I am remembering holding this book I am holding now,
reading this poetry book I am reading now, and remembering
how I would read this poet in college. Occasionally, maybe rarely.
Maybe only because it was recommended to me by a 'friend', a fellow
student, even a room mate- one of the better ones, who I have no dire
problems with in remembering what he was like as a person, for the most part
And everything starts to fall apart and fall together once I enter memory as a
function of poetry. Nothing I have to be exact about. Nothing I can think of as
ruining my day and going nowhere. Nothing I can hate myself for.
I didn't live like that in college-things that I could hate myself for. Maybe a tiny
bit in adolescence, when I was adjusting to my puberty and my maturation and
my boobs ruining my athletic fervor and competitive skill. That is not what this poem
is about. This poem is about reading this poet I picked up lately. And what I am super
struck by is how in reading him I feel like the same person I was back then. Even though
I am sooooo drastically different and have been through so many weird weird impossible
to believe things. Things that people would so think I were lying about if I told them about
them. Like I won't even venture upon them because I don't like to be thought of as a liar. I
don't even like to be thought of as somebody begging for attention. Although, then again:
we were so comfortable holding signs in college and thinking of ourselves as getting attention for other things besides ourselves. And I'd argue, my impossible to believe
stories and things have to do with things more of that nature-the signs and the attentions
outside of ourselves. But that's not what this poem is about, although I shouldn't be
embarrassed to go off topic and digress when it comes to a poem. Isn't that what a
poem is all about? Getting to go wherever you want, however you want with words?
I mean this is no PhD or thesis or twenty five page paper or document that will either
get me into law school or not. I mean this is no step by step paper on some complex
subject of history that the whole world should know about correctly and explicationally.
No. I did not get to be explicable with my life. I did not take the next step and then the
next step and then the next step and believe me, I have suffered plenty for that: PLENTY.
For being all over the place, for doing things off the cuff and by impulsive emotion.
For pursuing something haunting in my soul. As if my family's military history determined
me more, in the long run, than even the Ivy League University I graduated from….same as
Brett Kavanaugh, same year, same status- cum laude. A Supreme Court Justice.
And I have not even figured out how to avenge the unfair eminent domaining of my father's
prime commercial property in the "IT CITY" that would have been mine through inheritance.
No, I haven't even figured out how to get me mine. Damn. I could have put a steak house
on that property generating a million dollars a month or even a year in sales tax alone. G-dammitt! That would have meant some real money for my family and me. But instead I
had to feel and watch my father humiliated and violated by the legal system. And even worse
end up the victim of all that frustration. Because who would he have to 'take it out on' except his highly educated daughter who might be able to sympathize with his true inner frustration and rage. Who would he have to take it out on except his daughter? Who would he have to
take that feeling of powerless disrespect the legal system can make of some except his daughter? And need to take over and show control and show off complete power and the domination of his will. How else could he recoup his dignity except to resurrect what he
remembered about holding his own completely. Myself as a baby. Amidst that sudden fear,
that trauma, that sudden disappearance of my grandmother two weeks after I was born. And where was she? And how were they so cool and calm and collected. And don't get me on that!
No, no, no, don't get me on how that all might have effected me and my family but of course
especially my father. To think, his business decisions: TRASHED. HUMILIATED. SUBJUGATED.
To think, his acumen and immaculate business decisions TRASHED AND VIOLATED! And be-
come essentially strictly the SWAG and SWAG SOME MORE of the Law and their power. And
to think of his performance even at Nuremberg. When the German people used him like a
pawn against the Occupying Forces. The Real Nuremberg. Like taking back the name.
To think of what he'd been through by the legal system before. Being turned into a joke-
with death threats and accusations and aggressions on that handsome Jewish Doctor-
sticking with his post in Germany, despite the death threats, despite being of the people
that Halocaust most killed and hated. And that he could perform against. And that he could get the commendation of the Head of the US Military Medical Forces in Europe for his bravery against. And they offered to transfer him to Paris. But No, he stuck with it, And stuck to it.
And he couldn't even counter-sue here in Los Angeles about an issue that he should have gotten at least twenty times the money for. And that we could have made three thousand times the value out of over the years had we turned it into the steak house that it should be?
Who can believe that? That a man that could stand against all that during the Cold War could not even pipe a response to the SWAG and SHOW of the Los Angeles Legal System and The Corpoerate Entity they indulged to COMPLETE BULLSHIT merely for their own agenda!
