My Life On the 'A' Train

Book 3 Chapter 11

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 22:58:00 +0000

Welcome back. I am so blessed with many things in my life that I have experienced. My visions of what I can see, what should be, not the way things are. Seeing where food came from, that it was not just on a shelf, was a valuable lesson. I lived in Alaska, drove and survived the Alaskan Highway two times in a car. I was in Salt Lake City when they got the Olympics. I knew that pride because I had grown up with a very Patriotic Grandmother, a Marine for a father, and some amazing teachers. Never forget the teachers.

Ever notice it is your parents and your teachers that define you very existence in life? For the most part.

Going back to my childhood and young Adult hood, Parenthood, New York Hood I look back. In life you get once to run through things, you don’t get a retake, this is not the movies you see. I have had offers in life that have had my head was spin, while inside I sit and watch as if I were a professor with the hat and whiskers being the cynical beast I am. I am one of those rare things that you should look at and never touch.

I have lived in Maine, the coast area. Been to Bangor where Stephen King is. I have seen big Bushes house in Kennebunkport. I have lived in Old Orchard and ran a kitchen of 14 Russians and assorted others from Cuba, Africa, and England. One moment about Russians.

Great people for the most part. Hard workers, you have never seen such. They are some of the friendliest people on a person to person contact; however I would never piss them off.

I have lived in Boston. It is probably best I don’t piss off the Bostonnites before I begin. I live currently in NYC or the Big Apple. I have never seen so much pain and beauty on the street in my life. The basics are that I never expected to be here. This was a dream. I was brought here as a Dominatrix. Shock, gasp, and fall over.

Ok are you back. I never lost sight of where I was to be. I have never lost sight of my faith. My purpose. NYC is like this dream to me that I know one day I will wake from and end right back on the farm like Dorothy coming back from OZ. I fit in, I don’t belong. I had to come here you see. I had to see, to co inhabit, to become one. The people who came into my life here and left my life here have touched me in ways that most will never understand.

I am a country girl at heart. I see things with pretty castles and beauty in cows that feed my family. I see the earth creates us to live here. It allows us here. I have seen that for so long and continued to believe that we can become better people. It is in us. These places have affected me and also built me to be a better person. I have a direction; the thing is I never really saw it coming forth.

Each day that I am allowed to reach back to my blog and touch one person, hello reader I see you. My goal was to touch one person. That I would affect them so much that they would want to read my work. To see my mind. I can not thank that reader enough. Every reader is my life blood. I pray I never forget this as a writer. It matters not if they contribute to my fund to live. They might eventually. When I can affect them to see, or they agree. That is the highest compliment to any writer. The reader. They make us, they break us. Especially if you are a Freelancer. Your readers are your life blood.

So please don’t take me off your list, but thank you my reader for supporting me. Ok enough embarrassment. You made me cry. That you liked my writing enough to follow me. Thank you, you made a difference in my life. That is beyond any compliment that one can receive. Again Thank You

I wrote a book when I was nine and a dear friend of mine asked me to recreate it. I will. This was where my writing began. This is one of my chunks of my life I remember. I was in the 4th or 5th grade. I should have known then I was a realist. To this day that short story lives in my memory. This is when I knew I could write. I remember that the teacher told the class that had the story been in the right order and with a name on it, it would have received a higher grade. When she started to read it with the day being on Wednesday, I stood up and said it was mine. I went and put it in proper order and was completely embarrassed to get the attention. My story had gotten recognition. There is no feeling as an artist that one can be noticed and granted a gift. It was then I knew I was destined to write as one the greats. That is such a bold statement to make.

Inside me there is this person. She seeks this justice of a system knowing that not everything is as it seems. That it is this truth that is not being told. Not being said. Inside this child screams to the reality knowing that the truth will be squashed and rejected. That is a leap of faith. I refuse to bend, to burn to the society around me you see.

Artist, we are a weird breed. We choose to interoperate the world as we see. Where I have lived, I am jaded and warn. Destroyed inside with the hope of a farm girl in the back ground. There is a better place, a place to lead, a place to be. Writers, we are this unique breed. A true Writer/Artist wishes to change the status around them. To educate. You can not tell me different. We are here with this gift of verse to share with the community that will read and influence them. Writers have influenced me beyond my wildest dreams. They have given me freedom in the storms of hate and anger; their words have danced across my mind more than I care to admit. I even have a friend who constantly tells me I live in lala land. I suppose I do. As a young girl in Colorado, I knew I was going to be someone. No one, I repeat no one has ever taken that from me. That is mine and I will not let it go. I don’t know how many of my classmates who may or may not be reading this are going to feel or what they are going to say, but those who know me, know full well the writing is my life. There is nothing that would kill me faster than if you took away my ability to write or to speak.

This is my cutting tool, this is my belief, and this is what I hold onto when there is nothing else to hold on to because once written, nothing but removal can take what you said. No one else wants to claim these words sometimes and no one can claim them. They are the words we throw out there. Me and many artists. We yell and scream if only one hears us and we change their lives, we inspire, we give life.

My dreams of writing are right there with in my grasp. To begin my adventure like King or the lady who wrote Harry Potter. Anne Rice. My dream is just beginning on this magical carpet ride, if I have learned one thing; hold onto what you believe, but remember with greatness comes responsibility always. I am a different person today, not inside but thought wise. My mind has been expanded to see, to learn, to try to understand. To walk in the shoes of those I can, not to forget when I move forward, but to give back as they gave to me, sending me a life line.
I have recently met someone who has actually lived through so much I am learning a great deal. His acceptance to his load is very amazing. So many of us have stories, tales that we have endured. As you grow up and begin to believe more and more in your dream to the point you pursue it. Becoming a part of it, engulfing it. We become it. Those of us who believe.
We are the dream makers. We are the future. Those of you reading this do not ever forget your dreams. I am living mine and you know what? Time is moving so fast, I can’t hold on. It is just a place. NYC. It is just a spot on the blip of my existence. We define our world and who we are, it our experiences that create us. That allows us to feel.

I am a survivor of PTSD. I remove my problems and move them to larger ones so I don’t have to focus on me. I am not that interesting in my mind. I am just me. My life created a cornucopia of events that defined me. Forcing me to become who and what I am as this concludes our bookcast blogcast day.

Book 3 Chapter 10

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 01:23:00 +0000

It is 6:30 in the morning where I am at and today is April 3rd, 2009. This at least gives the reader a taste of what time frame we are in. You never know. Some day in the near future there may be a child who finds this information archived and wonder what person was writing this and why. What was going on in the day to create such a piece of work? Why would someone have to write as to have to educate people of their rights or stories that were missed by the everyday person? I have learned that unless you live in a place or a time, you can not understand this day.
Just like a new King on the hill being elected. Someone of another color. No matter what his race is or where he stands, he created a change in the current society and those of us alive at this time got to witness that. That is almost as if being there for Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, The Boston Tea Party, or the signing of the Constitution. How we take these precious moments of history in the world as if they are nothing that matter or that we did not just witness a miracle in the current system.

I hold no bones about how I feel of the current society. I want you know to know this well, this does not mean I can not appreciate what an important and valuable change in history this is.
Today, I am attending a protest on Wall Street. Here is the link…http://www.bailoutpeople.org/ Now I never promote any link I post, I am just letting you know where I am going, who I interact with, and of course what I have read or seen. I hold myself to a standard most do not in this day and age. I believe that I have a voice for some reason and I am placed in certain situations for reasons unknown at the time. I never asked to be a part of some of the stories I learn about and report on.

A lot of journalist would love to be able to attend the stories I do and be able to write what they see and not what they are syndicated to say. Don’t people deserve that with well reported facts? I may have a view and I will tell you when it is my view, I have no issue doing that, but the facts are the facts. I got interested in the reporting when I was asked to do a Michael Vick Story. There was a lot of reporting and researching before I was done. Then the editor reworded it for today’s reader. So it was more a reporter’s story. This man gave me a chance to report an amazing story that landed me in a sports online forum… http://www.insiderinfo.com/Sports_MichaelVick.php

I have covered protest for Guantanamo Bay. Sat in Court Cases that have reached the Supreme Court House in Washington D.C... To know I was a part of this historic moment in History drives me to seek to find out what is going on. I have started to see that everything is defiantly not as it appears. It pains me to say this, but I often wonder now what the true motive for the people doing what they were doing. I went to find out the story, not to pick sides. I am a reporter, not a supporter.

Today’s protest, honestly, was larger, but the same people who have not an idea for the most part of what the rest of the world goes through on a daily basis and still survive on less than they do. What gives? It is like the mute leading the blind to a point. It is almost as if you are watching people who truly have nothing better to do than to go protest because the maid is working that day. I am not knocking these people. I am confused.

Some are there because they truly want to help the cause, but they get lost in the others who need to have the attention of the crowds, the news, and the media. I have rarely gone to one of these protests with out people asking me, “Why are you here?” When I respond I am a reporter, they usually assume it is with the times or the post. When they find out that I am not a syndicated reporter, I am treated as if I have 3 heads.

I like court cases because honestly, I can walk in, nicely dressed and I am usually accepted until they see the note pad and I am taking notes. However the Lawyers who see me now in court, they always treat me respectfully I notice. They may not like me there, but they know that I am going to report the truth. I rarely research my stories before I go to the case or protest. Right now, this is the way I am earning my stripes. Every story of any possibility where there may be a way to find out the truth, then as a journalist you should go cover it. Even if it is for the local newspaper or your own and is only about the High School Prom or covering Local Bands. Everyone has to learn hands on how to do this job. It is like detective work because you have to study to find out about what you are covering.

When I wrote on Michael Vick, I did a lot of research on the internet and with friends who understood pit bull fighting. Also about his Football Career. You can find my work on what I discovered on both Helium and Associated Content under my profile along with a lot of my other writings if you are waiting for the next chapter to come out and I am running behind again. I try to understand my cases with emercing myself into the story with out much research so I have no predisposition on the situation. A blank slate. I do not want to form an opinion before I understand the people. That is important to me.

The research I am finding upon these protest are highly disappointing in the fact that we live in America, Land of the Free. This land was built by blood and sweat, and it is being stolen right in front of our eyes. It is not just the lack of passion with in the people that pass by and even some that are with in the protesters. There is bastardization of the Constitution, pushed to its very threads until it is ready to break. Tax dollars well in use with the double to triple police and security budget for the City the demonstration and protest is in. This is NYC remember, time is Money. Wall Street is an expensive piece of property here.

Today, I hang my head in the feeling of defeat because as a journalist I must tell the truth and as a Constitutional Supporter to the fullest and a very proud American, how do you report what others are not willing to because of the fear of being duck taped and syndicated? Tarred and feathered for your beliefs and what you see. How do you explain the pain that you feel seeing the homeland, the first state that many survived so much and still do to this day just for the Freedoms we were born with. There is no way to explain that pain or sorrow.

For me to see the world as I do, through what some would consider the Center of the Universe. I see the Universe crumbling from Wall Street to Justice Lane of where our money is going, How we as a Nation, not everyone, but a lot, are becoming tuned into 1984 and they really do not want to unplug from that machine. The machine is too comfortable.

My comfort level was broken long ago, this is just a thrill ride now as this concludes our bookcast blogcast day. You are now free to move about the cabin.

Book 3 Chapter 9

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 01:36:00 +0000

Upon my journey in life I have found that most people suck. They are only in it for themselves, for their own gain. Their own purpose. I have met so many on that level here in NYC and around the USA. As I listen to my music I pull up Eminem’s, ‘Never Enough’. I understand his words. See I am one of those odd people that believe. What brought this rant on? People not keeping their word.

This week I fell behind. This is never a good thing. A lot of things happened in the week to create this situation. I was going to make this a bitching chapter but I can’t. Some people when they come into your life, you often wonder why you allow them there. Time is a thing that teaches you how to hold on. To endure the hurdles placed before us and people come in and out of our lives on a daily basis and we never really see how much they mean to us.

My every dream in the world is coming true. To be a known writer before I die. Do you know how many writers of the past who would have given their right eye teeth for this opportunity? This chance? They would rage against the machine to be in this time space of reality of what is presented for the freelance artist to have contact with in such a way to reach almost every corner of the world, big or small. Some how it can reach them, and if the words can’t the reaction can. This gift, any writer would give their very soul for, such as Dante as he enters into the inferno.

I am so blessed. The people who have come and past me in my life, the places the I have been. Where I sit now. I can go see the Statue of Liberty any day of the week I wish. So many died to see that gift and here she is, for me to go see upon a whim of the day and 5 dollars to pay the toll. What a blessing and gift. So few can not see this. If it were not for the people in my life today, I would not be where I am. You know who you are, you know who you are not.

I know this is a short chapter, but I fell behind. I am covering a protest that is taking a bit of my time and I have not had much time to write on the computer. So please bear with, the A train passed by my house the other day and I got a 2 day pass to Manhattan. They let me out of my room to see the carnage on the streets right now in Manhattan…So if you don’t hear from me in a few days. I do promise, the A train will deliver me home safe again soon after we are done outracing the worm that we picked up from the Hudson.

As this concludes our short, uncyndicated blogcast, bookcast day.

Book 3 Chapter 8

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 19:37:00 +0000

I know when I emerge out I am very bold. I see. I know. I feel. I think. When I do come out against something or for it I am usually extremely passionate. I was asked a few years ago to start covering court room stories for certain people of the Law world. I agreed to go simply because it was a job that I felt I could get into. What I saw when I went to my first Court room house case as an adult, the case was not ok in my eyes. I watched cases through out the day and took notes as all the cases were heard before 3 judges on Pearl Street of that Courthouse. The things I heard turned my stomach. Not so much the issues of the cases presented, but the lack of professionalism and knowledge on the behalf of some of the Lawyers prosecuting the case. They, the Prosecuting Lawyers were going up against the likes of Washington D.C. Lawyers; Prosecuting Lawyers who had no business in the Court Room let alone as a sophomore in Law School. Let me explain why before you comment, continue reading please.

How can you possibly go to court with out an idea of how you are going to give a proper rebuttal ( http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=rebuttal ) In a Constitutional case if you don’t know the ins and outs of Constitutional law and you don’t bother do your research incase one of the Amendments is not a good defense for your client.

This case from Pearl Street, well, it was a romper room of romper rooms with an ill prepared Lawyer representing 7 clients against Lawyers that were protecting the likes of John Ashcroft. ( http://www.answers.com/topic/john-ashcroft ) and Lawyers for the jail in Brooklyn are only 2 of the people that were being sued by Detainees in GitMo this day. Though the case may have been valid enough, the Prosecuting Attorney ( http://dictionary.reference.com/search?q=prosecuting%20attorney&db=luna ) for the Detainees, seemed if she was still a paralegal who needed a Law book thrown at her to give her a clue of the reality of the importance of the case. There were individual lawyers of course for the likes of Ashcroft and the Prison. There was one Lawyer representing the Detainees. I am still sitting on the story as you can see because I am not sure the research is done enough for the people as of yet, however to continue upon the Romper room saga…

The girl had council sitting at the table with her and behind her, but she is the one who was defending the case before the three Judges. She kept trying to stand upon the 4th Amendment rights of Illegal Search and Seizure.

Amendment IV (1791)
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probably cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

Now this is all fine and dandy for such actions, if one is an American citizen. These men, that were arrested and now are in GitMo, were walking around the World Trade Center openly and with out any thought to the situation of 9-11, with in days after the towers fell. Now I am not saying that they should not have been there but 4 out of the 7 men had legal illegal paperwork for them to work here; I Mean their papers were legal, but they were not. This should have and could have become an INS issue for 4 out of the 7 men, not an issue of 4th Amendment rights. The fact that these men were here illegally working with legal papers makes you wonder why they were here illegally in the first place and where did they get the legal papers? Also what were the other 3 men, who were here on legal papers, doing with these 4 men that were not here legally? It also begs the question if they were entitled to the American dollars spent on their council if they were not from this country? Shouldn’t their country have to pay for this? Why are we left paying the bill for 4 illegals that were here on legal illegal paperwork, taking away American jobs from the American people? Oh and it was a high alert time so honestly, no one can blame the local law enforcement here to do a bit of profiling, they were of similar characteristics of what we know of the terrorist in our limited educational allowance for the daily reports from people like Faux News and CNN.

When I was asked to attend this hearing, my mind was not prepared for what I heard or saw. There are too many here that took the Citizenship test, too many here that need jobs, there are too many here that have been lied to for far too long. I recognize that my ‘Unpatriotic attitude’ will get me into trouble one day.

I, at this point, I do not care. Haul me off to the Jail. I want to scream from the empire states building, “America, Question. What the Fuck? Why?” How can the American public possibly say that if they don’t know the truth? So I have to be fair and report the truths that have been given to me to see. I will say if there is an American citizen who reads my work and follows the links to see what has been presented, does not say to their Government that they employ, “Listen Asshole, we need to talk.” Then it is not the fault of mine but theirs. It is only my responsibility to report the truth I find, not decide it.

I see what the Government is doing to us. How they teach us. I am listening to Immortal Techniques ‘Point of no return.’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yQl_vkhL6oc ) I can not back out from what I say because what I see is destroying this country at the very being of our core. At this point it would be futile. What I speak, for Christ sake, it is the way I feel. Am I not entitled to that? I want an answer God Damn It. Why have I plowed the trenches only to have no return? Why should the keeper reap the benefits of my being, my work? Let me tell you, Rap has created a lot of anger in me. It has driven me in a good way. The anger I feel when I am listening to rappers like Immortal Technique and Eminem, they empower me. They empower my place in the world. Even with all I have been trough I feel that they have been through 10 times worse. I question…Who I am, what I am? Where do I fit in this world? Will I make my mark?

I am lucky, my skin tone is white, I just look appropriate. I fit in when I have to. With most not knowing I will post the story that will make people question their placement of where they are. With my Tats and black ghetto booty I fit in to a point, until I have to interact. Then my mouth gets the best of me.

I have earned my tats, never forget that. My tats define me in a way. I have the trinity on my arm, a memory on my ankle of where I never want to be again, and a black rose that drips blood on my back. As you can see in this documentary. I will only show my trinity Tat. Why? I want people to judge me by what I represent and write not what I look like.

In the world of the Court room you see yourself so much. I am supposed to keep an objective mind at this point. How do you do that? When you hear the travesties that are presented, the pain that is happening, and the nonsense of the destruction of people that so few know?
It is a difficult issue for me to keep my objective as that of a reporter. I have feelings, I know things. I see things. It pains me the people on the street who are forgotten. I can never forget them. How inhumane can you be to forget them? It is humanity that allows others to live. It is humanity that allows us to live. What if the powers that be did just leave us there? With our educational system we are entitled to Bad council, bad representation unless we can afford the price tag. We would flounder at this. We would be destroyed. We loose as a species. We will become lost in this freedom if we do not learn to stand up for it.

I listen to certain music because of how it affects me. My roomie knows if Rammstein (http://www.rammstein.com/ ) is on, I am not in the mood to talk. I am too angry at that point to approach. I am a radical at that time and nothing logical is going to come through. I can’t explain it. I just know. Sometimes you just know.

Please be patient here, even though the next few paragraphs seem out of whack with the above topics on the court I tie them together.

You get to a point in your life where you know you have to make a stand. You have to make this stand to make sure you are true to the people around you. Honestly you can not say you will provide food and shelter if you can not establish it.

Please let me give an example. With my books I have a few proofreaders; they get the royalties of the books I write. In no way shape or form are they asking for money, it is a gift. I give all my proofers 1% of the profits off the life of the books I put out. Does not seem like a lot at first but let’s say this book makes 1 million. 1% of that million is still ten grand. That is a bit of gas or food. They know this, the proofers, as do I. For one thousand a month I can pay all my house bills. For Christ sake, I live in NY for that point. If I can make it on less than a grand a month, so can anyone else anywhere else in the world. I am sure they can figure out where to put that extra money even if it is only $200 extra a month. That is gas or some food or maybe a trip to a restaurant.

When you look at that statement alone…

‘I am sure they can figure out where to put that extra money even if it is only $200 extra a month. That is gas or some food or maybe a trip to a restaurant.’

That is a sad statement to make, very sad. Why should America have to suffer from the politicians who have been leading her? What is the point? If the politicians destroy the people who elected them then there will be no one left in America to do the jobs they don’t want to do. You know, blue collar work, the blood of America, the heartbeat that keeps this country running? I guess that if all the Wally worlds were to shut down we would have to let go of the workers from another countries and put jobs back in America.

Why, as Americans have we not questioned more? Why did we elect someone who we wanted who promised so many changes, people believed in him? We, as a nation, elected a Freshman Senator into the White House with out a second thought, a second glance. Did any one bother to check his voting records or bother to see that the stimulus plan was presented long before he was in Office? He was part of the original write ups for it and wanted to get it past when lil bush was in office.

He promised so much, offered change. Only to create a change that could very well destroy this country. Yet we sit back and clap at the shiny things that are presented to us, only hoping there will be food on the table tomorrow. Or that we can send our kids to school tomorrow with out concern that they will not be educated well because they can not pay the teachers anymore or that the books are so old that it dates back to the publication time of George Washington being in office. I have never cared for Mr. Obama; I can not and will not ever call him President. I will not. There is something dirty there. At least you know where I stand with the current administration, don’t worry, I care not for the President since Carter was in office.
I am sure some will find this disrespectful but to be very honest. I have no respect for a man who stated very clearly he would never run for office of President when being caught off guard with a Reporter who questioned him after a Senate hearing on lil bush I believe. I don’t care for a man who has no issue of Plagiarism, I work to hard to find my words to write and come together. I also believe his ability to vote to impeach lil bush when he could, was not used for a yeah or a nay, in other words he did not vote. Same with Miss. Clinton. We are all so happy Clinton is there yet here is the thing, am I the only one who remembers the nightmare that happened during something called the white water scandal I believe. A lot of people conveniently died after all that work came out. Or how about the fact that the man who was elected into Office will not share his birth certificate with the American People. We hired him, he did not hire us. We are his employer, not vice versa. Why is he above questioning? Is it because he is a Malato? He is half black, half white. He is not a full blooded African American, as a matter of a fact; I am not even sure if he is an African American. I believe the only ones who should use that term, are the Americans who came from Africa over here.

So many things in life can change in an instant. We so often forget this. We forget our place in this world that a larger part of the world controls us. That what we put in this life comes out in our being. We forget we have a mind and allow all to control us with their beliefs. We have forgotten to listen to those little things in our lives that are an edge in our system. We allow this corruption to exist because we exist stagnant on certain parts of our lives. We make the paths we are on to choose our paths and go where they lead us.

How does all this connect you may be asking? Our education system is a representation of our future. If a Lawyer does not know the Constitution to defend 7 men before 3 judges correctly, then what does that say about us as a nation as a whole being? If it is ok for the man who holds the highest office in the Nation is above questioning, what is the Constitution for? If we know this is happening, why haven’t we stopped it?

Remember what I say, question everything as this concludes our bookcast blogcast day. You are not free to move about the cabin space provided.

Book 3 Chapter 7

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 08:36:00 +0000

Welcome back. Did you miss me?

I am listening to the news from Russia again. You learn a great deal when you listen to other people. In a court room all you do is listen and hope you got that statement correct or the reaction of the Judge or the people around you. I am not sure what Lawyers feel when they are up there. I have had my fair share of court room drama you could say. I have dealt with the family law court, divorce court, Federal Courts, State Courts; I am working on making it to the Supreme Court in D.C... That would be an achievement. I have learned though, laws are started on the base of all courts. I am not an expert in the Courts or their placement as of yet. Where they sit and why one Court is higher than the other.

To me the court system is a lot like our Government. Each level is connected but one hand rarely knows what the other is doing. I usually slip in quietly to these cases. Sitting where I can hear well but not always seen because I do try to blend in. As for my writing style on these cases. I am not sure so many would approve who have been in the business for very long. I can’t blame them. I have chosen to come into a court of law and report the truth but from a layman’s point. From one who is learning the law as the cases move forward.

I often have to work twice as hard on cases, for the simple fact, I do not know all the terms. I did not complete College. I did graduate High School, but College was a no go for me. Hint here, teenagers who know everything and are ready to graduate, go get a further education even if it is fixing cars.

I have let go of a lot of things in my life. I had them but I did not want them at that time if that makes sense. I look back and reflect a lot on where I turned wrong, how I could have done things differently.

I think the Court Room does make you look, reflect; see where you could be, or what you could become. Besides Government, Law is one of the only other things that really affect a whole Country. This includes anything that can be broken down into those particular sectors we could say. I am anxiously awaiting my proofer’s responses and corrections on the first few chapters of this book, so as I wait, the need to write does not diminish. Especially when I am watching things that can and will affect thousands. It is a very weird feeling. I am witnessing history in a way, not by the sideline in the TV tube that is watched by many out there. I am sitting in on cases that can possibly change laws for others nation wide in the future.

There is something about that. There is a feeling of pride, not vanity. It is a feeling of awe. It is a feeling of pain and disappointment. In life you have to take a stand. If you do not, the words you say mean nothing to the people you are trying to reach. I do believe my PTSD is a help factor in this area. Remember every negative has a positive. My mind is that of sorted memories, blind faith, and direction of where I need to be, not where people think I should be.

The court rooms show you your own vicious circle of life. Where you could do better. How you could improve yourself. How do you make change? Do you have a purpose? Why are you here? What is it you are to do? I watch the court room drama. There is no other description there. It is like watching psychedelics on trial. Each Lawyer has a point, the judge listens. The lawyer has the choice to listen to the judge or not. They psychosomatic actions continue either way.
I suppose I have to go back to my first court case on Pearl. The GitMo case as I refer it to. Out of all the research I have done, I am not sure what my limits are of that of reporting. Do I step out and scream the truth from my pages or do I keep a silent mind and only show the facts of the case. Not that when I scream the facts would not be in the description of the case where I put my thoughts in there, my thoughts will just come in louder words.

If you notice, I tend to focus on other things besides the PTSD. I try to function with in the ‘normal’ parameters of man. I tell you right now I am far from it, seriously. I wonder how others see me in this world, my words, my research. Some call that the truth. I have the issue of knowing what I should say and what I do say. These court cases remind me so much of being there, being the person on trial.

Of course everyday I live I am on trial. Did I say the right thing? Did I manage ok? What did I do to improve the situation? Am I ok? Why do I feel the need to take care of others even when I am the brink of despair? I often look at my weak, fallen vessel that I am no one, nothing. Crying out in utter defeat I watch. I cry. I submit; feel. I see.

For so long I have questioned where I am to be and what to do. If I am on the right path? Did I mislead someone, somewhere? I fight what humanity gives me as an answer. I fight what I am told I am to believe. I rage against this machine if for no reason as to the fact that I scream about the truth that I am presented with. My true vision is that of clarity, peace, blindness of a sort. I have found out that I can not report with out my heart being real. This becomes a conflict of interest in ways.

When I have the privilege to talk to my children they often bring light to the conversation of their wisdom. Two precious times of the week I get to hear how their day is going, their week. What is going on in their world? It is a very odd existence. Looking out to what is presented to me. I am a weird one. No one can argue. I am still functioning, functioning being the key word. I have survived abuse you could not imagine. I have become the poster child of screw ups. I mean real screw ups. I look at myself and wonder why in Gods green earth I would be chosen to be a mother of one, let alone two children. Who screwed up that day with the embryos that become children? I want to see this order.

My son reconfirmed my parenting education today. He uttered the words, “We must question everything.” Such a bold statement from a 16 year old. In his simple words he reaffirmed what I have taught my children from birth. The basics of life.

