricilla, but that's not her name. I was her best friend. She was not my best friend. I was her best friend because no one else could tolerate someone as intrinsically selfish, self-centred as her.  

This is not to infer that I was her best friend every day in the week. No. If anyone came along that she wanted to impress, I was dropped. Only when there was no one else would I be recycled.  

Anyway, she decided to marry a rich older man from Primary school. She added reasons as she got older, 

She loved money, so it was no surprise she wanted a rich man; an older man so that "When I'm Forty, he'll be over Sixty and I'll still look good to him."

She married the older man, the rich older man.  I loved my shoes more than she loved him.  In fact  she was so uninterested in him that she never cared where he was, when, so there was no questions.  If he came home at six or ten, she never asked him where he was.  She asked him about his business, about anything. 

Her conversations concerned spending his money. She had a helper and a cook, and had him send her to school so she could get a job he arranged for her with one of his big friends.  She lived at her job because she never wanted to go home, unless she was having a dinner or party.

After about seven years, he wanted children, and she decided okay; I'll give him two and done. So she gave him two.  He had to hire a nanny, because she was busy and didn't want her mother to move in.
Pris didn't want her mother there either, which is why she suggested it.

She was as interested in her kids as she was in her husband.  However, just as with her husband, she was able to emulate the 'perfect' wife and mother.

Her husband adored her, her kids worshipped her, and she lived her life as if she were absolutely free.

Her kids went to school, then extra lessons and tennis, piano, swimming, whatever could keep them away from the house until five, so could provoke her husband hiring a chauffeur.

By the time Pris was forty, her husband was a tired sixty three, who had retired, but she found him part time work somewhere making him believe that he couldn't just stay home.

Her kids were packed off to University as they graduated High School, getting a very brief vacation, because it was important they get used to the new environment and prepare in advance. 

Now unlike all you wives you worship your husband, and work at your marriage, unlike you parents who wrap your existence in your children, Pris was interested in Pris and nothing else.

Which is why she is held up as a goddess to other wives and mothers.

Baggage

It is really sad to see people so weighed down by the 'baggage' of their past that they no longer really exist as an individual.

In a way I am incredibly lucky not to be carting around a trailer of exs and twisted kids and half dead relatives so that anyone who thinks of inviting me for coffee has to consider my menagerie.

I was amazed by this chap who, ex-wife, handicapped child, thought he could make another stab at living, but ex-wife and handicapped child put paid to that.

No woman is going to deal with him; not with one phone in case his old mother calls, another for his handicapped child, and those that try find themselves alone when he 'has' to go to who summons him.

Is it only me?

Some years ago I saw this guy and thought he was 'all that'. Then I saw his girlfriend. Her thighs were thicker than my waist, and I was like...wow....I need to change my glasses as a matter of emergency. But my opinion of the guy went down. Not just his appearance, his intelligence, his character, I mean, the guy went from Tyr Anasazi to Chris Rock.

The other day, the same thing happened again, proving I haven't changed. I thought this guy was all that, saw his girlfriend, and like, I don't even want to hear what he has to say.

It's not judging a guy by how he looks. It is judging him as to how his girlfriend looks. Which of course, brings me to the fact that women judge other women, are more interested in other women then they will admit.

I've always known that the 'Other Woman' isn't going after the guy, she's judging herself against the wife. If I can take him I am better than the wife. And many of us have seen the gal dump the guy when the wife does, or when she find out the wife has someone else on the side.

This is the danger, of course, of the anorexic model, who makes other women feel fat, the danger of thinking that if our breasts were bigger, our bellies flatter, our hair dyed we will be 'better women'.

Two Becomes One

We're all taught that we 'need' a man to 'fulfill' us. We are taught to see ourselves as half a circle. We have lives but they are directed towards this 'goal'. We meet someone, we fall in love, we join with them, and it isn't long before we are not half a circle, we are swallowed up in his circle.

Relationships are very rarely equal. In marriage, and near-marriages, one person, usually the woman, becomes the adjunct, at best, subsumed as usual, destroyed as worst, by the man they 'love'.

There are moments when one realises it, but 'for the sake of the marriage', puts aside 'selfish' goals, and erodes more of her personhood. Sometimes one can define 'Stockholm Syndrome', other times, the identification with the abuser, as Bettleheim documented.

In the best cases it is usually like having a 'parent' who 'looks after us' and 'forms our character.'

We try to stay in the relationship as long as we can, as if there's a benefit in losing our identity. And lose it we do.

Those who were always followers, not particularly opinionated or ambitious can go from parents to husband quite comfortably. Those who broke those parental bonds and became whole suffer the worst when they marry and have to return to the constraints of having please others and displease ourselves.

It is only after; when the marriage breaks down, or when the other person proves to be so much less that we no longer respect nor need to please, that we recapture our essence. That the We becomes Me, and the Us returns to I.

Feminism

And you know in 1970 we thought we won. Yeah. We really thought we had done it.

Well, we didn't.

Women are bigger sex objects in 2010 then they ever were. Not just objects, self-selling objects.

The so-called singers spend more time exposing themselves, so that hearing a song on the radio is like yawn, then seeing the slut tearing out herself on a video and realising, this is why the song sells.

Actresses; can't sleep with enough people. Not merely other people's husbands but wives as well, and we're supposed to, respect them?

On the street, tits are dangling like cow udders, pants so tight you can tell who shaves and who doesn't, and bathing suits are made out of dental floss.

And women expect to be...respected?

Gloria Steinem prophesied that a black man would be President before a White Woman.
Yeah.
If a woman is businesslike she's too cold. If she's warm and open, she's not professional, if she has more degrees than a thermometer but isn't married; well you see her problem.

So a woman gets some big post that used have MAN written all over it, and to get over, she has to adopt the cutesy sweetsy persona so that she isn't 'threatening.' If she doesn't she is 'threatening'...and getting rid of her is priority one.

We thought our daughters would enter the world with the interest and ability and opportunity we had to fight for. They enter as either anorexic sticks or bloated cows, and their interest is pretty - husband - money - things - baby.

It might as well be 1910.

What it means

A schmata is a Yiddish word meaning rag. I'm using it to contain all the disconnected thoughts I want to share with the world. Or myself, depending on how this blog takes off.

My first schmata concerns feminism.