Last Wednesday in March

March 29th, a Wednesday, idol march, marching tides of woe spread across the land and so..

 

With all that I have been through lately, not more than some, less than others, on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the worst pain you have experienced, I guess being unconscious technically gives you a 9.7 or something because you don’t know it’s pain, it’s in and out of who you are and what they’re trying to take from you. In this case, my life.

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And that is the problem I face as I go through each day, with noises startling, except here, ironically, across from the UPS Delivery hub and near the brewery with its famous artist buttressing the 5 Freeway which always feels like it leads out of this place, whereas the others bury you right by the side of the road where they found you.

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It’s hard to have hope and faith when for the past 8 1/2  (one of my favorite Fellini movies) months, I have been consistently victimized by the system, which my frontier nature hates to say, I don’t believe in that, but it’s happened from a hostile neighbor to an illegally operating management company to the police themselves, twice now, once being tossed in jail for no reason and then treated as if I were some most wanted criminal because, quite simply, I was white. They will never say this or let it be told, everyone hates the dying race so much, they think it’s okay to be hating, berating and almost killing us – for the ‘sins of our fathers’ — they think it’s okay to destroy our lives, for no apparent reason, these are not people we even know, no crime of passion, no well-orchestrated specific reason to be brutalized over and over again except those of race and gender.)

The lawyer who committed slander, defamation of character, malicious intent and actually lied publicly in a harmful manner, deliberately trying to harm us by preventing us access to housing when we did nothing that she claims but because I was beaten and barely alive, could not do anything but try to recover for many many days and weeks and then someone lies and causes strife, illegally, a lawyer? Not such a great track record for our legal system from enforcement through supposed guardians of justice.

 The Sheriffs who detained us for picking up my own car because the tow yard is a chop shop about a mile from where I got beaten within an inch of my life, while trying to get a burger at McDonald’s. Who witnessed this? Why did the hospital then not call the police but told me they thought I was drunk so they just let me wait, and never questioned why my supposed husband never said he would be back or seemed to care if I actually woke up–somehow I did. I still have the stitches. The bruises are mostly gone. The head trauma, alas, will be with me longer, if not forever.

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The nerve damage done by LAPD and that first fiasco was permanent to my hands but this last beating and the hospital’s irresponsible treatment of me (all because I was unconscious — no one thought to consider that perhaps I was not drunk but had been harmed in some way maybe a car accident hit and run, as I thought, until we heard the recording of my call to my partner, which I still can’t bear to listen to, 6 weeks later…I cannot bear to hear it, it is too traumatic, still, overwhelming in the shadow of the past eight and a half months of consistent persecution — and for what reason? Who knows, if there even is one. Those who blame the victim always seek to find a way to plant their evidence on you, to keep their corrupt privilege operating without you in the way, or they just beat a woman almost to death in a parking lot for no apparent reason).

This is the first I have written of this publicly and some of you know or I tried to tell but you simply didn’t believe me or thought oh there she goes again, I seem to have the worst luck, maybe or you have already written me off for my freelance career and struggles to survive in a world that just was not ready for me. I was certainly ready to make my mark, a positive one, to live in peace and contribute positively to this world. That is all I seek and have ever sought. I don’t know how far I will get in that path as I am overwhelmed and exhausted each day, “just not the same” those around me notice, and for that I am pained, mentally, knowing ‘what has happened to me…’

To reiterate: around the third week of February the night before checking out of a very strange airbnb experience, I was severely beaten in a McDonald’s parking lot in the early evening hours and taken to White Memorial Hospital, who broke protocol at every turn, never even reporting my near-fatal ‘accident’ (accidental beating???) to the police, which is actually the law.

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I am invisible (adoptees know that), and expendable (the ‘film and television industry’ taught me that, after working with the most unloyal f-%$s you can imagine, and very few ‘friends,’ who actually have a soul in this town, I realized way too late) but now I feel destructible, worn-down, beaten up, tired, sad, soul-tired, suicidal on occasions but from existential nihilism more than any other specific, so don’t worry, I never do it, I love life and butterflies and the earth way too much, and I am just now trying to recover.

Please be kind. Please if you know me don’t use my honesty against me. I am just a human, trying to survive after someone speaking spanish probably two men, it sounded nicaraguan, beat me within an inch of my life near my car, which was impounded for $ 1,395 (all tow yards in Los Angeles say we were fleeced) and they called the sheriffs, who of course illegally searched us, what else do they do?

 

I suppose this is my statement since no police officer has ever asked. I have yet to see a judge. My case is a rare form known as a wobbler. Murderers and rapists are given the right to swift hearing but not the victim of police brutality.  This is the story of the past eight and a half months of my life, since last July.

 

Namaste, be well, my nerves are telling me to quit, the nerves in my hands, always from numb to pain now thanks to LAPD RAMPART back in July 2016.

 

Katherine E. Walker

born 1965 Cleveland, Ohio adopted 6 weeks later, my birthname we think is Turner

 

A room of one’s own

George Eliot 

Presumably had an opinion

about the need

for such things 

A gaggle of girls
We’re gonna take it

Women have burnt like beacons in all the works of all the poets from the beginning of time. Indeed if woman had no existence save in the fiction written by men, one would imagine her a person of the utmost importance; very various; heroic and mean; splendid and sordid; beautiful and hideous in the extreme; as great as a man, some would say greater. But this is woman in fiction. 

