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Wisps Posts Tagged as 'Violence'
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The boy who defined my sex was a Jehovah's Witness and my cousin. I was his sex obedient from age 8 to 18 (when he bored of me.) He took my sex while I was asleep as I woke to a dry and cold orgasm.
I gave him a hickey the night before he wed his first 12 year old bride. When I came out to him at 16 he used the moment to remind me that I should never mention having sex with him and his brother (they were straight) and that he had a penchant for children. It was a chilling moment. Five wives under the age of 13, countless children, countless cover-ups from the family and the church and innumerate weddings that my cousins and I forced smiles for. I was a Jehovah's Witness too but I quit because they couldn't cohesively answer "why I couldn't celebrate my birthday."
The monster tired of his wives at the age of 18. The family joke was that they woke up. The reality was that he violently possessed them. He gained sympathy and property of his children and was regarded as a great father because the children seemed overly physically attached to him. He carried them around like monkeys. He was the only one allowed to touch them. The family celebrated every child marriage and birth like it was holy. He was a beloved violent boxer.
When I told my mother, she was flabbergasted. All boys do that. I snitched on the family. Bullshit! Get over it! Family first! Do not discuss this with your sister (the saint?)
My cousin was a teen heartthrob. The mothers gushed, the women flirted and the girls were overcome. He was a Puerto Rican with blue eyes, freckles and red hair that cascaded in the wind. What I saw was the guy from Mad Magazine with a diabolical edge. Women are funny. 06-Feb-2019
The illusion that the street name for "idiot slave" is synonymous with a culture and its strength is ludicrously grandiose. You rarely complain when the white community says it while it helps you grind one out. Why should you expect white people to stop saying the word if you can't? Please tell your non-black fans not to buy your music, it's not appreciated and you don't need the money because you do it for the art.
You can't even stand up to your own brothers for calling your mothers, sisters and daughters hos and bitches or defending them from the "me too" movement, why should we expect a humane response for global respect. We are the ones that suffer the consequences and unless you have room in your jet for the entire community to fly out when it gets frantic, I suggest you keep the word to yourself. I refuse to be an "idiot slave."
I’m allowed to use the "n" word. I don’t because the connotation is ugly. We need to learn our history and respect it. The people who suffered are not here and the instigators long died out. I dislike the word because its archaic and incapacitating. If you are constantly haunted by a word, get rid of it. It hasn’t changed anyone's life for the better and its impolite to be holding people who don't understand hostage for a word that picks its own master. That is not a stand for equality its a fight for exclusivity. Half the advantage of buying and listening to music is repeating the words. Bieber wasn't held accountable but Bill Maher was when they each said it. The experience of buying and listening to music is so people can sing along. If you don't want other people to sing it don't write it in (artists work best under restrictions.) Our ancestors would not appreciate its use and you might be able to suppress the chokehold white America has over your community because you showed them your kryptonite. Everyone will be accountable and Tarantino will have an unfinished script for his next film. 21-May-2018
So much bitchin' that "me too" moments are careening into "witch hunts" when the problem lays below men and women's waist. Ponder why people have no sex control and let the movement ride itself out. I'm curious to find out how endless it becomes. 18-May-2018
The "Pod People" are winning. My art may be inappropriate but life is more so and you still allow children to live in it. Cowardice has people running for their toy armaments whilst people who have no desire to cause harm sit waiting for an alarm. It rang with the presidency. Welcome to the past and what my great, great, great grandparents called "The Wild Wild West." (Let me guess who the white people will kill first, who the black people will kill first, the children will kill first, etc, etc. 04-Apr-2018
I was born and baptized catholic. I wanted to become a priest. I have an aversion to them because I spent a lifetime avoiding their predatory advances. One priest actually had me wait with him while the rectory retired so he could sneak me into his room for sex. He showed me his dick and called me a "skirt." I stalled and refused. I met another at a vampire club and thought he was in disguise but he went out of his way to prove me wrong (it was his only badge of attraction,) he followed me into the bathroom, felt me up and I kicked him out. Many managed to take me to bed disguised as a civilian but eventually it caused a rift. I didn't want the responsibility of aiding someone to hell. I went through the whole process with one of my friends and all he talked about was how much more sex he was having interning. My world was very small but they constantly showed up with the same propositions. They were so prevalent in my life that it's the one career choice I could pick out just by talking to them (policemen were another.) Holy talk and show me your prick is a weird conversation. My sister wouldn't let my lover or myself babysit her children but she would gladly hand them over to a priest to teach. If I knew that anyone would care I would have made a grand list for the present so a parents love for their child could overcome faith. This is how I deal and vent because I am boggled that parents can complain all they want about the Weinsteins of the world but these child predators continue to be beloved and followed. Of course, there are good men in the priesthood, but those were rare in my life. The problematic ones know this is still the best place to hide because people grant them power. Forgive me when I use my art to vent but they woke me. 22-Mar-2018
I wet my bed once in the first grade, besides a few smacks and verbal screams, my mother thought to implement a life lesson so ingrained that it wouldn't permit it to happen again.
At school, amidst the other parents and plenty of my classmates, my mother trumpeted...
"Guess what my son did this morning?...big little boy had the audacity to wet his bed at his age."
I felt like a criminal. The parents looked shocked but remained silent, some avoided looking at me out of pity and those that did glance were also out of pity. Mother took a heroic bow and was rewarded.
I never pissed myself again because the lesson was about teaching your child to control himself. I control piss, shit, farts, eat, sneezes, coughs, tears, snots, anything internal I can pinch so I never have to embarrass myself or especially anyone... ever again. 13-Mar-2018
If a child wants to play with guns, they can wait to be 18 and enroll in the many services America provides to ensure that they are used to protect everyone not just themselves. 16-Feb-2018
We celebrate the birth of every child without assurance that they will become decent human beings. As parents, our greatest ambition should be to preserve and enhance their lives not fight for the right to procure deadly toys that could extinguish them. I extol lives not births. 15-Feb-2018
Your children now have another source for "finding" guns. Parents, spiritual leaders, environmentalists, animal lovers, activists, the people who hate food and are convinced it will kill us, anyone...this is one of the few opportunities you have to show children they are a priority over toys. You shouldn't celebrate them, pray or whine until you do. 23-Feb-2018
It was family time at the 7 lakes, I was probably 7 and he appeared under the guise of a free-loving bisexual. Gay enough not to offend my father's masculinity and curious enough that my mother could use him as a plaything. A green-lime banana hammock and muscles sliding off his 50's bod were his cloak as well as a winning personality was his hide. My parents took joy in his flamboyance and invited him into the family drink and party fold. The drinking became heavy, the voices louder and my mother's infatuation embarrassing. Once green-lime banana hammock started grinding on my mother atop a picnic table, I tore myself away and went for a walk in the woods.
In the woods, I ran into 3 of my younger cousins and we moved forward happily exploring freedom from adults. It didn't take long for green-lime banana hammock to breathlessly catch up and another second to chime excitedly how he had something he wanted to show me. His offer was exclusive and did not include the other children. I told them to hold hands and wait diligently while I tended to the commands of an adult.
He kept leading me farther and always 5 steps ahead, having me guess where to go next. He stopped at total desolation and stood branches apart. He told me to come closer which I slowly and dreadfully did. In his hands he massaged what I constituted was the serpent from the Garden of Evil as he begged me to come and touch. My first look at a man's penis and it was a dick monster. I had no idea what he wanted me to do with it so I started walking backwards until running was my only clarity. I made it to the cousins, warning them, as we ran back to the mild serenity of adult family. I was proud of how I handled it and even prouder that we made it unharmed.
Green-lime banana hammock wasn't deterred by my avoidance and turned it into a challenge. He entered the fold and seduced my mother again while the creeps shook my body and the hate strangled the scratch he had bred in my head.
"Time to go," were the best words I heard from any adult that day. Packing was a quick chore and helping an accomplishment. "Goodbye, Mr. Green-Lime Banana Hammock." My parents exchanged numbers and pleasantries with the dick monster amid too many hugs and kisses. He invaded my space to shake my hand but I couldn't react because I was still strangled. My mother broke it with a command to be courteous to this nice man. He won. He got me to touch him. Can we go home now?
We had made it to the car, away from green-lime and I was anxious to get home. My uncle, my sister and myself occupied the back seat while my father drove, my mother by his side. My father had started the motor as green-lime approached my father's window to ask for a ride because his entourage had abandoned him. Fuck. My mother exclaimed that as much as they would love to, there was no room. Yay! Green-lime, quick on his feet with a purpose, suggested that he could take my place and I could sit on his lap, that is if I didn't mind. Holy fuck. In my family, kids have no choices. Mother commanded it and so it was. I realized why in film when we change from human character to a cartoon we are no bigger than an ant. That's how I felt. It was a long ride but at least he was now dressed in shorts and a tank.
The dick monster I had avoided all day had my tiny ass in its clutches and it wasn't going to let go until it was satiated. He held me tight and I was constantly stabbed and ground. Every time there was a bump I took advantage and lifted my ass and kept it in the air but he just squashed me down harder. My mother complained to stop being fidgety and I collapsed into him because my leg muscles couldn't withstand me and the dick monster was too strong. I didn't know what he was doing was sexual. I thought it was some sort of violent revenge for not touching the snake. I know now that he was getting his jollies, probably shot a few and I felt totally incapacitated. I couldn't tell my family that their new best friend was hurting me because they would have expended more punishment and humiliation due to lack of proof but I would have been grateful if just one family member had noticed. 17-Jan-2018