aging · Craft · death · friendship · observations · Religion · Sexualities · social observation

Type, Don’t Write – Take 2

The wind is high. Already, several tree limbs have hit the house. The first one was slender, showed signs of termites, hollow inside, ripe for being blown down.

Anxiety. What good would it do to call the insurance company? The tree should have been removed instead of my home. What good would it do to call the contractor who botched this job royally? I hope he used my claim funds for something worthwhile, like curing HIV/AIDS or the Oval Occupier.

Women are under attack, but they have always been under attack. We are not counted among those created equal. It is no accident that only men are mentioned. Just like it is no accident that God is allegedly a male. That’s sex. I never thought God had a sex. What need of sex has God? When the myth got started that Jesus was God, I lost all interest in Christian religions. I know they’re gonna be struck by something and I don’t want to get smote.

The Old Testament God was angry, jealous, would tear shit up, or inflict horrors on pretty innocent people. At least, I understand this God. He’s petty.

With the New Testament we throw out the petty God and claim Jesus is God and his son. That’s some hellified double relationship. God made a baby who was Himself. A woman was used.

Women constantly get used. I’m ’bout fed up with that. But women find it difficult to stand together. Wasn’t always this way, but it seems to be the case today. Maybe it’s generational. Women were in competition for men, so they were bitchy to one another. Let a woman get a man and she will abandon her women friends in a combination New York/LA minute. Cisness is death to women friendships.

My best friends were always lavender ladies. They know how to party. They know how to be quiet and comfortable together. They know how to be friends. I wish everyone was multisexual, especially the Christians.

Why do Christians have so much interest in other folks’ naughty bits? Why are they always trying to make women have babies they can’t care for? Why don’t they have as much care for the living as they do for the “pre-born”? I’d like to see a 6 week foetus survive on its own, no machines, nada. Just pretend it is born.

What happened to procreation being a job for two? If the women are being penalized for getting pregnant, why aren’t the men who impregnated them getting some sort of punishment? Punitive. That’s what Christians are. They are sadistic and mean.

Of course, there are sadistic and mean people everywhere in America. They exist in every religion, every ethnicity, every age group, every sex. But Christians, maybe evangelical Christians stand out for their love of death. They would rather see you dead than not believe the way they do.

I don’t know about this type, don’t write thing. I get to saying stuff I think but don’t say. I don’t like confrontation. I don’t like hurting other people. However, there is more room out than in. So, there you go.

aging · AS · Craft · Homeless People · observations · Religion

Type, Don’t Write

All sorts of info, directive filters into my headspace. The title is a result of this seepage. Either I read this dictate, saw it in passing on television, likely in an ad, or it was splashed at me through subliminal advertising. Who knows?

Doing so many things in a day. Ramadan always calls for a period of adjustment, generally a turning around of activity. Eating and drinking can go on during the night, but dawn sees the resumption of the fast. Day is now for contemplation. Night is for getting things done.

Night offers quiet. Getting things done must be accomplished in quiet. It is a blessing. It is calming. It is a refuge from the surrounding madness. The homeless remain, increasing in number. What need have I for pictures when the blind cannot see them? Mummy could ignore a lot of things because she was deaf in one ear. Ceaseless drips from a faucet set my teeth on edge.

Type, don’t write. Need to read more Faulkner and O’Connor. 1955 was a significant year. Read Faulkner’s coverage of the Kentucky Derby of 1955 in Sports Illustrated. Got no need for sports, but I do love horseracing. So many Black men built that sport. Built the South. Built the nation. But The Misfit runs the nation right now. Flannery said so.

The recitation continues. May your Ramadan bear fruit.

aging · AS · observations · Paralegal Studies

I Need a Lifeline

Haven’t knitted a thing in days! Thought April would never end. Now, the day after May Day, International Workers Day, I must pick up my work in progress and add a lifeline as an afterthought because my Bird’s Eye Lace section is off.

