feet many feet move
over much of the Earth’s face
feet many feet move
over much of the Earth’s face
Here’s a phrase that sincerely chaps my ass. What if the police ask you to describe me? Whachugonsay?
Discovered my disgust with this statement after getting into a discussion about who can and can’t say nigger. We concluded with the thought that anyone can say anything (conditional) because this is a country that constitutionally guarantees freedom of speech. I added that saying anything means being ready and able to take the consequences of those utterances.
See, you can’t say nigger to everyone. I don’t care how you spell it, inflect it, think it’s cute or a term of endearment, you can’t say that to everyone. Some folks have a reflexive action to being called nigger. They will bust you in the mouth, with love, ’cause they ain’t having it. I think I am one of those people.
Nigger is a slur, an ethnophaulism. How’d you like it if I walked up to you and called you my Dago, my Wop, my Mick, my Chink, my Gook, my Buddhahead, my Guinea, my Spic, my Kike, (recent) my Beaner? Does it grate a little? If not, do you know someone who might not share your attitude?
It is difficult to find a slur for whites that carries the same punch as nigger. By becoming white, those ethnics who look more like the dominant group eventually became white. Hunky or honky no longer packed a punch. Even Jews thought, and think, they were white. It only takes a second to be disabused of that notion when faced with real crackers who think the kikes are out to replace them.
We are all color struck. We are overly concerned with the color of another’s skin because to be anything other than a variation of pink is to be diminished in the world. We don’t talk about slavery. We don’t talk about Jim Crow. We don’t talk about the Trail of Tears. We don’t talk about segregation, an active factor in our lives today. Why are we all color struck, especially those who come here from other countries where there may or may not be a racial history of torture and abuse? Loss of cultural and historical memory? Loss of self-awareness? Loss of our humanity? For certain, it is because we have been taught to be conscious of color, particularly for purposes of differentiation and separation.
We need to speak to one another in the way we wish to be addressed. Don’t come @ me with your nigger speak. I really will bust you in your mouth, with love, and dare you to call the police. Since you don’t see color, you won’t be able to give a credible description and I will go on my way, hoping I taught you something of value.
Are we really all racists? Are we all irresponsible? Are we all trying to die? From opioids to laundry pods, are we really this stupid?
I can’t watch the news unless it comes from someplace outside of America. I am sick of being exposed, on the daily, to the lies, misdirection, and hatred coming from the top. I don’t want to see that ugly man’s face, but it is plastered everywhere. I can’t use social media because he is everywhere there. He gets way too much publicity. Is this all a ratings race? Who is winning because it certainly is not the public, who is exposed to “information” we cannot trust the truth of, nor can we believe.
An orange ass, who has done nothing in his life but lie and cheat, has no right to be in office. He has no right to expose me to his ignorance.
Is money the only thing that matters in this country? Being stupid certainly seems to be the movida of the hour. Eating laundry pods? How are people being raised nowadays? Where is the sense?
My son tells me that people now have pet children. They have a child, children, but fail to parent them. Single mothers look for mates, children in tow, rather than parenting the children presently in the world. Children have smartphones and tablets to babysit them before they can talk. No wonder they are sexting at age 8. What happened to childhood? What happened to responsible parenting?
The airways are full of the lowest of the low in terms of showing us what behavior is extant. Incest, hatred, murder, bigotry, jealousy. Every day we are exposed to the most negative, loathesome, debilitating, demoralizing behavior. Is this what we are expected to become? I have never seen upright behavior spurred by constant exposure to nastiness.
Like the little dog I saw in my twitter feed. He’d been abused all his life and cried when touched gently. It took a handler a while to calm the poor animal, but she broke through by showing patience, gentleness, kindness. Eventually the wee beastie stopped crying, relaxed and was able to begin responding in kind. It didn’t take long, but exposure to something other than the abuse he’d experienced was required for him to make a change.
I suspect our media is attempting to turn us all into mindless drones. Thoughtless, without empathy, stupid. I don’t like thinking this way, but I am continuously shown this behavior, encounter this behavior in the world, where I know I cannot trust anyone’s word, where I expect the worst and always receive it.
I wasn’t always like this. I was once an optimist. My son says I still live in fantasyland because I want to believe in people. It is getting more difficult to stay in fantasyland, though. I have been robbed, cheated, lied to more often in the past two years than at any time in my life. Confronted with the unending hubris of humankind, I am stunned by how far we seem to have fallen in the US.
No, this isn’t about knitting, though that is my world nowadays. No, this is about remembering, triggered memory. Read the name Owen and cast back to my neighbors, the Owens. Large family, all varying shades of mocha with the exception of the only son, Anthony. I secretly adored his handsome chocolate brown frame. It was never curious to me that he was the only brown child; it was marvelous. I wonder if he ever experienced discrimination because of the lovely color of his dark brown skin.