And what was their agenda? Pray thee tell. Everybody can see a SWITCHING STATION does not need to be on Prime Commercial Property. A switching station can be hanging off a cliff and if the earthquake happens in the middle of the night: NOBODY WILL EVEN BE INSIDE!
Anybody can SEE that claiming that was for The PUBLIC GOOD was a COMPLETE LIE and Compelte Bullshit and making MOCKERY of building standards and Zoning Codes, and even What The Public Good IS. And "I'm gonna sue that damn company for a BILLION dollars AND
"WIN! " For taking awaymy inheritance and humiliating my father with their power and screwing up my family's business dignity and for screwing up my family and driving us all crazy by taking away my father's dignity and humiliating his business posessionary ego
and his sense of control over his own things. I'm Gonna Sue Them For A Billion Dollars!
And would that even be enough? Is it what drove my brother insane and ultimately killed
him? That brazen lawyers would get to so humiliate and over power my father when
All We Ever Did Was RESPECT him and PRacticatlly think of him as GOD! All we ever did
was LOVE him and know what a good man he is and can be. But with that overpowering of him, of course he had to become somewhat of a control monster with his family. As his
business dignity had been so disrespected and humiliated. And I ended up the BRUNT of that!
I ended up the brunt of that! He had to take over wherever he could He had to recoup that power and that dignity and that self respect and respectable soldier in himself. To be thrown
around like a PIECE OF SHIT with his own property. That the man I held in Ultimate Respect could be qualified/treated as a PIECE OF SHIT by Anybody! And yes, through this relativity, I
do blame that then I kind of ended up with one Piece of Shit after another. As that is what
became of the Father Influence in my life. And I did NOT understand. And my nerves could not handle that such an impeccable person with great soul and professionalism could be treated SO TERRIBLY by the legal system of this purported sophisticated and cosmopolitan
city. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. IT IS FILLED WITH VICIOUS people, VICIOUS people EVERYWHERE.
The Executive Director of the Social Justice Agency who I was SO IN LOVE with in college, though was just a friend, ENDED UP with a gang style kill thrill murderer false accuser of rape
transgender cop/firefighter OVER ME! Can you believe that? Well, it's true! GO SEARCH
for the news clip. I think perhaps around November 10,2010 or 11 somewhere in Greater
Los Angeles though I don't know exactly because I went SO INTO SHOCK upon the
INSTANTANEOUS IDENTIFICATION.So traumatized. So alienated. No, I did not know
that kind of thing happens amongst people I once 'knew''/partied with/even- yes,
accidentally had sex with. Oh, but No, not with the one that I loved. Those folks.
They love that Madonna/Whorr complex of their religion. Don't they? And it just works
on me so much. It just turns somebody into the best of friends or the worst of enemies
with me…does it not? Instead of what could have been THE BEST OF LOVERS.
And I am angry. Angry. So Angry that this might go on all day and nobody will EVER read it. BEWARE! I promise you- -you are not brave enough TO READ ON and CONTINUE.l READ
ON. This stuff has brewed in me for thirty one years (the false accuse of rape) and perhaps
nine years(the gang style kill thrill murder at the fast food restaurant in the big white truck
at night for thrillsies.) The cretin looking' like a little squiddy white dude all jacked up on
her testosterone. Oh, God, help me-and that's what testosterone does to her? : That's how
she thinks she's a guy? God help me. God help me. And let me go elsewhere from here.
You do not want to read about this. What can you do? You're not the head of archives at
such and such a channel to find that news clip! And I don't even know what channel it was!
I went psychologically into fear in the most blinded and disbelieving way. That creepy gang style killer has to be in prison for life! Perhaps capital punishment will prevail and I will get
to slash her throat and let the blood bleed all over a canvas that will be hung in the LOUVRE.
Ahh, yesssss, the Louvre. We are a classy family. My brother was conceived in Paris. And now
he is most likely dead from his honorable father being taken over by the swaging lawyers
of this difficult, shady, complex, upsetting, and traffic mongered "Sanctuary" city. So let's
make of a true "Sanctuary" something in quotes to be snide and think ourselves sophisticated by. Let's count the homeless and call them landmarks. Let's let them rest in mental hospitals for weeks to recover that this nightmare could happen in this city on the shore. Let
Us End This Nightmare! And as for that poet I'd read in college, I wanted to write about:
I'll try that tomorrow. I think. But it's a weekday. And I don't indulge like this on those days.
Typically. No no. I don't indulge and give in like this all that often. Do I?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem