To Kill The Giant

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Month: October, 2015

Blue Shag

The ruined carpet leading down the hallway to the rooms started as a deep shag, blue in color some 40 years ago, now, stained, the stench of cigarette smoke embedded its cancer into it. Patches of it matted together, laden with dirt, compacted over the years, offering a bumpy walk.
The ends worn from tired and dirty feet trudging along its path. The smell was of covered up mold and mildew, with freshening powder.

Some of the shoes were leather, just polished that belonged to a very important businessman to dirty sneakers and loafers who were just there to visit for a while.
Wheel chairs and walkers left their mark some rubbing against the tired paneling lining the walls. The money collected in the rooms never went to update and replace the worn, dated and dirty carpet, only the rooms or what the owner deemed necessary for continued business.

Other shoes have tread the thousand of miles placed upon the carpet, to include high heels, some broken spikes as the wearers unsure of their feet mis stepped, piercing a hole into the underlayment and breaking off.

A path so worn, yet, what it led to, was what everyone who trudged along the blue brick feeling street came to see, to spend time with.
Hidden in the shadows, in each room, hung dim lights, covered in lace cloths, white sheets, double beds and behind these lace cloths, sheer window panelings were young girls.

The fancy shoes delivered them, the high heels belonged to the young girls learning to walk in them and the loafers were the johns, the henchmen, the bodyguards protecting them. When the girls were knocked to the ground or roughed up, the blue shag caught them, protecting them, breaking the fall of the innocent. Tears have been shed on the carpet, as well as sexual favors. The shag in its hey day offered a plush bedding, now, only sharp edges.

This worn carpet contains the memories, the imprints of young girls sold into a life that they did not ask for. Perhaps it was their parents so that she could earn money for them, to saudia arabian and eastern european heists of young girls to sell on the black market, a kidnapping, a robbery of innocence.

The blue carpet, like the tears of crying blue eyes, has withered and grown old with hardness and age. Once it is too old for any use, it will be replaced.

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Cardboard Castles and Gold Dreams

Don’t make eye contact. Just keep walking and don’t look at them.
They are strewn throughout the city. Covered in newspapers, cardboard boxes, garbage bags, littering the streets. A shower is never heard of. Food is from hand outs or the local soup kitchen with mandatory worship service. Signs held in their weathered hands show their status, a displacement in the world and what they need. The destitution, the despair once shown in their eyes are now placid, glazed over as pain no longer affects them. Some are seeking medication and don’t know it, while still others have been turned out by society, family disownment, societal outcasts. Loss of jobs, death of a spouse, mental illness, the list is as long as a train to nowhere.
Some are seeking their last fix on the streets, some are selling the only thing that they have left for money, their skin, and some won’t make it to see the awakening of their agony in the next morning. If only to be discovered by some lone stranger walking by who has never stared death in the face before. The lifeless no names, lying in a pool of their bodily functions that let go upon death. Their bodies are brought and tagged in the morgue as jane or john doe. No one desires to claim the remains of remorse and pain left in their lives and save the last bit of dignity they left behind, their soul, left on the streets.
The shopping carts are filled with belongings, the last of the goods they believed they owned, a shoe found in a dumpster, a torn stained blanket taken from a dead boy or from the homeless shelter, to a plastic toy when wound up emits a smile for brief second.
Lifting these items secretly looking around to make sure no one sees them, their finds are gold treasures. These trinkets and junk mean nothing to the people unlocking their front doors with heat and air conditioning. The comfort of leather and embossed silk sheets offer luxury to slink into from high heels and hundred thousand dollar jobs but anything to someone who has lost everything with nothing to be found or given to them, except taken when no one is looking is worth more. The cardboard box, wet from the dew in the morning is their refuge from the cruel animals that toss pennies their way.
Was their homelessness a request from society? Was it a gift from their higher power to teach a lesson? Or was it that the animals who toss pennies have no empathy for someone who truly suffers?
The helping hand extended for the weekly sermon in church is reverted when help is asked outside of the gothic emblem representing the Diety, the almighty.
Was it not Jesus who fed the poor and who died for the sin of the world so that you could have eternal life in a city of gold, happy and free? The splendours not found for many on this earthly plane. Again, the meek shall inherit the earth? He will come to judge the living and the dead. Should it be such justice as to consider that the meek are the homeless and you will be judged for not looking into their eyes.

500%

500% and climbing
He raised the price 500%. Now Deloris cant afford the pill to make her well. Her insurance rate will skyrocket, in turn dropping her from their list or she will lose her insurance due to her medical bills. I know first hand. My insurance skyrocketed to over 2100.00 a month when I was diagnosed with the big C. Blue Cross and Blue Shield was the company.
I couldn’t pay them. So I couldn’t afford the treatment. So I went without health insurance.
He said he is not making profits on his new cancer drug. Yet, he doesnt have that much overhead to contend with.
He said he will think about lowering the price when and if he feels like it.
He said he donates millions to charity.
Where did he get these millions? His company and the markups his pill has seen in the last few years? He is not the only one to do this in the last few weeks.
What charities does he donate too? Aids in Africa? World Peace?
What about the charities that want to end what his pharmaceutical company develops? Why can’t he donate to those charities? Because, it might make the end of disease happen quicker.
Why would he want to do that? That means the little pill he raised the price on 500% would be non existent and no one would want it or need it anymore if the disease was eradicated because they found a cure with his millions of donated dollars.
He holds two paths in his hands, and both might yield the cure.
Is it the yellow brick road or the road to financial success?
For Deloris and countless others, it is the end of the road.
Get the pharmaceutical companies out of the hands of private companies, the FDA and individuals. Allow it to  compete with other companies and open the market. Open the market

Antiquated for the Forgotten

An amputee with a name badge sits waiting with other men and women in seats lined up in front of a television. Another patient is talking about his ailments to a person sitting next to him who doesn’t want to be bothered and has heath problems of his own.
Pensive, no emotion showing, his turn is coming up. Then the name badged amputee disappears behind closed doors, to re emerge a few minutes later after his blood is drawn. The fingerprinted chrome on his industrial style wheelchair shows age and the large handle bar above has dents in it, quite possibly from bags, oxygen or whatever else he wants to hang from it as he wheels himself down the hall to another line formation. This time it is for his medications dolled out in a paper bag with a digital name board checking the people off as they pick them up. He then heads out of the front lobby to the bus waiting to pick him up, along with others in wheel chairs.
Once home, his medications lay in front of him. They are outdated old medications in orange bottles that need a wrench to unscrew them. Rat poison or cumadin to thin his blood, then there is an antiquated blood pressure medicine not used since the 60’s, medicine for his diabetes also being cheap for the government to supply the masses. His finger hurts from all the sticking he has to do and the monitor is large and heavy from the 1980’s.
His chances along with thousands of others are slim. His health is not great, and time is not on his side. Never mind his A fib and never mind his bi polar medications which are akin to barbaric treatments. The last time he got upset was over how old his medications were when there were new ones out on the market. They were housed in some commercial warehouse, removed from a shelf, dust blown off the tops of the cardboard boxes, and labeled sufficient for him and others and conveniently handed to him in a white paper cup. When he refused to take them and wanted newer drugs to see if they would work, the men in white uniforms came in. He was headed to level three, to the psychiatric ward. Upset, the thumps in his chest became stronger. His heart rate was all over the place. Stress, anxiety, not knowing, fear of being locked up once again because he didn’t want to take those medicines.Why? He was not trying to commit suicide, he just wanted medicine that would work. They would not give him his meds for his heart on the 3rd floor. Two women stood in the way, one was a Brazilian doctor who cared only about treating his bipolar and not his heart and the other was his girlfriend who stood in the way of the doctor hauling him away to the third floor. He signed over his power of attorney to his sister who showed up and she kept him out of the dungeon yet again. What awaited him in the psychiatric ward was not pleasant. Was it going to be shock treatments? More drugs introduced to him intravenously or the constant barage of take your meds, take your meds drilled into his head. He wasn’t sure.
Where are the new medications? Why must he take the pills when there are new therapies out that might work better? Why are all of these third world doctors employed? It took him 3 months to get this appointment he had today to get his blood checked and it will take another six months to be able to see his primary care doctor. Are there not enough doctors in the house?
He gave everything he had, to include his mental state, and his left leg, while some give more, some gave their lives. They say the system is not broken. Some say their dying to get seen. Some even say it is a scandal to kill them off so the government wont have to doll out millions of dollars of medical treatments.
The officials have better health insurance and can go to a private doctor where they can have better medical care and newer medicines.
The government officials wear fancy suits, drive nice cars and speak to congressional hearings. They don’t live in trailer parks or subsidized housing or lower income housing neighborhoods. They don’t have to take community buses to their medical appointments or have them pick them up.
How do you fix this broken ferris wheel? Stop hiring government officials to run the VA, instead, have a veteran run it.
They knew how to fight the enemy. Today the enemy is the government official who thinks they know best.

Tower Power

Toupee of Tower Power

They wouldn’t allow me to go to the elevator. Was I a guest or was I visiting someone? Did I have credentials to be in the building? Shyness is not my forte, rather when men look at me or other women, they are shocked to see how forthright I am. How much power I exude, even my voice commands respect. I am not soft spoken at all. though my worn leather greyish coat has marks on it that won’t or can’t be erased. My boots are scuffed and my hair has five points where it decides to do different things. People stop and stare at me. Is it my blue white eyes that turn grey when angry? Is it the white light I walk in that glows as I cross a room? Or is it my smile when a smile is not called for?
“Yes” I am with so and so.
They ring the apartment.
“Okay, you may proceed to the elevator.
There a man waits in full uniform to take me to the top floor.
He escorts me to the front door.
I am let in.
Later I go out into the lobby with the people I came to see.
There he was, not much taller than me, with an entourage. He suddenly looks at me and stops, his entourage piling into him like a set of domino’s set off on a table.
“Beautiful” he mutters.
I smile and the smile was called for.

I turned to my employer, a very elegantly dressed and well to do man in his own right and said to him, He just called you beautiful.

We laughed. I am still a nobody with a gift.

The Petition For Souls

Stella McCartney has a saying on her glass door front as you enter her store. “China and the Chinese are responsible for thousands of dogs and cats being bled to death and hung up waiting on them to bleed out to be able to wear the furs once they are dead. This medium cries. Why do you ask? They are just animals.

Where is the ability to love outside the human race? Do the Chinese and others not value the soul of animals?  To think that God’s love does not extend to granting four legged or even two legged creatures a soul to love unconditionally is to not believe in a higher power.  is to hang blinders on a horse and watch only what is front of you. The same mindset is of poachers Only for the worth of the animal and not the soul.

When I give a reading to a client, ultimately, the four legged friend will surface and come running up to the lost loved ones I was asked to contact. They were part of the family, and remain just as human souls remain. The mprints that unconditional love leave on our lives can’t be measured but they can be seen.

As a medium, I see souls. Animal and human and the inhumane. The souls of the departed come through. When giving a reading, I can see animal souls just as I see human souls. To believe that animals do not have souls and do not matter is to take the mindset of the dentist who killed Cecil the Lion in Zimbabwe. To him life does not matter except his. Selfish, motive, money and ego driven. I have a response to someone like him and to others who take a life for the sake of making money or to bolster one’s ego, and that is, I am glad that I don’t have your soul. For I can see what will happen to yours. Would you like for me to tell you what awaits you? You carry the darkness as an attachment. It will follow you for your days until your time ends. To the people who kill animals for furs, animals that can give unconditional love, to kill the love and feelings of such a soul puts the taker’s soul at risk. The soul is a window to your death and everyone wears their soul like a jacket. Do you wear a fur jacket or do you wear a cloth jacket?

The petitions flew around on the internet begging one to stop the dog killing festival earlier this year. How can you change the mindset of such people? It is a cultural identity that is spawned from birth. Education wont change cultural heritage. Only the love of a pet can persuade the mindset that a soul is worth saving rather than worth wearing.

The Inhumane Darkness

The Black Plague.