A day without knitting is like a day without knitting, I tell you what. I don’t like having to do without. So many tasks to accomplish in April, but at the least my property taxes have been paid and should be lower the next time I have to pay them. Nothing is more sure than death and taxes.

Completed my interview with Pissed Consumer. That was difficult as it was hard to find a neutral background in this rectangular rat trap.

Spoke with Building and Safety and have to laugh every time I think of the excuse I was given for the CFO (Certificate of Occupancy) that was issued to Vince Paglia having an issue date of 21 September 2017 when the structure wasn’t given final approval for occupancy until 11 January 2018. CONSUMER ALERT A contractor submits the CFO to the insurance adjuster to receive payment. It is a form of proof of work completed. Vince Paglia had this document in February though the Permit Date on the CFO is March 2017. My home was demolished in February 2017, the month the first check was issued to Paglia. There is no itemized statement in my claim file to provide a breakdown of the payment and Kent Stiles will not provide the statements no matter how many times I request them.

I asked the representative from Building and Safety if it was usual to issue a CFO when there was no structure standing on the property and was told no, the issue date was a “typo”. In 30 April 2019, the CFO issue date of 21 September 2017 is damn near two years old. Helluva duration for a “typo”. If I’d never brought the discrepancy to anyone’s attention, that “typo” would be word.

It takes a long time to get over being gaslighted for a couple of years and then having to go through the grueling ordeal of uncovering the evidence, following clues to get a documentation trail established. Research and investigations is long, tedious, hard work.

A typo. Picture me laughing.

observations

About What to Talk?


Too much happening all at once. Plane crashes killing too many Ethiopians and some poor man at the airport around the corner. Gun happy, people hating white supremacist trying to kill the Umma. Too many dead.

An economist with the world on a string commits suicide. What on earth was wrong that you take your very accomplished life at 58? People starving in Yemen. We’re in bed with Saudi Arabia. Orange Slush and White Bread in the Oval. This is a nightmare of elephantine proportions.

I want to say something meaningful, something with malice, snark, sarcasm ’cause I can see that all day. I don’t want to contribute to that. There is too much that is not humane in the air. Every time I see Orange Slush or any of his ilk, I cringe. How is it that they are continuing to destroy the nation and cannot be stopped? The nation has always been divided.

Prime Minister Ardern is a wonder to behold. There is no comparing her to Orange Slush. I want to be a Kiwi. Look at the response to a cultural crisis. Immediate change. If only we had any competent leadership.


Community · ethnography · Language · observations · power · research · social observation · Sociology · trauma

I Don’t See Color

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.

aging · AS · Bad Faith · Criminal Organizations · Disaster · Homeownership · Insurance · Insurance Claims · Law · observations · Paralegal Studies · power

Is This Fraud, Larceny, or What?

 

Just made 63. The struggle is real.

Safeco, Liberty Mutual has provided the claim file. I have found $28-30K of discrepancies. Safeco has foisted the burden to the contractor, who was brought into the deal by the Safeco adjuster.

I asked the adjuster about the remaining claim funds in October and she refused to answer my question, went incommunicado for two months. When she did surface, it was indirectly, through my housing provider, to cancel my housing, telling me my house was fit for move-in.

It wasn’t.

Got a copy of my claim file. Says I bought hardwood oak floors that were sanded and stained and non-dust sanded, too. Trouble is I can’t find those floors in this house. These are laminate if I’m a day old. Says I have TWO infrared, vent-free heaters. There is a gas monstrosity in the living room. Says the porch pillars have been paid for, but I don’t have a porch any more.

All totaled about $30K in questionable charges. From missing windows, shutters, a back door, hardwood floors, bathroom mirrors, and kitchen cabinetry, to outright lies about what exists in this house, this is pretty shocking shit to me.

The insurance company is quick to advise taking the matter up with the contractor, but the adjuster brought the contractor with her. They are in this together. This isn’t the first time, either, I’d wager.