“Yes." Was my answer. I asked him where he learned this and he informed me it came from my gene pool, that he learned that from me. There is not a word that can describe what this is or how it may affect you. I raised my children to question everything; this does not just mean those around you, but those who help you; your teachers, your leaders, your friends, your family, and so on and so forth. Again please send your hate mail to idontcare@gmail.com. Such a simple statement that is said that can mean mounds. It is a reward for teaching well. It is a gift to see that you were listened to.

It is also a reminder which has to do with the courts? How do you possibly put Courts with children? Easy. Both need a justice system based off something. Based off a reason. As I said there are no words to express the words of my son. His bold statement of ‘Question everything.’
See people come in and out of your life and you become attached, you only hope what you have given will reach them and their boundaries. From a mothers point of view. I am terrible. I am a horrid mother. I have the mother instincts, but not the drive sometimes. Not the tenacity. I was from the world of children should be seen not heard because I already have enough noise in my head. Yet when I had my own I learned very quickly communication is key and our children are like these lil sponges absorbing everything we say or do in this world.

My son repeating the precious words of ‘Question everything” allowed me to realize I am on the right path, whether I am in the Court Room or in person on the street. It is that silly validation to continue on in this world and your place in it.

As this concludes our blogcast/bookcast day…Always question….PTSD…question…thyroid…question…twin towers…question…swine flu…question???

Book 3 Chapter 6b

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 19:43:00 +0000

Book 3 Chapter 6b
Welcome back to the A train. Please note below before you read further.*
A lot can happen in a week in NYC. I know, I keep talking about NYC. Here is the thing, I live here. Where else should I talk about with some knowledge and education of what is going on in my part of the world? Where should I get my education from, the news? Even then that education is questionable. I do courtroom reporting. I am still learning the ropes of law but find it a fascinating world. Where else can one man or women, or in some cases a Jury decide your fate based on the facts found and presented by professional liars, I mean Lawyers of course.
If you are up on a murder charge you better hope you have a good Lawyer. One who can find the facts; or in some cases, can lie very well if you are guilty. Those of you who are laughing and agreeing know what I am saying because you have been there. Ok, maybe not for a murder charge, but for something else.

Just so you know, the courtroom is one of the few places where sometimes the little guy can still win with the right Judge, jury, or Lawyer.

I had an interest in law when I was in grade school. I think it was around the 5th grade. We went to a Court House for a class project. (http://www.cod.uscourts.gov/Home.aspx ) When you are so small, the size of a building can be very powerful in molding the impressionable mind. When I saw the building of the Court, entered those hallowed halls, felt the importance of the words that were hushed as we passed by lawyers. It is an eye opening moment.

It would almost be like visiting the White House for some I suppose. My class was invited to hear a case and would be able to meet a Judge. I remember sitting in the blue chairs listening to the Lawyers fight for a young mans freedom. I don’t remember what the case was; I do however remember the power that Judge had after he heard the facts presented to him. I remember him speaking to the young man who was lead away in cuffs as his head hung low. Words sometimes are not remembered, just actions.

After the Judge left for his chambers and then came back. We were introduced to the Courtroom and all of her separate functions. This Judge stayed in His robes, I am sure that was to keep us in line, but He touched something in me that day. He mentioned that even though this court was not as large as some, not as small as some, each court was bound by the Constitution. That silly little paper that protects our freedoms and what our Country was built on. He still believed in the Constitution and what it stood for, as I believe in the Constitution to this day. That powerful little piece of paper that grants me a freedom that most don’t have anywhere else in this world. I have the privilege not to do as I want all the time but to have the freedom to speak, fight, outrage, inform, lift, and destroy if needed. This is a powerful responsibility and gift for any one person. Remember with great wisdom comes great responsibility.

When he spoke of the Constitution, this Judge, there was something in His demeanor that showed he still believed and upheld the Constitution as first priority in his life as a Judge. I have never forgotten how that felt to be in the Court room that day and the things that occurred. As I have grown older and becoming more active as a Patriot, I am constantly learning about the Constitution, our rights, our duties. Yes, we have duties as American Citizens. We have duties as a species as a whole; human or otherwise.

I now go to the bigger Courts you could say. I am not saying Denver is small. Please do not confuse that statement, I mean bigger and older Courts with amazing Judges to watch. (http://www1.nysd.uscourts.gov/index.php ) If you can understand this statement, watching a good Law match is like watching Poetry in Motion. It is so amazing how the Lawyers, with the right Judges presiding can weave the Constitution right in front of your eyes. Like this magic carpet that is taking you on a ride. Making it a shining example of what The Lady Liberty stands for and the Constitution of the United States. Please note, I am a bit sappy when I talk of Patriotism and the Constitution.

This is one of the beautiful Court Houses I am privileged to attend once in a while. Also, the Brooklyn court room, which is my current location of Court Reporting. (http://www.nyed.uscourts.gov/ ) I have had the blessing of seeing court in action with some of the more prominent lawyer’s of today’s day and age. I have seen the workings of the ACLU and the CCR inside the court room. I have walked and seen, on very streets here in New York City whether you live here or not, the news that impacts you where you live.

As I have attended these Court Houses, I have seen cases that will affect many lives in future years. As a journalist I report what I hear, I write what I see, and I tell the people of the United States of America what is going on in their Court Houses here in NYC, that may or may not affect them where they live. I take this responsibility as seriously as one should. Unfortunately sometimes, this has left me at a standstill on some of my stories for the plain and simple fact there are no words to describe what I see in the Romper Room of Justice, in these, the days of our Big Brother Court House Watch.

It has pained me on how to report the truth when I can not believe the truth that I am seeing before my very eyes. I have attended a lot of things such as protest covering the GitMo case. I was there; I walked with the protesters. For some this may not be a big deal, but to me, it was an impressive moment. The first time I stood in front of the Pillars of the Pearl Court House, there was a beautiful coverage of a discussion of what was going on in Guantanamo Bay aka GitMo. Very Honourable, very quiet, very simple. Here is a link to the story if you would like to read it. I know more shameless promotion, but in this case I was there. This is a first hand experience. So here you go. (http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/558461/guantanamo_bay_and_the_quiet_protest.html?cat=43 )

I apparently grew up believing that justice is blind. I still believe this because even in the Romper Room of the Court Cases presented, the Judges kept Their Court Room in order, just like any good leader should. The Judges are very affluent and skilled in their knowledge, and I learned more from the Judges; who are beyond what any TV Court Room Judge could be compared to. They are in living color and their rulings were and are very real.

I was allowed to go to my first court case in the Courthouse on Pearl Street, I was asked to cover the GitMo case. I know the case is on a very touchy subject and I have still not found all the facts on the case, however as I watched the lawyers come in and stand around to talk in their hushed voices. I saw the arrogance of Law used for the first time in my life and my heart was crushed at the thought how to spin this story and show the wrongs I had seen as laymen, a newbie to the Courtroom of sorts.

A point and time comes in every artist’s life when they decide where they stand. Do they follow the current status quo? Do they choose to stand out and stand up, delivering the truth as they have seen it with their very own eyes, no matter what the cost? Journalist define their Journalism and investigation credentials from the beginning of their writing career, I feel. You know there is that moment you decide what it is you want to do with some of your life. How you want to give back to the community around you in the only way you know how. I have always known that if words could be used as weapons some of mine would be deadly and cut to the bone; even give a final blow. I search to hone my skills to destroy those that were and are destroying the people around me. This led me to Gonzo Journalism, Abby Hoffman, and a few others out there.

As I stumbled upon Gonzo journalism quite by accident, my roomie introduced me to ‘Fear and Loathing in Los Vegas’ http://www.rollingstone.com/news/story/7045675/fear_and_loathing_at_25 . It opened my eyes to a new way of journalism, with that knowledge I will create my own, self proclaimed Journalism of the court room from here on out to be known as **Gonzo Court Room Journalism for the Free Press. Wikipedia fans unite, you can write about me soon enough.
I am not so sure how that will go over in the Court Room. However I do tend to need to focus on something so depression does not get me down. Does not allow me to sink into the wallows of self pity. That can happen with PTSD. After watching my first Court room drama for the first time in my life in NYC, my thoughts of ‘ Justice is Blind.’ quickly turned to ‘Justice is not only blind but the system is a deaf mute as well.’

I wanted to know how such things can go down in our back yard. Decisions that change the very existence of the fabric of our country, that can make or break it, people rarely know about these cases until they hit film. I am not sure why. I don’t know why reporters don’t respond on some of these cases that are so important to many in our society. The society in NYC, surrounds you, just as the society that surrounds you there, surrounds us. We truly do need each other from every corner of the earth, not just one central location. The central location is just a Ground Zero of sorts. Again please send your comments to me at idon’tcare@gmail.com if you have an issue with my tongue in cheek humor you were warned of my nature when you began to read my work. See note *** below for further instruction.

A moth does not flutter its wings in Africa with out an affect even down the river of the Amazon or the Nile. You do not know what impact your touch may have on this earth, on a person. You don’t know what words you say today will affect someone tomorrow. I watch this in these Court Cases as the Law is talked about, in acronyms (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/acronyms ) that have to be looked up like DOJ or Department of Justice. Or the DOD, Department of Defense. I have taken no classes to learn how to do this. I was asked to go, so I went.

I never promised those who I went for that I would coddle them or not call them out on what I was questioning not only as a reporter, but also an American Citizen. The miscarriage of Justice that I saw, except for the Judges, cut me to the bone of where my Faith lays in my countries lies… I never knew that feeling before. I feel honoured I am able to attend these court room hearings. To hear first hand, before they are blacked out or erased, hidden from the public I am not sure where my limit is on this Court Reporting thing. I am sure we will find out if they stop letting me in.

I still believe in Justice and that it is blind. Now if there were just some shiny things for the Lawyers to be distracted with.

This concludes our Blog/Bookcast day…We will return tomorrow with our day in the life of the Romper Courts…Or something like that.

***Please note 6a was written after 6b, 6a was to catch my readers up at what is going on with my world and why I have not posted as much as I would like.
*All request to copy the work of the artist or anything in its enteritiy can be submitted to the email provided on the site or in the comments. If you would like to use the artist work, please reference it back to where you found the link and I will kindly add your site per your request.
**Gonzo Court Room Journalism…We are a bit different breed than most, kind of an honest Politician and we have a Journalist Prayer/oath of sorts. It goes something like this.

Dear Journalist Gods,
I solemnly swear as a reporter for the Free Press of the People, For the People, and By the People, here on out, promise to give well researched, well organized articles for all to read with resources attached, as to allow the reader to make their own choices of their own free will with facts presented before them. However, unlike the Turks that are currently reporting, it will be full of life, truth, passion and words of cynicism for the reader to understand the Journalist point of view and have the truth before them. To recognize all are allowed Freedom of Speech for all said parties involved, both by reading or writing content on such reports. To stand by the Journalist Creed and to never sell our being for front page news, lest we die; to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, so help me the Journalist Gods. *** Wikipedeia Copy Approved, just add the link to find the story.***

***All words are the writers exclusive 1st Amendment Rights. Any complains look up Jefferson or Franklin, they might be able to help you out. This website does not confirm nor deny the actions or activities of said writer, and hold no responsibility to those who listen and continue to tune in…You are now free to move about the cabin space provided.

Book 3 Chapter 6

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 03:10:00 +0000

I was asked recently if I had been writing in my journal. The answer is of course no. I have not felt that I have wanted to. I am worried of what I may find inside. The journal topic is supposed to be about a conversation I had today with my friend. About trying and not getting anywhere even when we try, if no production is made is that ok or not, even when we have tried? When it comes to things such as a reality situations example; money. Trying and not succeeding does not amount to a hill of beans.

I have placed myself in a corner and dragged people down with me into this pool of self loathing and hating. Not meaning to but still doing it because I can not seem to change my actions.
My life has created a situation where I can not but change my actions. A few weeks ago, about the time of my last blog post, I began to face more medical problems than I expected. It is not a convenient thing to carry a lap top around from medical appointment to medical appointment all over NYC. Since I have been writing on the computer instead of in a note book by hand this time, my chapters fell behind and I am trying to keep my journal in some sort of order, unlike the order in my life at this current time.

My head has been spinning with everything going on and survival. I know I talk a lot about survival but those who live here know it is a Jungle and survival of the fittest no matter what your handicap; being an idiot savant or actually having medical issue be it physical or mental, in NYC there is no excuse for not surviving. If you think you have an excuse in NYC not to survive you need to move. Really.

I am thinking this chapter will be more focused on things going on around me and to me rather than items that affect the world at this time.

Originally when I started this book, “My Life on the A Train” it was over a bowl of poorly made French onion soup, a glass of Merlot, and a crappy day at the Drs Office on a Crisp October day in 2008. Oh and I had a new journal in my hand with a fresh pen. A bomb shell had been dropped on me about my issues of PTSD and things of that nature. That I needed help and I could get that help from the Government. Mind you, if you are reading my blogs from the beginning, the Government and I do not get a long all the time. I am usually writing about them, not working with them. Case in point, I covered a little case called Guantanamo Bay…You may have heard of that nice Beach Vacation place and unlike most journalist, I was not censored. The Government and I are BFF.

http://angelicfaith.blogspot.com/
http://faythespoetry.blogspot.com/

I knew over that bowl of soup that if I did not start to journal again I would loose myself in my own insanity. I am not sure what was said to me that day that made me start that journal. It is hand written and well honestly, not with me right now in my current location. I know that it started over, a bowl of French onion soup and a diagnosis of PTSD to a extreme. Oh yes, and I had just read “Go ask Alice.” Which by the way, unless your therapist suggest it, I would not recommend reading it lightly, if read at all. It is a very hard hitting book you could say and it put me in a place of thinking about this girl I had read about and where she was and what happened to her after she stopped using a journal.

I felt a great deal of hopelessness after reading that book. I had read it at a very low part of my life and writing has been such a large part of my life. It is my use of therapy that was suggested by therapist. I truly believe if Alice would have continued to write, things would have been found out or well she would be alive. I wanted people out there, if they had read this book/blog, to know that there is hope out there, that you are not alone. That you did not have to stop living even with trials that face you on a daily basis.

I am not sure where that hope is but if you are still moving it is there. If you are still opening your eyes, there is still hope. Somewhere inside there is something telling you to move forward. Do not give up, do not give in. So, you are being attacked, physically, mentally, emotionally, psychologically, environmentally, and the list goes on. Think about it, every day you move, you have hope, hope leads to life. What you choose to do with that life is up to you. No one gave you a life’s little instruction book when you were born, you don’t get one now.

Humor, people, humor. Laughter is the best medicine honestly.

I have not written because I have been sitting in this big self wallowing pity party of sorts. Life has in a way become overwhelming at an alarming rate. I can not stop the spinning world around me right now, it has sucked me into the eye of the storm and to leave would be a self suicide. So you have to move forward and come back to reality. Snapback and realize what you are doing and who you are hurting, including yourself, when you become one in that drowning pool of self wallowing.

When I started this journal, it was self therapy. Now I have a Psychiatrist (http://www.mentalhealthchannel.net/psychiatrist.shtml ), a psycho therapist (http://www.mentalhealthchannel.net/psychotherapist.shtml ), and a journal to spill my guts out to. If you think about this whole process, I have no idea why I started it. I just knew I had to, to keep my sanity until I got a licensed therapist to handle my issues. I need a person with a license in this case because there is a great deal being thrown at me all at once, besides that, only someone with a license should be allowed to handle me anyway. My bedroom door has a sticker that came from Belleview that lets visitors know I bite. FYI
I am holding on to Faith with so much hope that I can continue on every day. I will be honest, sometimes, that is even a hard thing to hope for. See my body has become wracked with pain, since last I wrote. I think it is important for you to know where I am not only mentally but physically at this time. Not for sympathy, but so you are aware of my life at this moment in time.
On the days my hands are not giving me issues my depression kicks in so hard I can not focus on writing words to express what I am going through. As much as I write for education and what not as you have read in my beginning chapters, education of myself and sharing myself was part of the deal when I started writing these journals, I did not know how painful some of the things would be as I wrote it, perhaps had I, I would have not started this journal online in the first place.

I know my thoughts are random at times and very confusing to say the least. I write as my train of thought thinks. If you understand that statement, we are on the same A train ride. Welcome aboard; please stand clear of the closing doors. Bing, bong…Ok NYers, are laughing there, I know you are there. Represent.

I often wonder if others think the way I do. See the things I see. Question the things I question. I often feel so different than the rest of the scope of the world. That my blind Faith leads me to cross traffic in NYC with out a thought sometimes. Are there other Pollyanna’s out there that say, “I know right now everything sucks, but hey, it’s ok., it will all be ok somehow.” Do they see as I do what is happening to us right before our eyes.

I know I do. I know I can present it in a form that can be read. Shared. Sometimes it is wonderful to know that there are people out there that think alike. We know we are not alone. We are not crazy even when the world says we are. Please be patient with my scattered thoughts in the next few stops of the A train, it is a bumpy ride. There are pauses between stops in the tunnels or on the bridge depending upon where you are at that point and time on the train. Hold on, it is only a passing moment. I have had to put this into perspective of the reality of my life at this moment and time.

Also I must explain, I jump around a lot because my mind is a lot like this department store and I often look around in there when I am writing or speaking and some other section comes out. I can be in Lady’s clothes and end up in Electronics with no explanation as to why. I will eventually make it back to the dresses I was looking at but for right now there are shiny things in the Electronics department I must go to and play with.

As this concludes our book/blog cast day. Thanks for joining me on the ride.

This is known as a Commercial Break...

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 18:50:00 +0000

We interrupt this blog cast day with a commercial for your enjoyment…You however must read it instead of someone showing it to you. Here we go…Time to use our imagination kids…
Ladies or Gentlemen, do you have problems with your date noticing your tatas or package instead of your eyes? Do you get upset when they should be staring deeply into your very soul over dinner instead of wondering when he or she is going to get into the sack with you? Never fear, slip into a Ricky’s, (http://www.rickysnyc.com/ ) and pick yourself up a bottle of 'Too Faced Lash Injection Extreme Thickening and Lengthening’ mascara. You can find a review here… (http://sharedreviews.com/r/39419-too-faced-cosmetics-inc-too-faced-lash-injection-extreme-thickening-and-lengthening ) It is sure to doll up those eyes and wow your man or woman and have them begging for more. Oh other assorted and fun items such as make-up, hair needs, or even visit the Adult section (over 18 only please) We now return you to your blogcast/bookcast day…Oh yes, and a special thank you to Sadia for pointing out Too Faced Lash Injection Mascara.

Book 3, Chapter 5....

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Mon, 01 Jun 2009 18:20:00 +0000

***Again, sorry for not being able to post more. I must make money with odd jobs right now and rent is way past due as is electric, cable, phone...Not that I am complaining, just noting...***

I love living in NYC; this place is a dream come to reality on some plane I never bought a ticket for, rather New York sent for me while I was working in a strip bar in Boston. As I was growing up I dreamed of coming to NYC with out realizing, the people in NYC, unless of course you have money, do not live here but simply exist. It cost too much to “live” here; you must work 24/7/365-6 or at least 20/7/365-6.

I have read somewhere that the average NYer lives 7 years in 1 year of the average life span of most Americans. I mean New York City. I am not saying the outskirts of NYC and the surrounding areas are not fast paced as well, just not as fast as a NYC minute. Until you live here you really don’t understand that statement. Oh and just so you know, NYC has 5 boroughs, Manhattan, Queens, Staten Island, Brooklyn, and the Bronx. Please make a note of that. Not every NYC person lives in Manhattan. Have you seen the rents there, please I don’t have a sugar daddy. However if you are interested in applying, just let me know.

Oh yes, where were we, the NYC minute.

Lives are built in a minute by some choices and are destroyed in seconds in decisions you make here in this City. Don’t believe me, look at Wall Street and the crashes. I am a bit bias here. (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/bias) Remember I have wanted to be in New York City most of my life; well it is one of my most vivid memories and dreams.

I often question why I think I can make a difference. I am not any different than anyone else, I just have a very vivid imagination and I have a way with words, or at least I hope I do if you are still reading this. My life has been blessed with the people I have met, the places I have lived, and the surroundings that embraced me. I don’t know too many people who have touched a Glacier, driven through the Yukon and BC twice, and moved to NYC with out a dime in their pocket. Wait there are a few that I followed in their footsteps on that last statement.

I am also aware there are not many people out there who had a mother like mine with her addictions and needs. The memories of my childhood still haunt me to this day. I am not sure there is ever a way to erase these memories, no matter how hard you try. You learn to live with them. Accept them and move on. I learned long ago, self pity and self wallowing does nothing for the spirit but break it. That is Unfixable.

Also for some reason, when someone told me ‘no’ I would do it anyway just to prove them wrong. It is the stubbornness in me. Perhaps the American Indian or the Black Irish, I am not sure which. Perhaps because I am naturally inquisitive and I am the child that wants to know why? Why do things work? How can I make things better? What is wrong with me? How do I fix me? Why do I care more about the welfare of others before myself? In today’s society that is not a trait we are really taught anymore. To think of others before ourselves.

Some of my experiences in life have been that of volunteering. What a gift and a blessing that is. Helping others is a unique feeling. Those who in a worse situation always make you stop and ponder your life of what you have and where you could be. My step-mom used to take me with her to these activities of volunteerism and 12 step meetings.

Once in a while the father figure in my life, to be known as ‘L’, from now on, would join us. As you can see, my father figure and I do not get along. I do not subscribe to his issues of racism and judgment. It is a personal choice. There were times that we, as a family, would volunteer together at dinners and lunches of Nursing Homes and with Veteran’s and everyone is attending AA, Ala-teen or Ala-non. You can learn a lot if you pay attention in these situations. I have always known that even if I can not walk that day, at least I have feet to walk eventually. You know that old saying.

I truly believe that Faith keeps you at bay out of the wolves’ mouths. Sometimes she pushes really hard, but when you kneel and say, “Ok, please help.” There is a peace that comes and carries you forth. Some say it is Jesus, I say it is Faith. Both can be considered one in the same. I also believe our roads are to make us stronger. I know, that old saying, ‘That which does not kill us makes us stronger’. This is very true, even if unfair. Who are we to say what is fair and what is not fair? What if the road you are on leads you to a road in the footsteps of the person you admire?

Look around, none of the people who got anywhere really had an easy life. All of them went through things. Perhaps they don’t talk about it. Perhaps nothing actually happened to some of them. I do have a question though. Who is to say whose struggle is harder? We are given what we can handle for our character, for our being. Someone up there did not just say, “Ok, we are going to plant this being here and just let it go all wily nilly with out care of where it is going.” There is far to much paperwork involved in creating a being let alone allowing that being to reek havoc on a society.
Also if you think that a higher power did not create you. Please, please, look at how a child is conceived and created. Ok an egg gets penetrated by a fish like creature, a tadpole. Think about that. It forms into cells that double daily, not even looking human, or taking the human form for at least a month. I am not sure how long, I just know this truth. It is cells from the day of conception. Not something with 10 fingers and 10 toes. So you pro choice people, make the choice to be responsible, because you know what, your family cared enough to let you live so you could have a choice to kill a child, ever wonder if they made a mistake with your cells? I am pro-choice by the way pro choice we all are entitled to what we want to do, as well as I am entitled to state clearly I don’t believe in ending a life that has no voice to defend itself. Again direct your hate mail to idon’tcare@gmail.com.

The human form, in all reality, is one of the most remarkable forms of science available. Think about it most people can barely run a computer, what would they do if they had to remember to breathe every time?

The human form can heal, even from broken necks, backs, and bones. The human body can perform even under extreme stress. The human form carries one of the most highly developed computers on the planet. Your brain. We are not Petri dish (http://medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/Petri+dish ) experiments under a microscope. At least I don’t think we are. Someone out there might disagree.

I don’t think I am better than anyone. As a matter of a fact, quite the contrary. I see my flaws and frailties very well. Where I have messed up in my life. How I continue to make the same mistakes. How I repeat cycles over and over. There is something in my programming of my brain that has to be rewired. My journals and writing allows for that. I do fully believe that someone out there will read my words and be able to see they are not alone with these thoughts. With these questions. I don’t know who it will reach. I do know if my words reach just one that is a blessing. If one life can be changed and saved it is worth the journey. Everyday you should impact one person in your life. You don’t know, but you may have just saved their life that day.

I am also a Patriot of sorts. I listen to the current music put out and watch TV just like everyone else. Some of my morals and ethics come into play here. The more I do research and learn about what is going on out there, the more I scream at myself that I need to do something or shut up. One can not preach freedom if one is not willing to fight for it.

Especially in the Arts department. The Arts have been our way of communicating to the world of what is happening in the world. I see the lies spread on the TV and it makes my stomach turn that I have not reached where I want to be on a personal level. I question if I will make it that far. Hey Eminem did. (www.eminem.com ) So did Sam Cooke (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0177492/bio ) I know those are artist.
However, that does not exclude other artist we could go to Dr. King (http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1964/king-bio.html ) or Malcolm X ( http://www.cmgww.com/historic/malcolm/ ) . They all believed and carried forth; they changed the world around them even when others told them they were crazy. The influences in my life have also been that of Anonymous programs and their 12 steps. I do not attend meetings anymore, at this time; however I do understand and appreciate their philosophies at times. I also try to apply it to my life on a daily basis. Hey right now I am still on step one. Admitting I am an Alcoholic and I am not in charge when the Alcohol is there in my system.

When I started ‘My Life on the ‘A’ Train’ I was not sure why. I had simply bought a journal book and wandered into a place here in Queens to eat. I had just started my journey on this discovery of the situation of my body right now. This PTSD nightmare and it is a nightmare. Do not ever doubt that. Those who have this condition know exactly what I am talking about. If you know what I am talking about, right now in my life, I am at the stage where even going to the city of Manhattan wears me out for 3 days after. Exhaustion sets in, my head pounds, I don’t want to deal with people, I can’t eat, sleep, function.

Please do not tell me this in my head. All my life I have been active. I was a cheerleader remember. That is a very active lifestyle. New York is an active lifestyle. Living is an active lifestyle. It is the travel that kills me. I am working on that. I tend to forget my body is in charge at this moment, even when my mind is working on a fast track of thinking.

I wanted to journalize my walk so I can reflect. Reflection is good you see. You can see where you are spinning your wheels and where you are moving forward and correct it. Or at least you should try too. In this life we are told we only get one life to live, no not the soap opera. To make the best of this life given. If this is the case, why do so many of us waste it on idleness? I am guilty of the same issue. This idleness. I am 37 years old today and well, I have life experience but no college degree. I have had 2 children but they do not live with me. Currently, I am a Freelance Writer, which translates into a starving artist and do anything you can to pay the bills.

What I have achieved in my life is not monumental or significant except for staying alive at this moment and time. That I suppose you could call an achievement. I know where I am headed. I know what I wish to achieve. It is getting there. I have been worried about putting my work out there. Why? Rejection, honesty, fear of the unknown. The questions run through your mind…What if this is not good? What if this does not make sense? What if I am wrong? What if my whole existence is a lie?
However inside, I know. I know my direction like the sailor directed by the North Star, like the warrior that is called to battle. There is an inner calm that says, move forward, the path is hard but it is worth it. Continue on. I feel much when I go to The City, as I call it.

History of life in the United States. Blood in the streets that was poured out hundreds of years ago. Freedom won and held because New York City still stands, as does America to a point. There are still cobble stone streets in some of Manhattan. It is here you feel the past of those who came before you, who walked on the same dream as you. That these streets called to you as if a silent voice on the wind, saying come home. It is time to make a difference. Why New York? I don’t like Cali...and yes I have been there.