The door was opened and in the pitch blackness, the ghosts of souls of wars lost, step over the threshold. Silently, creeping in, without notice. One by one, they amass into legions of armies. Killing armies. Hooded, cloaked and in black, they hang in the shadows, in areas riddled with strife, biding time. Like a chalkboard, erased, the slate was wiped clean of all who did not want to participate. The ones left behind, bowed down, fearing the worst to spare their lives and deliver them into a secular freedom. Allah, they proclaim, is our Lord and Master but yet, a man claims to be a direct decendant of the Lord. How can that be? A lie, as in many lies that ties the movement together. A secular divide and conquer if you don’t believe.
The black plaque knows no color ,sect, or political prowness. It wants you dead, especially if you are American and Christian.
A cultural mindset swept up in joining a cause, the cause of the black plaque which was contrived in violence, to a tribal run at claiming this is in the name of allah, has paved the way for the return of the plaque.
This plaqued is led by a self described delusional warrior decendant of allah. Where was the protocol of proof of his ancestors? A doctorate on a piece of paper decided he was the chosen name sake for his kind. The challenger most certainly faces sheer torture and death to deny the great leader his due right.
What is his kind? People seeking self fulfillment for a cause, worthy of a righteous experience leading to the prophecy proclaimed in the bible? No, rather a demon spawned from the living dead, the minds of men who would rather believe their way is the right way rather than die trying to please their Lord.

How do you divide and conquer the black Plague? Remove the need for why it began.

Enlightenment

“its my money in the end, I dont know why they just don’t go ahead and give it to me before they die.” said the heir to a massive food fortune.
“What do you mean I can’t have the credit card now? Why does my sister have it?” said the heiress to a communications giant. Millions of millions of dollars are soon to be in their hands but before it reaches them, entitlement will have reached them first.
Entitlement, runs with explicable cause, rampant in society of the wealthy. Working for too long in the industry that takes care of and for the world’s 1% these eyes have seen it in every family that had money, except one. When I say, has money, I am speaking of multi millions to billions. Not someone who makes 100,000.00 to 1 million a year.
Was it too much overindulgence of mother’s milk growing up, the thirst for more or an insatiable desire to obtain and acquire without the deep soul searching of looking within, to find the answer. The man with all the toys, garages of them or boxes of them, the women with too many diamonds and too many fake friends. If one delves deep into the psyche of the entitlement personae, one will find that the consummation of earthly goods emerged from not having satiated the void that accumulated and grew first within the person and their soul.

To feed the soul feeds the spirit and diminishes the need for materialistic goods, services which led to entitlement. Once you have had it all, a true person wishing to learn from their mistakes will not want more. When a person has not learned this lesson, there exists a void so vast that material objects to even collections of people are consumed in attempts to fill the emptiness and the entitlement begins. It is not just about money. It is also the ego driven attitude that compensates for having a lot. The grafting of the ego, to still higher platforms based on what is obtained through wealth leads to the downfall of the souls redemption. Likened to a stairway with never ending stairs, the ego ultimately begins the ascent with the money and their golden objects creating the entitlement personae.

Or perhaps it is age that entitles a person. A person lives to be 50 and believes they are entitled to experience and enjoy more. The older Japanese man worth millions is entitled to a younger gold digger mistress. The blonde thinks she is entitled to bigger boobs and her boyfriends millions. The Texas oilman sleeps with a woman for 24 hours and she is entitled to half his wages and earnings to the sex slave trader who after drugging and kidnapping young women is entitled to all the young girls he can sell to the entitled. The rapist murderer is in his mind entitled to the hate with more rape, more pillage and murder. It is embedded in every stitch, every thread of our culture and oozes from our pores like a sickness rotting deep within. A sickness of the soul, mind, body and ego.

Why show up at an auction to buy antiques if you have everything your heart desires or a clothing store on rodeo drive to buy a simple shirt costing you thousands? It’s because you can and you do and you will. It’s because you are entitled to it once you have money, family title or simply an ego that goes before you go. Why have the crab meat stripped from a shell for you, when you might be missing out on the fun of working for your food. It’s because you can and you will and you do.
Yet, are you also entitled to treat domestic help such as you do? From demands of the maid, chef, manager to suit your needs on a daily basis it is because you are entitled. You are their employer. Fire the chef, why, is because your husband wasn’t happy with how the lamb was cooked. You didn’t use enough fat and rosemary. The ordering around, the playing and toying with their lives, with them living in complete fear of losing their jobs, less they get the souffle wrong or the husband isn’t happy is entitlement. Because you have the money and they don’t. Forgive them if they talk back or try to be engaging in a nice conversation and fire them after that. You demand silence and not to be spoken to unless you speak first. Why, its because you are entitled.
Helping yourself to being first in line to being the only thing that matters is entitlement. American society has become the golden rule for it. Pushing your way through the door to be the first, stepping over people less fortunate why should you care? You care because they might take your place only when it suits you. When you meet someone who stops your entitlement demands, do you truly see yourself for how you are? No, it is only at the end of your life will you truly be shown your worth on this plane called earth.
My experience has taught me that entitlement extends far beyond the reach of the wealthy. It ultimately reaches the sub cultures who are less fortunate. These other less inferior cultures as you see it who take by theft, a lesson learned from you to help themselves to what you have. Because you have it, and they don’t. The sliver goblet kept hidden away in a cupboard for use on rare occasions is free for the taking for the ones who don’t have it and are happy to have it. The entitlement has long reaching effects. The entitlement of the cultures whose families centuries ago were enslaved to demand more goods and services based on past effects of their forefathers with countless apologies not good eenough, can not earn it themselves. The entitlement of the illegals waiting for their handout taking it from more deserving citizens who paid into a program to use it, to the entitlement of the ones seeking free medical and government benefits from the US government when it is meant for the ones who truly need it. Everyone is entitled and were led to their ways by you, a teacher, a guide, the entitled one.

Why hire someone for a couple of months to help you eat better when you can learn and do for yourself? Your answer, because you can. Because you are too busy in your golden and opal lined crystal chamber to do it. Never mind paying them the salary they deserve, they must earn it. So you triple the work week, take away more of their day off because you can. Did corporate entities and their black soldiers learn it from you? You outfitted them with the basics of entitlement. You scrimp on the benefits of the job until they have worked so hard, their fingers bleed. And yet, you don’t care how hard they work. You don’t care they travel great distances to be there and yet you still don’t care even after 10 years, they have a life they lead, which is second to yours but ultimately dependent on yours. You are the enlightened entitled one.
The entitlement of the passenger breaking to the front of the line because they are in first class, the entitlement of the rich to look down on the poor, because they can, the entitlement of the wealthy to give more to their children because they can and in return more and more is wanted. You with the entitlement issue has set a precedent that even your children will not be able to break unless there is no more.
No more. Nothing. What would you do? Can you take it with you? Can you auction it off and have it buy your health or soul? Can you give it away and not need it? Apparantly not. It is much better to have more and skimp on your domestic employees salaries, your other employees than to give them more, the ones who devote their days off and time off to your needs. Entitlement should be relabeled to enlightenment for the people who need re-educating.

The Green Jacket

The Green Jacket

You wear the green jacket well. It has been with you all your life and yet, it never ages. You remember the first time you put it on. You were five years of age. The teenage years you wore it all the time. People began asking if you ever would just stop suiting up and showing up in your green jacket. As you became an adult, your dates and ex lovers began to hate that jacket. The green seemed to become even more green with each remark, each quip of the tongue.

Eventually, the jacket developed permanent stains, stains that would not come out. Each time you feel like slipping into it, it takes on a whole new demeanor. It just feels diifferent to you as thought you have never worn it before. it becomes new again. What does this green jacket do to you to make you want to keep wearing it? Does it make you feel pretty in certain situations or the next time you put it on, will it turn you into a hideous beast?

When his eyes lock onto another you have had the jacket on. The glove fit was so tight, you didnt even know you have it on. Like silk, it glides on unexpectedly and fits like second skin, supple, smooth, like buttery leather.

It has been your best friend, most times your worst enemy as it can make you look bad, ill fit for such a lady or gentleman. The green jacket has comforted you when his eyes looked away and instantaneously the jacket became your enemy and his even though he might not admit it. The jacket if not worn properly will make you feel insecure. Your pride tells you it is okay, just keep wearing it.

This green jacket, akin to the masters green, belongs to champions who have won the tournament. They will wear the jacket beaming with pride and will scoff when it is won away.

For you, the green jacket appears tattered, the fibers deteriorating with age, only bits and pieces cover the sleeve. Yet, you still wear it but this time it is on your arm.

Later in life, once you become comfortable in your own skin, your own ego has subsided you realize, that it is better to toss that green jacket. You outgrew it or perhaps it just isn’t becoming anymore. What did you ever decide to wear a GREEN jacket. Why not red, why not black or pink? It is now gone, you decided you could finally live without the ill effects.

In the second hand store, a young woman with her boyfriend is searching for her unique style, finds a pretty, used, but still wearable green jacket..