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️Virginia Woolf ➰➰➰➰🔚

    The reason why

    she faltered

    awaylike silly putty

    used to patch

    the cracks 

    left

    as after-thoughts

    in waves of

    After-shocks

    She could barely stand to peruse her persona, reflected cold, hard truths not worth sedating, etched in every fine line, under every harsh light.

    You are not beautiful

    she said

    crossed her off the list

    til the sting of residual glut

    Absolute beauty &

    insolent truth

    The modeling agency turned her down

    The dealer picked her up


    Feb 12, 2017 4:48 PM
    Build you
    Cock
    The hammer
    Don’t give in

     And so what has it all been for? 

    And who then “deserved” an answer at all?

    Especially if one were to consider the randomness of chaos some call order whilst

    others foist god upon us

    All just a smokescreen

    Veil like dopamine

    Absurdity so vast the alternative

    can never sustain its own myth

    YET here she was longing 

    Inadvertently all along

    A vapid, vague unconscious desire

    for something other than

    This

    with its stamp of infinitive &

    certainty 

    The writing on the wall

    bleeding down wax melting

    smudges 

    easily

    like 

    reverently 

    adhering

    to lies 

    the universe

    tells

    as the

    Moonscape 

    glistens 

    She had been told all her life to recognize inferiority as her make and model. Alas, The Veracity of that bold claim never quite sit, so she had but one other alternative which was 

    A room of her own

    By the sea

    Of infinity

    In the clatch 

    of doom

    The bypass 

    of gloom

    She wanted to know 

    but instantaneously 

    realized 

    how there could be 

    no knowing

    in this land

    of impeccable 

    lies.

    The perpetrator had everyone convinced his victim, years younger, afraid and exploited for as long as she could remember, sexually and emotionally, psychologically by a male pathology that, quite frankly, ruined her life.

    Rather than come clean, he denounced and defamed her further, to the point where she came closest to dying – cheated her of the truth & would have been happy had she, walking evidence of his evil-doing side, a man willing to ruin a grown woman’s life, deny her any healing whatsoever & then rub it in her face by having the perfect family making sure she never got to, was always on her own, the bastard child they all felt deserved a little less, was there for abusing and blaming, a  castoff, a throwaway, the girl with no progenitors or forebearers, the woman who got knocked down each time it seemed like she was finally being allowed to breathe, much less recover.


    Oh, what might have been? 
     

    Anonymous she is was has always been

    No one to remember her name 

    No legacy just impermanence flauted in the strangest ways of strangers waiting to unknow what a waste it all turned out to be

    A land of vast nothingness 

    for the lost, loveless and alone 

    What matter now, a room of her own? With not even the obligatory reverence reserved for our parents 

    The finality choked her up

    Trains rumbled down the hillside 

    She may as well die

    Than collide 

    with such bastardized 

     infinitude

    Erased and invisible she 

    lived her whole life 

    And for what? 

    For what? 


    The ways you ruined me

    The manner with which you consciously destroyed

    Systematically demonized 

    Then pretended you were better than me

    It is all I can do not to out you

    Knowing you left me for dead 

    And now everyone calls you a success 

    And brands me the  failure, a disappointment at best, called “crazy” for doing the job well while others shots down for being too hyper (slandered me saying “she’s on drugs”), too thin (instead of hearing me when I said I was physically ill, editors and producers said always behind my back – anorexia or drugs again). 

    And to be blamed by my last boss for something that never happened (after my supposed friend and coworker who got her job via me – cut my pay rate 36% – while having me work for free for weeks, meaning my worth was less already to these controllers of financial fututes) thus destroying my career, makes it even more difficult to believe my existence matters in any way at all.

    Just emptiness is all a person like me can feel – just sad, empty worthlessness- and no one notices much less cares. 

    Are as dreams that follow

    #Was it truly 

    after all

    A little chilly 

    before the thaw 

    • She called 
    • He answered



    This was 

    just 

    there.


    the way 

    it was 

    As you were 

    far away 

    by the tine 

    We showed up

    Interactive narrative toss send off story 

    A girl and a boy

    Begin 

    The poem 

    a prelude 

    The Misrepresented 

    they have a voice 

    just never their own

    always politicized to

    polarize with 

    emptiness in

    return

    I don’t need this

    right now 

    if ever

    But

    still,

    it never

    stops

    The logical beast 

    She falls from above 

    Not necessarily an angel 

    But some kind of mystery

    A beautiful morning 

    Glad tidings on the horizon

    That is the way of the logical beast


    Quckie

    mྂoྂrྂeྂ from Ojai, oh!

    Then, shots were fired…

    Four dead in Ohio

    Matthew Matthews  takes a couple of steps forward in a nonaggressive manner, but that’s not what Roland sees.


    elusiveness of time 

    My skin crawls with dread 

    Generalized metastasisized aggrandized 

    It never is enough.

    Time forgets what mattered

    Loosened grip falsettos clamour by

    Vociferation incomplete 

    They have forgotten future generations.

    There is no space between us

    this was what she craved

    Her skin crawled with dread anticipation 

    of nothingness

    meaningless

    “nothing but a joke”

    uncertainty of it all.

    Why bother? 

    Who’s got the time?

    When did we give up?