New York is the city of dreams, the Lady of Freedom, and the hub of the world to this day. She shares her sea with others who are hubs, but we are so blessed to be granted to be in such a place lest we forget that everyone is allowed dreams and have hopes. Those hopes and dreams are in encouraged on the lips to our children and to those who come here from every “true” American.

Since I was 12, I have wanted to come here. To New York. Since I was young, I knew in my heart that there was a purpose for me. That I would go when the cold North Wind called me home. When Faith brought me neigh.

We are all so unique, so special. There should not be anger, jealousy amongst us. How can we change the world if we can not let go of such petty things that hold us back? Why is it we tell each other we want the best for them, yet under that same breath curse them or covet their gifts when they get that promotion or raise? Shouldn’t you rejoice and be glad in the tidings of your fellow men? I am a little different there I suppose. I will say in my defense, because I know certain people are reading this. I do not create anger or jealousy, I do however stand and defend myself when attacked and lied about. There is a difference.

I know I am to be where I am at this moment in time. I don’t know what tomorrow brings. If I will be here or if my words will simply be dust in cyberspace never to be read. Let me leave you with this…Inside each of us is a North Star. Be we are to lead the blind, help the poor, have a family, be a slave, or to be alone, we all have a purpose... We all are special in the eyes of who ever made us. Jealousy, anger, hate, frustration, coveting should never be a part of ones life to move forward, however defending one’s life should be.

This is not exactly how I planned on this chapter to go, but it went there. So on that note, this concludes our blogcast/bookcast day. We now return you to your syndicated broadcast show.

Chapter 4 Book 3

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Sat, 02 May 2009 02:57:00 +0000

***Please note I am sorry I have not been able to post on a regular basis. I have been very busy here lately and the blog is not something I have been able to keep up on. So once my work load slows down here, hopefully I will be able to post a blog once a week. I will do my best...***

Have you ever sat at the edge of a cliff in your mind? While the world continues on around you, things encourage you to jump, just jump to end the pain? Then somewhere out of nowhere someone comes along and pushes you back. Telling you, "You are too close to the edge and you might fall." In your head a voice is screaming, ‘I know I was getting too close to the edge, damnit, that was the point.’
These are points in life where you sit back and you feel like you cannot take any more, the pain is too much, and then something shiny is put in front of you and well, you go and chase the shiny thing for a bit until you get bored and you want to go back to the edge of the cliff.
I can’t tell you how many times I have stepped to the edge of insanity, knowing full well there is a room at Belleview waiting for me. It’s been there since the Government knew I moved to NYC, the room that is.
One of my favorite songs is “They are coming to take me away”. ( http://it.stlawu.edu/~x0tsing/takeaway.htm ) To the funny farm. In my life, the walk that I have taken, I have seen some things. A lot of people have seen more than me definitely. I have never traveled outside the US, except for Alaska. I did drive through BC and the Yukon at 19. Surprise, surprise, I rode/drove it again at 24 or 25. Canada is a beautiful world, just to let you know. So are Glaciers. Yep, I have seen those too. Touched one called Exit Glacier. ( http://www.nps.gov/kefj/planyourvisit/exit-glacier.htm )
My life has been riddled with me moving from one place to the next, each one more challenging than the one before it. Lamar High was a cake walk compared to Maine and Boston. In NYC the people are not rude; they just know how precious time is. They run on a dime here. In order to understand a culture, you must immerse yourself into it. Become part of the world around you. Experiment and enjoy the taste of the culture and what it has to offer. I often wonder why it took me this long to actually sit down and write the journey of my life.
I know in the back of my mind it is my strength of faith that draws me nigh. I am a single woman in NYC and I like it. However, there is a point here, just hold on; I do like mixing with people now and then. I try to find people that I can get along with, but my relationships always end up with issues.
My issues, issues of things I will not tolerate. Like being with someone who believes in Ethnic Cleansing. I have a small issue with that, it is called Hitler. I have issues with people who cannot keep their words or lie to me. I prefer the truth. I also have a sense of journalistic morals. Research, research, research. This is all I can say. Don’t talk about something and then have to get called out to support your words, because if you do and you can’t back your words up, the words will allow others to know you lied. My whole career lies on my truth in my words when you think about it.
I don’t just write books of surviving PTSD, I write many other things too. In this case, I am writing because I have chosen not to take some FDA drug to ‘fix me’. I choose old-fashioned things like writing, sharing, and therapy.
Also, if you remember, the State of New York says I am unfixable. That means even if I take their drugs, I am not fixable. So I will be on addicting drugs and missing my friends that no one else can see. Why would I want to do that? At least I will go crazy with my invisible friends sober rather than drugged and my mind destroyed waiting for 1984 to come around the corner so I can tell Big Brother I love them. Hell will freeze over first in my world.
Why is it that when I see dead people I am crazy, yet millions of people tune into supernatural shows or turn to psychics on a regular basis in today’s world? That is why more and more shows are being made. It is what the public demands. Is it because I have not sold my code of ethics; that my soul is not for sale? Gasp, someone quick, call I.C.E. ( http://www.ice.gov/ ) Wait, that is immigration. Let me think, yes the FBI. I don’t think they have changed their name. ( http://www.fbi.gov/ ) I am sure one of those offices can help you with me. Just tell them I write about Abbie Hoffman and Hunter S Thompson on a regular basis and support education, oh and I have PTSD.
Everyone out there has unique gifts. We are told to have imaginations as children, yet as we get older, we must pack those thoughts away because that is not what big boys and girls do.
For me, that is a bit confusing. Imagine for the child who was allowed to create and have invisible friends, but now they must pack them away in a trunk because they are too old to play with those friends anymore.
At what age does this twist in thought occur? See, I refused to give up my Imagination. It’s mine. You can share it with me, but you cannot take it away from me. What happened to dreaming for something better? Being able to share our good and our bad sides? Why have we become this society that must be put on drugs to survive because we all have something wrong with us? Admit it. Tell me you don’t have issues. You probably are reading this saying in your mind, “I have volumes too.” So let’s open up a library together.
It is what we do with this imagination that defines us and our motives. I have a dream. No, I am not repeating Dr. King. I am saying I have a dream, a beautiful dream that we all one day will accept each other for all of our faults and frailties. To make up for past transgressions in a positive way rather than destroying everything in our wake. Imagination created the ability to have light, phones, and computers. People, who dared to dream, refused to give up their imagination; they gave us our world today.
I want to write about me, before anyone else does. Why, you may ask. Because I have my memories, people have theirs. I believe in free speech. I believe in the power of one voice becoming two. I have silly dreams that this is still the greatest Nation in the world today. This American Nation, even with our issues right now in the Government, the Governments of the past that still haunt the halls of the White House.
Right now if you look outside your window like I do, you see the world in this nonstop motion, falling to a pivotal point in history. As much as I go off on Generation X, I know we are also the start of a very Angry Generation. Look at our parents. They survived a time in life in which death was a part of not only their homes but every corner of the United States and other countries as well. Useless deaths that our young men and women were sent to die in a war we did not belong.
Is it necessary to have to parade Honourable men and women again from Dover as they come in by the masses flashed on our screen every night? Do we need the press to disregard and destroy what little honour is left in that person who has come home in a pine box covered with a flag? Do our children’s children deserve to continue to die because we can’t wake up and do what is right for our country?
What is it going to take before people put two and two together?
I am speaking to you, Generation X, because I grew up in that Generation. I know our anger, our passion. I know what it is like to have friends who were close to me die because of something the Government decided to do. Whether it be defending our country or a medicine that killed us. We are the Generation who should be saying, “Listen Asshole, we have a problem. We need to talk.”
Every Generation leaves its mark but what do we want to be remembered for? Being an Exponent or being an Exclamation?
I am an optimist. I see we can change. Things can change no matter who the king is on the hill. It is the people behind the king who determine if he falls. I talk a lot about questioning the powers that be. I believe in questioning. Why does it work this way? Is there a better way? What can I do to change the elements around me? How do I fix this?
I would love to sit down with someone like Hoffa or Malcolm X, Dr. King, Tennyson, Orwell. Why did they follow that voice inside? Did they know they would have such an impact on the world? What was their drug of choice, if they even had one? Did they see dead people like me too? Little things like that.
I would, just for one moment, like to feel what it was like in their shoes when they knew they were on the verge of being on the edge of a cliff of a revolution. I see this nation as a strong, proud nation, with great opportunity, with endless possibilities. I cannot be crazy; it is still there. That American dream. Yet when I envision it, why do people not hear what I am saying? Why can’t they see it? What will it take for the canvas to be painted?
I wonder if the experts who diagnosed me with the unfixable PTSD ever sit back and wonder where their sanity went? At what time did they sell out? Who is to say those of us with PTSD have not just been programmed to believe that there is something wrong with us? A lot of healing comes from within: setting goals, limits of what you will and will not tolerate, accepting your weaknesses and admitting them fully.
When this project of my life for full view started, it was over a bowl of French Onion Soup. With everything I have done in my life and all the food that I have tasted, French Onion Soup was one soup I had never had. After being interviewed for a job placement in New York City, while I was living in Boston at the time, the lady who interviewed me knew I had not eaten a good meal in a few days, so she bought me dinner. She said that whenever I was in doubt, French Onion Soup was usually a safe choice. I have found out you can learn a lot about a kitchen and the restaurant by ordering French Onion Soup. If the French Onion Soup sucks, put down the menu and walk away from the Restaurant. No harm, no foul. It is worth the 4 or 5 dollar fee you will pay to find out if the place is good to eat at. Well, at least here in NYC, that is the case.
As I was growing up, I always felt I was going to be an impact in my world to the people around me. That I could and would make a difference. Even with everything that stood in my way. At 12 years old, I stated I would make it to NYC. I did not know why or how, but I would, and I am here. I live in NYC. The Statue of Liberty is my Neighbor and if I walk over the bridge of the LIE, or Long Island Expressway for those of you who don’t live here, I can see the Empire State Building in living color.
I am also reminded every time when going to Manhattan, though I may not have been here, that there is a hole in the ground that is still there 8 years later, reminding every New Yorker of how precious life really is.
The world is an amazing place and we are amazing pieces in it, but we have to make that change.
No one has the right to say you are ‘unfixable’ unless you let them. No one can take away the imagination if you are truly meant to have it. I mean, don’t go overboard and see dead people like I do. Then we will all be in Belleview together. There might not be enough room. Remember, imagination is for the dream makers.
This concludes our bumpy ride on this chapter of our blogcast/bookcast day. I am still working on the ending of the chapters, as you can see. Nothing is really fitting yet. You are now free to move about the cabin space provided.

Chapter 3 Book 3

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Fri, 03 Apr 2009 02:31:00 +0000

Let me explain something here. Welcome back and for those of you just joining us please read the first two notes of this 'A' train ride. I write erratically as well as thinking in erratic turn. Today is a day that just goes on and on. Kinda like that song, “This is the song that never end, yes it goes on and on my friend…” You know the one. It is now running through you head, welcome to my song of the day. ( http://www.imeem.com/catzboulevard/music/XidCzGWb/lamb-chop-and-frens-this-is-the-song-that-never-ends/ )

I have not spilled my blood on a page for a very long time. True writers will know what I am talking about. You will write till your heart bleeds and then you know you have achieved the true spirit of being a valid writer. It is a weird part of being a writer. I had a very important teacher whom I would love to meet again just to say thank you in person. She helped me become who I am as well as many others; dead or alive. My Grammar teacher; Mrs. Jackson. The first teacher ever to give me an F because she knew I was slacking. I went to school in a small town called Lamar Colorado. Small towns, they are just as hard, if not harder than a large town. At least in a large town you are just a face unless everyone knows you because you are everywhere in the world. Even then you can get lost in NYC. Ask any celebrity.

A nameless face that just is. I walk the streets and look at the people, the nameless, faceless people. I feel so often I am in this world that speeds around me. Leaving me behind in a careless, cruel joke of a life. I promise to hide nothing from you my dear readers. Those who choose to subscribe to my melancholy on life. I watch as if I have a view from the outside. I bang against the bubble screaming let me in. Hear me please. That broken child again. That neglected child. With much time on my hands to think of my past, I remember more than I care to admit.

My Sister called. She is a spiritual sister. Such a gift to me. She feels me in the sense that she understands my rage and hate moments. There is a great deal to me you see. I am not some mechanical Turk in this society of the world today. I am a living, breathing, thinking creature, whose nature is to question everything. How did men learn to fly if they did not question? Why have people died for basic rights of the mass population? Do you ever question these things? Do you ever wonder?

My life was no cake walk, I promise you that. I have survived an insurmountable amount of things. As a child, due to no fault of my own, as an adult, self inflicted. It is a weird thing some of us go through. We become paralyzed in thought as the thought consumes us and devours us alive. See I want to reach you, pull myself into you, smell you, allow you to see my thought process. It is so scattered, like dust in the wind. I know, cliché. Get over it. What in today’s society is a true, pure, unique thought? None I tell you none. Not a single thought we have today is something that came from an original thought. Look at the movies, music, and art in general. Something is always copied. The new and improved. What was wrong with the old? Did it work? If it works, why break it to make a new machine. Why must we chase the rainbow of destruction? Oh yes, shiny things. I forgot.

I am a cynic you see. I am so cynical you don’t need your cynicism around me. I will provide it for you. I am an angry youth of Generation X watching my country fall apart around me in the blink of an eye. What made me this way? I don’t know? Any feelings I have come from with in of the matrix I grew up in.

This hidden world of a kaleidoscope of corrects and incorrect. No wonder I am so screwed up in the head. See my problem is I question. I scratch my head as I hear we are bombing the place we helped get out of poverty. I am confused when the Constitution has become nothing more than toilet paper, convenient for when we need it, bastardizing it as our Fore Fathers cry out from the grave. I am a harsh, angry, revolutionary believer of Generation X. I am a frightening example as to why you should not have children.

As I pull from my memories in this Psycho ward I now call Belleview, my mind screams when do I come out? When do I speak? Terrified of the ramifications of our own Government as I cry freedom. Freedom NOW!!!

It pains me because I have been bound, and now am bound again by a King on the hill as all of his constituents clap and smile as the world around them become skeletons hidden in a closet; as if it is a dirty little secret on the scar of our nation. I know my words will raise anger. I know my heart will be crushed by those little words written. After all, aren’t words the sharpest dagger in life’s factors? See scars heal, always though, words and ink, they will always remind us. Why do you think people get tats? Memory, design, it is supposed to be a symbol. A Tat remains on your body, as a part of your skin, your nature, your death. A tattoo is that that defines you as a person. Or a piercing, it matters not the decoration upon your body, they have stories. If they are listened to. I care not of the protest I will create. I care about the scar I am placing in my very being, to be placed upon my body.

I am also enacting my First Amendment rights and if you don’t like it MOVE. There are other countries who will subscribe to your fascist beliefs and your socialistic reform.

Today I am angry as you see, an angry child watching the news from Russia and listening to the Free radio where our artist are censored for what they say. I wonder when I will be censored? Told I am too much for the air waves, in which I cause to many to think, not just in the United States but the world.

Generation X listen to me, we were lied to. We were mislead, we continue the cycle of abuse of our trespassers. We have handed Generation Y a reason to say Y bother. We are the new Generation. X , we are an exponent of an equation. Rise and shout. We have had this night terror of dreams since we were able to feel ways about things. We now have a Generation X in the house that represents us. Don’t we count? Don’t you feel that our American dream has been stolen from us? Aren’t you angry?

I remember High School. I have a face book now that has put me in contact with a lot of old friends…Hello out there Class of 1990 from Lamar…My face book, yes I finally moved to the 22nd or 21st century and got on Face book. Here is my profile if you do not believe me. http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1020343444&ref=name

Ok another shameless promotion. Horrid I know, but isn’t that the American way?
I listen to the lyrics of people like Immortal Technique (http://www.immortal-technique.com/ ) and Disturbed ( http://www.mtv.com/music/artist/disturbed/artist.jhtml ) . Revolutionaries like Malcolm X (http://www.cmgww.com/historic/malcolm/ ) and Dr. Martin Luther King (http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/peace/laureates/1964/king-bio.html ) and Abbie Hoffman (http://theaction.com/Abbie/ ). Bad people I know, but just so you know I am inspired by the likes of John F Kennedy ( http://www.whitehouse.gov/about/presidents/JohnFKennedy/ ) as well, or Jimmy Carter (http://www.whitehouse.gov/about/presidents/jimmycarter/ ) , Lee Iacocca (http://www.leeiacocca.com/ ), and the late, great, George Carlin (http://www.georgecarlin.com/ ).

The people who I find important in my life are varied and wide. From all walks of life. They questioned the current status of our society, why shouldn’t I? I am no different than those men. I have hopes and dreams too. I see what can be not what is. This makes me a dreamer you see.

Everyday is a new beginning for me. A new day to change something in my life you see. To move forward and become alive. Lately I have been paralyzed in my own fear and loathing situation. As I sit back knowing right now, I know, I am a no body destined to be some body. Yes I went there. What can you possibly say to that, you are reading my work if you reacted to that, what does that say about you? What world do you live in that you are an untouchable species? That you can not feel what is going on around us as the Government cuts jobs promising a better tomorrow. On what? Beans and rice.

Generation X, I am talking to you. Yes, you. We are the generation of a new world; I did not say the New World Order. I said the new world, there is a difference.
When are we going to stand up and say “No More?” We are the new leaders of this world that is coming into existence. You can not tell me you want dinosaurs running our country when they can’t even understand the music we listen to and it has to be banned because it might upset their delicate stomachs on Wall Street and the Hill. Please half of our Generation is in Wall Street. As much as you may not want to hear it.

Generation X, we are the problem that exist in today’s world. We taught Generation Y how to behave. Aren’t teenagers supposed to break the binds that parents put on them, what society expects of them?

Why does Generation X get off the hook? We don’t, we are not immune.
On a daily basis we are slammed with what big media wants us to see. Showing us what is wrong with us, why we are not fit to survive. Why don’t we question this? Why don’t we ask why, instead of asking for a dry bud dry? Are we so comfortably numb in a society or are we just so tired of digging through the dirt only to have it fall back on us in the hole we are digging? Where did the spirit of the times of our Fore Fathers go even when we are watching our world around us crumble? What made us so we could not feel this? Why do we feel we are powerless? Who took that right from you? Shouldn’t you be mad about the current situation that happens around us as we sit in our homes that are being taken from us?

I write for freedom of the mind. I will be shut up at some point and time. I sit on the edge of a revolution forming and in my head I can’t figure out if I am going to survive its wake or these are just insane thoughts that run my mind. What’s worse? What if my words reach the next revolutionary that may spark the next tea party for the world? That is not a light burden for anyone. I come from a world of the underground. I was raised in the underground you see. A child of poverty. Ever see a kid on the street with sandals for shoes in the middle of winter and say, “oh how sad”. I have one of those photos too, the problem, that child is a photo of me. I lived that “oh poor child” stage. No, no more. This world can not ignore the children of the future. If I ruffle a few feathers, so be it. Put me in the insane asylum. I have achieved something before being silenced.

I told you I am an angry child. I want people to wake from the silent dream of ecstasy, (The drug not the feeling.) to wake to reality of what is going on around them. Is that such a big goal? You know it is. I don’t just want to wake people up, I want to empower them. Tell them it is ok to feel ways about things. I am one of the lucky ones. When Morpheus came to me I chose to wake up. I think one of the most eye opening experiences for me was my mothers’ death. This is when I realized a lot of things.
Story time; grab your popcorn, go potty, and what ever else you would like before we go on this ride.

I went to a very small school in Lamar, Colorado. The class of 1990. We were the future you see. I was very active in my school, cheerleading was a large part of my life, and studies were important to keep up. That is a big deal for some. It was for me. I survived High School. We had cliques, we had fights, but looking back on it. The high school years are what make or break you in your life. There were the normal jealousies and anger, joy and passion. Just like any school but for some reason, LHS was a very unique experience in my life and with 5 years of my life being stationary in Lamar, the school had a great influence on my walk of healing from PTSD and my life believe it or not.

I remember typical days of High School that just kind of fade into the background, what remains is what has helped you through some tough times. These connections are some that you hold on to for the rest of your life when you think about it. We spend close to 12 to 13 years of our lives in school itself. We also spend a great deal of time there. How can that not affect your life into your adult hood? Yet while we are in the moment, we don’t realize this. We don’t know who we affect or how in High School, we are acting our age. Who questions? It is when you reflect you see how important these years were in how you are molded as adults that you realize the affects.

Out of all my years at LHS, the horrible thing is I don’t really remember the year my mom died; I remember her dieing, other little things in my life. I remember standing in her room as I held her hand and I heard what you hear on ER. The tone of that flat line. There is no eraser in the world that allows you to remove that from your memory.
I was active in school you could say. Cheerleading was a big deal to me. Perhaps more so than most realized. That activity shaped me as well. When I started in Cheerleading it was because I wanted to prove I could do it. This outsider from Colorado Springs was trying to fit into small town Lamar. It is a massive difference more so than most think.
Back to my mom, she was my step mom you see. Her name was Carol; she was married to my sperm donor. I don’t get along with the man who shared his seed to make me if you can read this. I do not subscribe to his issues of racism and hatred. That being said, I learned most of my compassion from this woman who inherited me you could say.

Some of my classmates knew of what I was going through. I was the outcast, or at least I remember it that way. It is my writer’s freedom to remember things as I remember them. I may be wrong. I saw many sides of these people in my class of 1990 and even when I did not get along with some, when I look back, I look fondly of the times spent in those halls. Not because of what was said or done, but the support I had during my final years of high school and the adversities presented as well. It shaped me into a stronger person. See you can always see the good in a bad situation if you look at it hard enough.

I remember the halls of my high school fondly and with despise as well. Those are normal teenage hormones. When my mom died I was there at LHS. I was lucky to be surrounded by such classmates. See coming from the life I had lived before, of 3 foster homes and several beatings, I finally lived with my step-mom, or mom as I call her, and the sperm donor. It is a messed up situation. I honestly at this moment and time could not tell you who knew what of my life at that time. Well they know now. Anyway, the year my mom died, was a whirl wind. So much happened and my life crumbled before me at that moment and time. My activity in school was to get away from home life.

A lot did not know what went on in my home. I kept my private life private. I think. I have always been outspoken, I am not sure. Perhaps I remember that wrong as well. I am sure that my friends that I have reconnected with will add their two cents. Please do, it would be a great add.

Anyway, I look back and with all the time on my hands now. My life plays in slow motion at the important times in my life. Pivotal moments of life that some can never understand because they did not make that walk, they have not had to experience it. That is not their fault, we are all handed what we can handle.

The day of my mother’s death at Penrose hospital in Colorado Springs happened in February I believe. I am still unclear to this day. As I said, my life has hazy parts. I am used to it. The days blend into the months and months into years until I forget sometimes where I have been and during what year. I usually have to recall the presidential elections that have been stolen under our very own noses. That is a completely different topic at this time.

I also want to make it perfectly clear this is the year God and I agreed that he is a son of a bitch. Christians, please hold your comments to a minimum, remember I am protected by freedom of speech and well, please hear me out, there is a reason for this conclusion in my mind.

In my life there were two constant people. My Grandmother and my mom. They are the only ones who truly believed in me. Well till high school, but at this point in my life, teachers, though they count, they had help before I got to their classrooms. These people, they allowed me to dream.

I was a candy striper, you know, the lil girl in the pink pin stripped outfit that works in the hospital. I wanted to study medicine. Childhood Psychotherapy to be exact. I wanted to know what made Dahmer tick because I wanted to know why I did not do the things that he did. Little twisted I know.

My mom was a devout Christian and one of the most beautiful women in the world to me. She also weighed over 400 pounds. As teenagers we are the cruelest people sometimes when you think about it. So fresh and words just come out of our mouths uncensored. As adults we are supposed to control that. Well guess what, I still am a teenager trapped in an adult body. Also now, I just have some New York education behind it.

At the time my mother died, I lived in my own world. It was crashing in on me like a thousand waves. It was my Jr. year because we were doing Jr/Sr prom and well I was on a committee at the time my mom died. I don’t know what happened to me after she died; I was on auto pilot, trying to hold it together even when the very fabric of my life was being ripped apart. In all fairness to my classmates, they honestly did not know my home life. I told you I am not a whiner. My life is no better or worse than anyone. I make that statement now. The year my mom died was a pivotal year. It was my Jr. year and my sperm donor checked out after she died. He could not hack being a parent and became an over the road truck driver.

I am still very angry at the father figure in my life if you can not tell. I know he did that to get away, but this left me in the hands of family that decided to move my Senior year to the Rival School. For a small town that is a big deal. Your identity is tied up in your school. I was a traitor for leaving, and I was a misfit to the rival team because I spoke highly of my school not 60 miles away. A square peg trying to fit into a round hole. It sucked.

My Junior year sits logged into my brain like this history piece that will never go away. As I was saying, my mom died at a very pivotal point in my life. I was angry at god for a long time. I still am in a way, but for different reasons. Cheerleading tryouts were not far off, prom, finals, there was a spring play going on, oh and lets not forget the candy striping at the hospital.

My mother’s death just did not fit into my busy social life at that moment and time. If there was a God, how could he be so cruel to a child, one of his own? I am one of many, some younger, some older than I, who have survived this. This is about me in this case, my history. I just wish to share it.

I remember sitting right outside her window in the ICU room. Let me tell you, there is nothing like seeing someone hooked up to life support. It is one of the most eye opening experiences of life you will ever have. I think if you ever get used to that eerie site, you need a new job.

A respirator supporting her breathing with tubes and IV’s connected to her. She was just laying there, no movement. My mom went into a coma after an operation. I never really dealt with the feelings. I just pushed them down like everything else in my life. I became numb to the situation around me. It is a weird thing when you experience death first hand. I mean seriously, death, that last breath. The tone of a flat line buzzing in your ear. Your whole world stops and it becomes this slow motion movie picture in your mind. As if you are in a space where everything is speeding up around you and you can not move.

I woke that day from the Governments matrix to find out that a lot of what I was told was a lie. I knew God was real you see. I am a very faithful person. I will tell you this now. I know there is a God.

He has answered some of my most outrageous request. When my mom was at her worst, I knew 6 months prior that she was going to die. I went through a stage of mourning before it happened. I thought I was ready for it. I thought I could handle it, now I revisit it and open the wounds again only to expose the nerves to salt and pain.
My mom died from complications of a stomach stapling, other wise known as Gastric Bypass Surgery. Modern medicine killed my mother as well as God allowed her peace to come home. The day she died, it snowed. It was a Friday I think. The funny thing is I remember the couches being that orange color with metal arm rest and a TV. that was supposed to put the loved ones sitting in ICU at some comfort level. The walls were so white in contrast to the sofas. The sofas sat on a blue cobalt carpet. I spoke with a priest as my sperm donor walked my Grandmother downstairs to a cab to send her home. The Priest was real I tell you, the priest was. Physical, like you and me, we hugged. My mom was dieing, I think the Priest was a benefit here for me. Guidance, direction, making sure you are not going to jump off the roof.

As he and I talked during this surreal moment in my life, he explained to me that only those who had the strongest Faith were called forth and followed their path. He comforted me in that room of sterility as my mother was surviving on a machine that breathed for her. He asked me what I had asked of God for this transition. I told him I asked that my mother go peacefully, with out pain, quickly as not to suffer, and I wanted to be the last to see her alive.

A very weird request indeed. I can tell you all three of those request were answered. My mother went in on a Monday for her surgery and died a week later. She was only in a coma for 2 days. She felt no pain that any of us are aware of. I held her hand as she flat lined. My prayers answered in a weird way you could say. I say, do not ever doubt there is a God.

As the Priest and I talked, we talked of what happened the night before as I was Candy Striping at the hospital. It was that night, I knew for certain, my mother was going to die you see. I felt it.

See as I was working at the hospital as a candy striper the night before, we had a homicide and suicide that was headed into the hospital that night. I was at the desk when the ambulance came in, when the panicked call came in over the radio. There were two children that I knew of that not only saw this horrible incident, but they were my age. I knew at that moment my mother would die with in 48 hours.

I got the phone call at the hospital with in 2 hours after this chaos in the hospital started, I needed to come home; my mom had taken a turn for the worse. My heart dropped to my feet as my words became real before my eyes. When I made it to where I was staying while my mother was in the hospital, her parents home. I called all my teachers to get my homework. I knew I was not going to be in school for a bit and I did not want to fall behind. As I stated it was an inconvenient time for me to have a death in my life.

The priest told me God had prepared me for something great. Of course all leaders of the faithful say that you know. It is part of their world; it is a part of their faith. As the priest and I prayed, with in minutes the nurse came out and looked at me, her exact words were, “It’s time.”

I gathered myself up because I was the only one there. When I went into the room my mother was just laying there like a bowl of jelly. There was a shell of a person. I held her hand as her heartbeat slowed down and told her it was ok to go. I felt her hand squeeze mine and the flat line sound echoed through out the room.

Time stops at that moment. As if someone put your life on the pause and you can’t move. After the initial set in of death on the air I split out of the room like a fire ball. Everything became a blur as I found my family to tell them she was gone.

When I went back to school in Lamar it was the only constant in my life. My classmates were my support system in a way. As many differences as we had, we all had suffered a great deal together as some of our own classmates had died during high school during our times together in those halls. We were no strangers to death. We were a unique class as I look back on it. Kind of like a very large extended, dysfunctional family.

How does this fit into my issues with the Government you may ask. The Government tells us a lot of things, gives us drugs to keep us quiet, outlaws’ drugs that are helpful, and monitor our lives in a very strategic way. It is those who buck the system and question things that change the system. Since the day my mother died, probably before, I questioned what I was being spoon fed in a bowl of the cotton candy world of the USA. We are all told by certain individuals that a space beyond this realm is not possible by every person we come in contract with, yet that realm it is blasted from the TVs and the billboards, and churches preach to us to believe in an invisible God to worship.

I will tell you God is real, but so is the other realm that only some see. I am one of those people. I am what is called a hyper sensitive.

( http://healing.about.com/od/empathic/a/hsp.htm ) there is also a psychiatric explanation’s for someone like me too. ( http://www.wrongdiagnosis.com/sym/hypersensitive.htm )

Now, let’s see how well you were paying attention to my rambling, remember I told you the priest was real. It is up there I promise, anyway a few years later I went back to help at the hospital, Penrose, and I asked to speak to this priest. The nun, who I asked this of, had me show her a photo of the Priest after I described him. Her face went white when I stopped at his photo.

He had been dead for 50 years at least. She told me he was the Priest of that ward. As a last rights Priest, she had heard that there were people who had met him but never encountered one. It was that day I knew there is more than meets the eye.
This concludes our blog/book cast day. Join me tomorrow wont you?

Chapter 2, Book 3

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 09:26:00 +0000

Welcome back. Sit back, relax and enjoy the flight. I live in a very surreal world. Have you ever felt like you are on the outside looking in to a reality that you are just witnessing? I often feel that way. I remember bits and pieces of my childhood. It is very strange when you think about it. How can someone misplace 3/4ths of their memory from birth to about the 8th grade? This for me was about 13 I think. Maybe 12 I am not sure. See when I started to journal I believe I was about 12 or 13 as well. It is as if writing it down helps you remember to a point. So does talking.

This, in my opinion, this is why we have friends that we know we can trust to the death with what ever secret it is. These are the friends that save your life and your sanity. It is a weird thing. My roommate or roomie is one of those. She is the one I call roomie, and well she is not really a she, but a remarkable person in her own way when you get past the porcelain face that is her mask. You just have to look to see the beauty inside, the support. There are many a time she has helped save my life even though she is not aware of it, however I suppose she is now.

At one time I thought I had a very good friend; one that I confided in as well. We all three lived together for a bit, this friend, my roomie, and I. Till one day a little ghost in the house told me to watch my back. It matters not who the ghost was; it opened my eyes to the ugly inside this other person, not my roomie with the mask. I feel very sad for those who lack faith. It must be a very hard situation to be placed in, especially when you grow up in a Christian home. It was not the girl’s looks, but her demeanor, the lack of faith. You must understand both of these individuals were impactive people in my life. A perfect example to always question what appears to be good or bad upon the surface. Sometimes what is inside shows the true heart.

I have tried my whole life to get away from the abuse that occurred through out my life. I don’t know too many people whose mother was a lady of the street, with some nose candy issues. I just happened to be the white trailer trash daughter that was a burden upon her plate. The thing is I am not alone. How many children are born for a welfare check in the United States? Think about it, it is a disease. Who teaches our girls this, our boys? The parents; they learned it from their parents. The Government? Ourselves? Is there an actual answer to that question?

My life is no worse than anyone else in a way. We are all given what we can handle. There is a good book that tells us that. I have been very blessed to be placed where I sit you see. I have seen the side of a trailer to many times. I have seen the farmer and the struggles. I have touched Glaciers. I have seen things people only dream about seeing. To see some of the greatest wonders of the United States is no small statement to make.

Back to where I was going. I am not a whiner, but see the things presented before me; I have found that we are desensitized by propaganda and lies on a daily basis. Don’t people deserve to know there is someone out there who is breaking the binds that hold you back? That there are survivors out there. Is that bragging, or self-incrimination? Is it crying out poor me? I don’t think so. It is allowing others to know that another has walked their shoes? We have been there. We are functioning and it is ok. We are ok. We are not crazy for questioning things. Isn’t this our right? Our right as thinking people.

The horrors of the few memories I have include gifts being burned in front of me in a wood stove because we did not have wood and they were gifts to me. Now if you ask my Bi-Polar egg donor I remember all this wrong. This is where my mind gets twisted. If it were not real, why would I remember it so vividly? Why would some one make this crap up? Who in their right mind wants to bear their life through the spectrum of the world's judgment? Someone who is a true Masochist I suppose. See my life’s walk has been a cake walk to some, and a surreal world to the others out there that just shake their heads. Yet perhaps they went through something worse than I did. I also was blessed with a Step Mother of a Saint who took in a confused, freighted little girl and hugged her. That was my worst punishment growing up that I remember; simply to be hugged. It was like a thousand knives piercing your very flesh. I got nailed with some fairly hard things, like belt buckles. I have the scars on my hands to prove it.

My life is jumbled. See this is one of the side effects of PTSD I feel. Your mind is so jumbled. So messed up you are searching to put the pieces back together. You seek the answers as to why you react to smells, songs, and sights. It is a very weird thing. There is no controlling it. It is like you are full of the ADD label, but you are running in slow motion through a heavy weight of muck, holding you down into the ground. Like cement. For those of you who understand my words and how erratic I am. We may have the same history situation.

There are drugs, but here is the thing, the drugs come from the FDA. ( http://www.fda.gov/ ) The powers that be, therapist, wish to put me on these drugs to make me less erratic. Here is the thing about the FDA.

The thing is; I really dislike the FDA. I personally call them the Federal Death Association. Everyone I have loved has died or been harmed because of some reason of the FDA screw ups, well except my Gram, she died of old age as one should. She was the other person in my life who loved me, who held me, who paid attention to me. I was not a cast away with her, I was her little rebel; she knew me well. She knew my demeanor. She told me I would never be a writer because I could not spell. My answer was, "Gram that’s what spell check is for." I was in the 6th grade in Colorado Springs. I think then she knew if she did not weed me correctly I would not bloom, I would destroy. I am a late bloomer.

In my life there have been pivotal people who have kept me on the right line of things. I am very lucky person you see. I do not see me sharing my story for anyone to have a reason to think, “Wow, and I thought I had it bad.” I want to make it clear it is not about that.

It is about my journey of what I have survived, what I have experienced, what I have seen.

I call this book ‘My Life on the A Train’ for a reason. The A train in New York has several destinations you can end up and in several places if you do not know the lines. Subways run on lines. One of the A trains can drop you in several places such as Harlem, or Far Rockaway. You could also completely miss your connection and end up on the C or the E train as well. This will lead you to Jamaican Center in Queens to connect to the Long Island Railroad. Or you could just end up in Brooklyn. The A train is like our lives in a way. However on the A train, If you keep missing your stop just be thankful you have Airports along the way so you can at least fly somewhere to get away from the chaos. New Yorkers reading this right now are laughing and agreeing to my words, those who have not been here. You just have to experience it. I am not sure there is a way to describe how confusing the subway system to New York can be and is... I have posted a link for you to jump to in order to understand. http://www.mta.info/nyct/maps/submap.htm

As you can see this is something like my mind. I have massive chunks of my life missing in my head. With connection stops along the ride of the subway. What I do remember is extremely vivid. I perhaps imagined what I saw. My question to you is this, can you falsify what the Court records said on microfiche that to this day the court house that made you a ward of the state still has in their records? That is a very different trip, more like the trip on the boat in Willy Wanka and The Chocolate Factory. The original; the one with Gene Wilder. Here is a link to the site for Willy Wanka. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0067992/

In the last few days of my life I have become the super hermit of the year. Hiding out in my room, with these nightmares of memories flooding back. I do mean nightmares. Discussions in of my head of my Step Mothers death, memories of some of the things I survived as a child. We are strong as children. Our spirits take a lot to be broken until we become these mechanical machines. Listening to those around us. Saying yes and no at the right time. Hiding feelings, and burying them so deep we don’t know where to begin to unravel the pain. We have all been there. Maybe yours was the school bully or maybe you were the school bully. No one is judging here. I am just sharing.

Since this is going to be on the internet before the first two books are going to be published I suppose this is shameless promotion. Shameless, self promotion of a book I only could dream will help someone out there.

I however have to explain the waters that one enters into in my life when they walk in. Right now I am an anonymous person in your life. Simply someone on the computer that is writing a tale that you may or may not subscribe to. I suppose I should explain myself so that people can understand from this point on why I am writing what I am writing and why I write as I do.

I also want to get my name out there before other books hit the street in hard back. See my Gram knew I was stubborn as the day is long on a midsummer’s day in the middle of a heat wave while you are putting up fence post and even the warm tea is refreshing because it is liquid. I am one of those people who if you tell them they can not achieve it, they will. No matter how long it takes. Another advantage is that I live in New York; I see things most don’t have the ability to. As people are watching around the world today, they see on TV what I see live, in living, breathing color. Also, I was given a mouth for a reason, but my fingers are very important too. So is living, breathing, growing, and not becoming stagnant.

Right now in my life I am in a very unique situation. My hopes and dreams are on the verge of becoming a reality. Tangible, lil ole me from the trailer park. Making everything I have survived though a worth while journey. An opportunity. A blessing in disguise. I am generally a positive person. I also know I did not survive everything for nothing. There is a reason. If I were to give you a short run down on some of the things I have been through you would be reading for about an hour.

As I told you, sometimes it is like I have ADD. I don’t, this is my everyday, normal life. This is why I have to write things down. I get started to talking about one thing then it leads to another and another and you forget why you even started writing in the first place. Much like the book 'Fear in loathing in Los Vegas', this is a very disjointed book but it has a point. ( http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/nov/08/fear-and-loathing-condensed )

This journal had a point when I started it over a bowl of French Onion Soup. I also feel it is important for people to understand me. Or at least try to. So many people of today go out there and they stew in their own juices until they are boiling over and can not stop. They are very angry people. I am a very angry person. I am angry at me, I am angry at the world, I am angry at the Government, I am fuming inside. This seething, angry monster waiting and waiting for a change but the thing is you can not sit back and be stagnant and think you are active.

I have these novels in me, these issues. Forget issues, I have a library you can check out the novels in, but I am not alone in this place. There are so many out there that get placed on the computer and they read and write. They cry out for help and no one listens, let alone really does anything. This is not the case completely you see. There are a few of us out there who do try to make a difference in someone’s life.

There are some who are healers, advisers, helpers. There are also those out there that the computer is their life line. Do you realize that in today’s world, more people are addicted to the computer than some other things in life? They will sit there and be on the computer for 10 to 20 hours a day with out even thinking about it. It becomes their link to the world, the outside. I understand. It’s ok. It’s a scary world out there.

As one who is there at times, this is my solace, but this solace does not pay the bills you see, nor does this solace achieve much but madness inside the mind. This is also a form of free therapy for me. When you think about it. Unless you know me, I am this anonymous New Yorker writing to you from a 13 by 12 padded room in Belleview on the Psych ward. Here is the link ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bellevue_Hospital ) This is just the time they take the straight jacket off for an hour and this is what I choose to do, to write.

Told you I could have ended up as a Manson or a Dahmer. I admit that fully. I am not however am not them. I have no desire to be them. I wish to help, to inspire, to surprise, and to make people laugh. I love laughter. See there I go again, loosing track of my thoughts. I suppose this is why most writers use an outline for a book. I am not so sure that is a permitable thing for today’s reader. (I do tend to make up my own words and grammar forms from time to time.) I think that the readers need a daily chapter to read. Like people used to read the newspapers.

I believe I was explaining why this was the 3rd book and not the 1st book. I believe as an artist, people need to see you as you are before you become somebody if you are destined to be so. So that when you are somebody that is in the tabloids world wide, you were a real person before the lies unfold. I also have experienced a great deal in my life. I can not cover my life in a book. It would be like reading a collection set of something to the lines of War and Peace. (http://www.online-literature.com/tolstoy/war_and_peace/ ) Not just one novel but a set.

