Yet Another Death

Another suspicious death in jail.  Another cover-up. 

Please read this petition, and if you feel moved to do so, please sign and share. 

The widow of the murdered prisoner simply wants an investigation into the cause of her husband’s death.

Is that too much to ask?

It’s not about whether he deserved to be in prison.  It’s not even about the fact that his behavior was allegedly odd.  It’s about the fact that jailers have a duty to protect prisoners, not torture and kill them.

It’s about the fact that EVERY SINGLE DEATH that occurs in the presence of police or jail personnel, or in their custody, MUST be investigated by a disinterested party.

Link to the petition is below.

https://www.change.org/p/robert-moossy-investigate-my-husbands-unexplained-death?recruiter=38298115&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=copylink

Snoop Lion Opens Up About His Pimp Past | Rolling Stone

Yesterday I lolled about the lobby of a local medical marijuana dispensary for four or five hours, waiting my turn to see the Marijuana Doctors so I could apply for my card.

There was plenty of time to browse the paraphernalia in the glass cases all around.  I closely inspected everything, since there was nothing else to do.

I couldn’t help but notice the “Snoop Dogg” brand bongs and papers and stuff that I had no idea what it is because I’m, you know, old, and I come from a whole different pot culture.

So I got this really bad feeling when I saw all this S.D. branded stuff, because several years ago, when I was writing under a pseudonym about my years as a street kid, it came to my attention that there was this rapper, famous and rich, who was very out front about his background with the Crips (very violent bad street gang), and fulfilling his life’s dream to be a pimp.

Even if I hadn’t been obliged to use my body as currency for the purpose of having food and shelter, I would still find it nauseating that this “nigga,” as he calls himself, who has made himself a role model for young people of every race and background, actually went and built his little dream fantasy, which you can read all about in the Rolling Stone article in the link.

Have your barf bag ready.

This dude is SUCH BAD NEWS.  In so many ways.  What’s his appeal?  That he shoves everything that’s morally horrible in our faces like bags of shit?

He ought to know a bag of shit when he sees one….every time he looks in the mirror.

http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/snoop-lion-opens-up-about-his-pimp-past-20130508

Cook County Jail Mental Health Center

In the United States, “budget cuts” have eliminated most of the community mental health services that up until the mid 1990’s served a vast number of uninsured, unemployed, homeless, drug and/or alcohol dependent, and otherwise disenfranchised people.

Where once these people in need of services were able to access a minimal level of care including evaluations for mental illness, medications, group and individual therapy, social work support for helping them get Medicaid, job training and placement, substance abuse treatment, and connection with community support services such as AA and NA, now all of these services have largely been shut down. 

Now, without access to mental health services, people who were formerly able to access care are left on their own.  What happens to them?

Homelessness, drug addiction, crime related to survival on the street with mental illness.

Who assumes their care?

Well, that depends on which prison they end up in, if they don’t die at the hands of “law enforcement,” other individuals, suicide, overdose, freezing to death, or other hazards of street life.

If they’re fortunate enough to live in Chicago, where Mayor Rahm Emanuel in his “wisdom” shut down six of the city’s twelve community mental health centers, they go to Cook County Jail.

Please take the time to watch and **share** the video below, which documents the unique program for mentally ill inmates initiated by Cook County Jail, which now serves as Chicago’s main “Mental Health Center.”

The Emperor Has No Clothes On!

Well, folks, I’ve been ranting about this topic seemingly forever, but nobody pays any attention.

But a nation with whom our diplomatic relations have been kind of strained lately, for good reasons, apparently got my message–and is broadcasting it on TV!

This nation happens to speak a different language than we do, but thankfully our friends at the Middle East Media Research Institute (MEMRI) is in the business of translating media from other languages so we can understand how other cultures think.  MEMRI is located in Israel, on a street in Jerusalem that I used to pass by every month to see my shrink when I lived there.  It’s staffed by a group of linguistic experts who usually focus on terrorism related topics, but this show caught their eye, and I’m glad it did.

Watch and comment, please!

http://www.memritv.org/clip/en/0/0/0/0/0/0/5337.htm#.Vst_3yqWmNE.mailto

Weird Monday!

Here’s another weird animation from the National Film Board of Canada.  I love how Canada specifically supports independent film artists, especially short films and, of course, animation!

This incredible dystopian film starts with a silly argument between spouses, and ends with….

Malignant Narcissistic Abuse – Understanding the Enemy’s Devices

NOTE: This is a reblog of a reblog.

In order to understand what my comments here are about, please click on the original link, which you will find at the bottom of these paragraphs, read the original author’s post, then make sure to look at the meme collection. It had my mouth hanging open, it is so affirming of my own lived experience of being an ACoN (Adult Child of a Narcissist).

One thing in the meme collection that I must take issue with is the statement that taking on narcissistic traits, if one grows up in such a home, is voluntary. It is not. If the only coping mechanisms you have ever known are drama, tantrums, accusations, the silent treatment, etc, it takes time to figure out that these are dysfunctional and abusive. And since Adult Children of Narcissists (ACoNs) often are drawn into adult relationships with narcissists, the story tends to perpetuate itself down the generations. After all, when we meet someone who “feels like we have known them all our lives,” well, we probably have, because they “feel like home,” our family of origin.

The first thing we must learn is insight: it isn’t our fault, we are not defective, we do not deserve to be treated like a mouse being tortured by a cat.

Some people are fortunate to realize that something is very wrong–usually after multiple failed relationships, suicide attempts, or other catastrophic life events–and seek help, sometimes from the right person, like a good therapist, and sometimes from….someone who “feels like home,” claiming that they want to help, but really being a wolf in sheep’s clothing, as we unfortunately see with some religious leaders. I have even had a narc therapist! She had a hand in destroying my marriage. I sat there mesmerized while she smiled and preened, not realizing what it was about her that was so familiar (she was like my mother, who used to court my boyfriends), until it was too late. She stood up, announced that it was her opinion that we should divorce, and left us sitting on her couch looking at the floor.

Memoir Notes

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Coptophobia: Christian Heads Also Fly

http://www.memri.org/report/en/0/0/0/0/0/0/9024.htm

Along with Jews (“descendents of pigs and monkeys,” according to Islamic State propaganda), who are clearly the root cause of everything bad, and Hindus, Sikhs, Baha’i, Muslims who refuse to join their ranks, and anybody else who isn’t them–IS has been quietly conducting a campaign of genocide against the already tiny population of Coptic Christians, who once thrived in Egypt, albeit as dhimmis after the Muslim conquest.

As dhimmis, Christians are to be protected under Shari’a law, in return for a special tax on top of the customary taxes due from Muslims.  However, IS has declared that existing Shari’a is not “authentic,” and have taken it upon themselves to rewrite the law.  The well-vocalized aim of IS is to impose a new Caliphate, and this appears to include re-writing the Qran and Hadiths, to the exclusion of laws extant since the seventh century C.E. (Common Era).

If there is a reason that the venerable Ban Ki Moon chooses to ignore this unconscionable injustice, and allow this entire people and their rich culture to be  wiped out at the whim of a rogue faction, I cannot fathom it.

If a tiny fraction of the news and rhetoric currently devoted to the current crisis in the Land of Israel  were used to publicize the dire situation of the Coptics, it is my fervent hope that the Christian world, at the very least, would come to the aid of their brethren in Egypt.

No doubt the spectacular art and architectural masterpieces of the Coptics would be lost; but there are lives and culture and traditions that, if not saved, and quickly, will be lost forever.

Unlike the good fortune of the Baha’i, who managed to escape the harsh persecution of the Persian regime and found sanctuary in Israel (then called by the Roman name “Palestine”), the Coptics find themselves pinned down with nowhere to go.

Already the Christian population of Nazareth and Bethlehem have found themselves under the “leave or die” policy of the Palestinian Authority.  Many have been outright murdered.  The rest have fled to the PA-unoccupied portions of The Land, where they live in safety.  But the Copts, that is, the few that remain, are unable to leave Northern Africa.

It would take an operation such as the Israeli airlifts of Ethiopian Jews to rescue the Copts.  Unfortunately, that would involve bloody battles in which additional Coptic, and many Israeli, lives would be lost.  And in all candor, I believe that the teeth of the once fearsome and heroic Israeli commandos have been blunted out of fear of “world opinion.”  Today, I doubt whether the spectacular 1976 rescue of over 100 Jewish hostages at Entebbe, Uganda, would have even been considered as an option.

Did you know that according to the website adherents.com, which in my opinion is the least biased of the world religion tabulation sites, there were, as of 2005, 2.1 billion Christians (as a whole), 1.5 Muslims (although, since it is the fastest growing religion world wide, the numbers are many more today, while Christianity is slowly decreasing), and a mere 14 million Jews–even fewer than “Spiritists” (sorry, I’m not familiar with that term) and Sikhs?

So why does it fall to Jews to rescue who needs rescuing and take the blame for who needs blaming?

I call upon Christians, both religious and by tradition, to hear the cries of your brethren who are being slaughtered by “a new Pharaoh…[who] has arisen in Egypt” (paraphrase, Exodus 1:8).

May they be delivered in time, and may their oppressors vanish.

Anybody need a little WOW!?

Check out @TRAKGIRL’s Tweet: https://twitter.com/TRAKGIRL/status/695318632369356800?s=09

Oh My Aching….

image

Yes, that is a portion of my ample posterior.

Yes, that is my Sexy Sparkly Michael Jackson Stretchy Glove-type thingy.  I wear it under my wrist braces to keep my skin from wearing out.

Let’s see, now.  It’s all getting blurred together.  Thank God for credit card records.  That’s how I know where I was and what I was doing whenever I get injured.

I think the first thing was the wrist (again).  Since the last of the LEFT wrist surgeries was all the way back in 2000, I didn’t even think about the possibility of another one when I tripped over a log in the pitch dark and went ass over teakettle, making a one point landing on my left palm.

I felt the all too familiar sick crunching sensation, followed by excruciating pain.  Thank goodness I was with a friend, who helped me up, which I doubt I could have accomplished by myself, since I was upside down.

“Oh no!” He exclaimed.  “Can I do anything?”  He is a really nice man.

“Yes, help me up!”  At least I think that’s what I said.  He would be better able to tell you, or maybe not, as he was nearly as distressed as I.  He is a really nice man.

After a few volleys of,

“It’s broken.”
“No it’s not, it can’t be broken.”
“Yes it is, it’s broken.”
“No, it can’t possibly be broken.”

Etc, etc.  Look, we’re both Jewish, and we’ve known each other a really long time.  Thousands of years.

After a few of those volleys, he helped me back to my rig–that’s what you call any kind of a camping vehicle type thing–where I trussed my throbbing wrist up, smoked some pot, took a tramadol, which I soon regretted because, you know, the itch thing, did the dishes and went to bed.

In the morning I un-trussed my aching wrist and did a careful exam, gingerly palpating all the little bones and checking range of motion–clunk–there it was.  Not good.  I trussed it back up.

My phone rang.  It was my Hebrew Brother.

“How’s your wrist?”

“Broken.”

“Broken?”

“Broken.”

“Oh, well, how long are you staying?”

Before we hung up I heard him yelling “Goodbye!” from his Jeep outside my window.  Dear soul!

I moved farther North to get out of the blazing desert heat.  Three or four hundred miles and two thousand feet of altitude didn’t seem to make it get any cooler.

But since my destination had electricity and therefore air conditioning in my rig, I decided to make it my base camp for scouting hand surgeons.  I did find one, but he wasn’t going to be in the office for a week.  In the meantime, they told me, I could go another half a day’s drive North, where they had a walk-in orthopedics  clinic.  I opted for that.

In the meantime, I was not just sitting on my ass.

The campground is situated on a completely barren stretch of dessert, devoid of any vegetation save the thorny kinds.  I recall, in my college botany classes, learning that desert plants have to have thorns in order to protect themselves from being eaten.  In that case, why doesn’t everything that grows have thorns?

It’s easy to walk your dog there.  All you have to do is go to the “Designated Green Space”

image

And there you go.  Actually, there the dog goes.

My dog is VERY friendly, and everyone wants to hear all about her.  You might say she’s a conversation piece.  You might not.  She doesn’t care.

A friendly couple with an aged obese spaniel were admiring her.  While chatting with them, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she had another admirer: the biggest, sassiest raven I have ever seen.  It strutted up and down, perhaps ten feet from us, uttering little raven-speak cackles and gurgles.

(Did I already write about this, or am I having a deja vu all over again?  Oh well.  A good story bears retelling.)

One moment, I am standing chatting with these nice strangers, and the next, I was hanging, suspended by invisible wires, my body parallel to the ground.  Then somebody cut the wires, just like in the cartoons, and my body obeyed the laws of physics and hit the hard packed sun baked desert with a thud.

That naughty raven got on Atina’s last nerve and it broke, and she bolted out of the gate like a two year old racehorse, forgetting about the me who had a good grip on the other end of the leash.  Before my lightning fast reflexes had a chance to unflex my leash hand, it was too late: the deed was done.  I was horizontal.

When she heard the resounding report of my corpus hitting the desert floor she came running and threw herself down beside me, plastered right up against me, panting desperately.

The shocked couple wanted to know if they could help me up.

“No, thank you, she will brace for me, it’s one of her jobs,” said I, placing my hands on her withers and pushing myself to my feet.  Atina rose to hers and flanked me closely as I hobbled to my rig.  Nothing broken.  Baruch ha’Shem.

You know how when you’ve got a headache, and then you drop a hammer on your foot, you forget about your headache for a while?

Well, first my wrist felt better, and after that my ass felt better.

Then they both started up hurting at once, and I didn’t want to drive anywhere, so I turned the AC on “deep freeze,” smoked the rest of the pot, and read escapist novels for a couple of days.

Eventually I had to (had to) take a shower, and in the course of human events I passed by the mirror and–holy mother of goddess, what in the hell is THAT???

You see that black, green, alien looking lump of dough?  That ain’t half the story.  You should have seen it a few days ago.  I should have snapped a shot then, but I was dizzy and had to go lie down for a while.

And now, just to ice the cake, I’ve been gifted with (drum roll Sheldon) a brand new thrombosed hemorrhoid!  Ain’t that nice!

Today I finally made it to Flagstaff, and called around about a hand surgeon.  I was dreading the inevitable question (which I did get):

“If you hurt your wrist days ago, why did it take you so long to call us?”

How good of you to ass-k….

30 years after Glienicke Bridge | Rachel Sharansky Danziger | The Blogs | The Times of Israel

What is freedom, if not truth?
What is religion, if not compassion?
What is compassion, if not right action?

http://blogs.timesofisrael.com/30-years-after-glienicke-bridge/