In southern India, I saw the most beautiful dark brown people with glistening black hair. Gorgeous! Then, I learned they were as colour-struck as American Blacks and used terms like “wheatish” to describe the most desirable skin colour. Dalits I met were universally brown-skinned. The women and men who tended my household, bathroom, and garden were universally brown. The owner of the flat was that wheatish color I first encountered reading Indian newspaper personal ads. Wonder what causes wheatishness? Black people have white folks in slavery to thank for some of our wheatishness, as well as for the concept of colour-struck in American culture.
Considering such castings cause me to take refuge in my knitting. I’m not a writer, Yann! I’m a maker, an artisan, a handcrafter, a sample maker. Mom was a sample maker. There are entire businesses devoted to the making of samples. I saw one recently featured on NHK. Sample makers typically make the first draught of a pattern, testing theory as it happens. If everything is good, only one sample is needed. If more work is needed, revisions, and additional samples will be made. I like making one or two of a thing, then off to a new project. I have a research scientist’s ability to focus intently on a topic for a long while, but I have a child’s curiousity and want to explore many things, hence the making of one or two gloves, or pattern tests, or blog posts, then it is off to a new project.
Anthony. One of his sisters was a doctor. Another worked in the university system. They were a good family. I hope all is well with them.
The winds were high and apparently gentle, but the property-line tree fell on my home. Happy Earth Day! The tree was over 60′ tall by a ways. The utility pole stands that high and the tree towered over that, all five branch trunks growing from the main stem. Hard to believe the tree started from something like a weed, easily yanked out of the earth before it can grow into the heavy colossus guarding the property line.
When the branch cracked away from the central trunk, I was sitting under it in my bedroom. You know that sound you hear in films about the lumbering industry, hacking down the forest, shouting,”Timberrrrrr!” The tree cracks away from the base and the upper branches whoosh earthward through the air. I heard the crack, heard the whoosh, and was out of the room by the thud that signaled the trunk had come to rest on the roof and on the roofs of the next two houses. No damage to any roof but my own. Thank you, Mother Earth.
The ceiling was kept up by things sitting atop the closet. I can see daylight where the wall of the house buckled and burst at the seams from the weight of the limb that laid atop the roof for 3-4 days. The general contractor said the only reason the tree did not come into the room is because it was small. Saved by geometric configuration and physics.
The general contractor also said the house must be razed.
I await the adjuster/appraiser. Long wait in a precarious shelter. I refuse to go into my bedroom. Just moved to the living room, though it is somewhat dicey up here as the neighbor continues to host a colossus, some of its branches overhanging my property….
I have written here before about the gang members who live across the street and harass me every chance they get. Last March, the day before my birthday, I sent a Demand Letter to the owner of the property. I asked for $7500 in compensation for harassment, threats on my life, taunting, attempted humiliation, and exposure to violence. They seem to have forgotten how they have treated me from 2008 to the present day.
When they shut up after the first letter, I let it go, but the other day as I was walking out to my car to go to the 341 hearing, I was loud-talked, chided, and asked why I wanted to sue my NEIGHBORS! I was subjected to this harassment because the loud-talking woman decided to accept gossip for reality. She thought I called the Sheriff on her. Why? Must be guilt, because I hadn’t thought about them since March 2015.
Since she brought it up, I thought to renew my demand for my money. If I don’t receive the $7500 by 20 February, we will be seeing the inside of the Small Claims Court where the landlord will have to explain why she supports a nuisance.
Filed complaints with Better Business Bureau, Consumer Affairs, CA State Department of Business Oversight, and the young Consumer Financial Protection Bureau http://consumerfinance.gov. I also wrote to Senator Elizabeth Warren as I know her to be a consumer advocate and quite involved in the formation and operation of the CFPB.
My representative from Consumer Affairs had to negotiate with MGC Mortgage, and it was not a pretty affair, but he gained my side a month’s reprieve, in which time MGC Mortgage is supposed to review the loss mitigation documents I submitted. I expect for them to come back with a denial and some excuse that would prevent me from qualifying for loss mitigation, and I’ll be told to do something else. They denied a loss mit app in November 2014 and told me I was not eligible for a loan assumption, though the word lately has been loan assumption whenever I’ve been able to speak to an MGC representative.
Now, thanks to the helpful input of friends and several agencies, I’m on a mission to find the $42,000 owed these people on a $25,500 loan taken out in 1997! Go figure. Maybe I’ll put my GoFundMe page back up…
Simplest way to amend the Probate Code to avoid any more of this type of backdoor theft of real property from consumers by banksters would be to require ALL creditors to make a claim against the Estate of a deceased mortgageholder, thus also requiring all creditors to inform the consumers who notified them of the mortgageholder’s death of their possible need to file probate. Both secured and unsecured creditors should be held to the same standards when a deceased mortgageholder is involved.