I am also trying to put the pieces of my life together to understand why I am not functioning. I figure if I am going crazy shouldn’t the world go crazy with me? I think it is a logical statement. I also work at home and this leaves little time for blogging or journaling. It is not an easy task not to sell your honour thoughts in today’s world that believes in a lower buck and accepts lower work practices. I do not know if my writings will bother people or help them, but it is the way I think. I want people to see how I think as a person with PTSD. I am also going through some other things at this time. However, I need my journal to survive. Give it back; it’s mine I tell you, mine. There are times I am very selfish.

I figured if I am writing anyway; why not place this on the net as a test run to see how well it does. If I have a readership. I suppose in some form this is a self-validation for my ego. I am an egocentric by the way, incase you have not figured this out. Lately my life has been a bit like a chicken running around with its head half cut off. I have been running in several directions at once while trying to hold onto the path before me.

It is a nerve wracking world out there and inside your mind when you are trapped there, you are in your own prison. You have the key to remove yourself; you just have to find it. I have a hard time working with people. The more I know them the less I like. I am becoming a jaded person who lives in a box. The box happens to be the computer. Most people would say well just get off and go out.

Ok again, honestly, people give me issues. I feel their negativity for the most part. It is like this disease of apathy out there sometimes. You can not tell me you do not feel it where you are. People are afraid. The economy is going to hell in a hand basket; we have a new leader of the Free World who got given a can of worms from several years of issues concerning our Country and the World. Right now the morals of America are that of a 3rd world Country. I am not bashing America, I love America, I do not want to live anywhere else, therefore if I am going to bitch. I must do my part to fix what I can. Read the disclaimer on this blog before you criticize me. I put it there for a reason.

I know I am here on this earth to make a difference. We all are. We are all parts of this crazy spectrum in our lives of a computer matrix. We are also part of that larger picture out there. The space you can not see but you know it is there. As I grew up all I heard was what I could not do. I am a very stubborn child and I do not believe in being told what to do. I believe we all have a destiny that we do not know why we do things but they are needed and we do them. Sometimes as I look outside of my padded cell I see life, in living color. The way things should be, but right now in this hermit state it is almost as if you can’t touch the color as of yet. It is not time. Almost like a caterpillar becoming the butterfly or a moth. A Metamorphosis of sorts.

I want to begin a new form of freedom, freedom of the mind. Realization that things are not always what one may think they are. I have lived some of the surreal things you hear about. Government testing, slipping through the cracks of Child Protective Services for years, living as an abuse survivor, not just an abuse survivor but a somewhat functioning one. People need to know. They need to see and hear. I will let them decide if it is the truth or a fabrication.

In my padded cell I have been forced to learn about my computer and money making ideas on here.

The struggle of the true American Writer. Do not sell your principals to the corporate world in any way, do not educate or teach or share in a negative way. We are Americans that should be building our country right now instead of tearing it down bit by bit. I also decided that the book 3 needed to go on the net before hand because of another very large point a friend of mine showed me. I am here to help people, not destroy myself in the process. I am helping no one behind the mask of the computer and trying to finish the other novels while my mind reels to write more. The words in my head become too much and I have to write. Exposing what I see of myself to the world before I step into the world.

Something keeps stopping me from finishing what I start. I am not sure why or what. It is like a shinny thing is placed in front of my eyes and I begin to play with it instead of continuing to play with the old shinny thing. Or perhaps there is a cosmic reason. Or maybe I am just lazy. I often feel it is the last one, myself but I am very hard on myself. I watch the world from my bubble. Afraid to move out of my comfort zone yet seeking the thrill of adrenalin. It is a sick, twisted, way of life. I also am waiting on our Government to start my SSI you see. They have stated my PTSD is unfixable. So in a sense I am unfixable.

I do not believe this. I know I am a worthy person with values and importance. I am just as important as that Dr or the Reporter on the TV. I am just as important as the teacher that has the next Einstein or Longfellow in their class. We are all important, not just me.

My words help my rage inside. They are like cutting the wounds out. Exposure heals. When you are ready to talk, you will and you will heal because of it. We are told in today’s society we should not feel. We are programmed this way. We are a dysfunctional earth if you look at it fully.

If we were not, how could the crash of Wall Street affect a country like Iceland? http://www.businessweek.com/the_thread/economicsunbound/archives/2008/10/iceland_goes_ba.html How many knew about that? I realize when this is in print, meaning you can hold the book, the links will not add up to a hill of beans. I will figure out what to do with that when the time comes.

For those of you who read, ‘Go ask Alice’, this book/journal is like that, except I don’t plan on dieing. Well not suddenly. I hope not anyway. I feel I must put this out there first so people will understand my writing in the other books. Plus I have a large project in the undertaking, so this is a stress relief. I do hope you are enjoying the ride. There will be more tomorrow, as for right now this concludes our blog/book cast day.

Chapter 1 Book 3

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Sun, 29 Mar 2009 17:04:00 +0000

Welcome back to the A train. Just to let you know, compare this chapter to a 'Men in Black' chapter. ( http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0119654/ ) I am going to welcome you into my world of New York City; here after known as NYC, where to go for decent French Onion Soup, PTSD, and a survivor. It is important for me to explain…We are all survivors of something. Weather it be our parent’s abuse, bullies, death, segregation, starvation, humiliation, neglect, the wars that may be around you right now. The list can go on and on and we all can be classified with PTSD in this, today’s day and age. Show me a child in the United States that does not have some sort of Disability or Dysfunction, I will show you a liar. Well maybe if you are Amish but they live usually fairly naturally unless they are selling wood stoves to heat your home on TV. It is not just the United States either. It is everywhere in today’s day and age. You just have to look and see. I mean really see.

I grew up in a home I barely remember. In recent months as my roomie and I have been discussing some of my history. I saw nothing of it as I was living it. I just lived it, moved forward, and well never really felt or dealt with it. Sometimes you just don’t have the time to absorb, if you know what I mean.

It was pointed out to me that, ‘Yes every 17 year old holds their mothers hand as they die’. That got me to thinking what a surreal world I had. I never had looked at it that way. I remember very little of my childhood before High School and even High School has dots that are missing. This frightens me. I am missing chunks of my life that I am not sure if I should let sleeping dogs lie or open that can of worms. I remember a few limited things in my life. If you were to count on your fingers what I remember from birth to the age of about 10 or 11 years old I have the grand total of about 15 hand picked memories my fucked up mind will let me remember. Each significant, each its own damaging and incriminating nightmare of memories, that is if you let them haunt you.

I have been debating how this chapter would go. I am rewriting on the computer the three other books at this time, but my journaling became a part of me when I could and did write on the A train. Right now the A train has landed on platform called home base. Right now spring is in the air. I am fasting; my roomie works outside the home about 40 hours a week. I stay home and write and research and do what I have to do to survive while holding on to a hope and a dream, a leap of faith. Until the next story comes along for me to report on to get out in the world of NYC, at least out of my room.

Faith is something I have held on to since the day my mom died. I am very lucky that my faith can sustain my being on several levels. It is my guiding force in this life. I know it well and faith has never failed me; big words to preach from one that you don’t even know. My weakness, vanity, my strength with out question, faith.

As we make a quick subject change to a point, at least I warned you.

I watch these shows and see what they want to show you. What they want you to believe. Let me ask you, haven’t you noticed in society if and when you do not need the TV to tell you what you already know, you get labeled as a freak an odd ball. Everyone has a TV right? So often you get questioned if you are not part of the machine and handle or do things differently than the “average” person.

I have been questioned every step of my life of why I have done what I have done. If I were sane do you think I would have moved to NYC on a leap of faith, a hope, and a dream, and not a dime to my name? No sane person does that. I did. Wait, maybe Madonna might. My life on the A train is not just about the medical issues I go through from my screwed up childhood, but what I have seen and experienced in the world. My reactions based on faith, my sight as an outsider becoming an insider to NYC, what I see from my rose colored glasses. Hey it will be a fun read and you can see your life is really not that messed up.

As I talk to my extremely understanding and patient roommate, when I go on my rants and rages of tyrannical talk. I see things that others don’t. I am at a point in my life where I feel the revolutionaries run through the veins of my feet to my heart and soul. Egging me on to the end, to stand and say Wait, stop. What is going on here? How do I stop this madness in the Alice in Wonderland world presented to us in this the Candy Coated United States situation.

As I research my stories I feel how certain journalists who were there before me, who wanted to tell the truth felt as the lies go deeper and deeper in the Government and I am uncovering. As I do this I put two and two together, certainly not as fast as I watch the Government steal from the children of the future right before our very eyes. Yet we are so medicated and pacified by what we are spoon feed from the grade of well honestly, birth. The guidance around our children, in this day of technology, are that of great influence. The propaganda spread on a daily basis that is, as long as freedom is duct taped and silenced.

Don’t tell the truth of what we are doing. Gasp, the people of the Free world might get upset and we can’t have that.

I have become jaded living in the City. It is like this downpour of every inhumanity known to man. Pimps sitting on Park Ave, heroin users on Madison with bruises so visible that unless you are inhuman you can not but feel. There is the Gods of Rockefeller, CNN to spread the lies, to allow the world to see what the government wants you to see on your TV and computer. Blocking of the free words spewed by the men while society should be crying out, saying, “Listen Asshole, we have a problem. We need to talk.”

With PTSD you live in this constant spin of disorder in your mind. It is so hard to explain. You have debilitating situations depending upon where you are and at what stage you are at. It can create so many other things, migraines, pain, depression, chronic fatigue, night terrors. The list goes on and on. Each is debilitating in its own right but add them together and you become paralyzed in your own home and your own head. I call it the hermit stage, but that stage is coming to an end for me and I dread it. I dread dealing with people, the touches, and the stairs. I am not what you expect behind the computer screen. I am not the person you would expect to meet. An insane, beautiful woman. It is not the normal thing, they usually call them psychopaths.

My journals are my therapy and when I was told about live journal I thought it was a weird thing but the thing is now I get it. It is a way to reach people; you can reach them or they can reach you. Journaling is one of the most important things to therapy that you can have. It is a tangible way to touch your heart and mind; it is a way to heal. It is a way to get your words out with out them cutting you back. Journaling has saved my life more than once. Writing has saved my life more than I care to admit. My writing gave me solace, it still does. I am not sure how I am going to handle this, my mind races so fast some times. I have a friend who feels I have ADD. I feel like I am not doing enough. That my time is constantly running out. I am on this constant treadmill, running trying to catch up and begging for the break I am due.

At a very young age I knew that I was to do something in this world. I was going to make a difference. I am still wondering about that. I look at my age and who and what I am, what I have done in the world and to people. I scream inside of the words used to cut and destroy them in my wake of hate and anger. A part of me is tired of being silent of what happened in my life but because I am not a whiner I usually keep it in. There is another part of me screams inside saying no; this is to share, because someone out there needs to hear this. I feel like this crazy person inside my head, screaming, pulling my hair out stuck in the movie 1984 while big brother waits on me to tell them I love them only to be shot in the head when I do; when I submit to not having thoughts or questions. ( http://www.online-literature.com/orwell/1984/ ) Another part says do what comes natural. Write; it saved your life. It only has to reach one. See the other two books are not out yet, so if you are confused it is ok. I have 2 parts to this book that is still being put on the pc.

I just needed to release the pain inside. For cutters out there, this is my cutting tool. Showing the world how screwed up in the head I really am. I look back on my life and wonder why I did not become Manson or Hannibal Lector? What makes me tick different? I certainly grew up in that state of mind and could have easily slipped to that side. I will tell you I have no desire to go out and kill a bunch of people to get my word across. I would rather use what I am good at. Writing, I have become this stagnant mold in the water and I am tired of that. I know I am moving forward, fighting the good fight but I also feel time slipping though my hands as if time is running out and I will never make my mark in the world. I know I can not be the only one that feels this way in the world today. My life experiences have made me an expert in my life.

I have removed most of the people in my life who have caused me great harm. Harmed my Psyche. Part of that is admitting to them your wrongs, but also stating what you will not tolerate in your life. If they can not accept that they can not accept you. My sperm donor falls into that world. I have many personalities; each angry part of me has an angry child. I am a very angry child inside. Crying tears of blood that absorb into the skin before any see what is there. It becomes this pulsating inner organism that can destroy you if you let it. Like Carrie. I know I reference to the American stories but I don’t know enough foreign world films to compare there. So please forgive my ignorance to that fact.

I was going to bed last night and I saw myself as this rat caught in a trap seeking the exit and that cheese the scientist reward you with. Shiny things, food, reward, good girl. Patting my head and sending me on my merry way. I too often feel I am living in some psychedelic world as this curmudgeon whispers in under my breath about how the world is falling into corruption, that we have become a society so blind we can’t wake up enough to save ourselves. This can not be true.

There is a child inside me that whimpers at the tree of life, seeing what we are loosing so quickly. That my problems of my history given to me seem so small and insignificant, as I am an insignificant against this great Mother Nature. That we are throwing to the wayside because of our lack of trust and faith in ourselves and others around us.

With my medical conditions I go through on a daily basis, which I will get into further at another time, I still see the world and where it is at this moment and there are times the pain is so overwhelming all I can do is draw into myself and wish to sleep thousands of years instead of standing and saying wait, something is wrong with this system. The mechanical people pass by me on a daily basis here in NYC; they are headed to their own world, to their own problems. You can not blame them. NYC is a wonderful city, please do not get me wrong, but it also holds the apitomy of every apprehensible crime known to the human spirit. You can not live in NYC and not feel the despair that runs through its streets. Especially since 9-11.

When I look at the large scope of things my survival is nothing compared to what mans PTSD survival issue may be. This concludes our book cast day. And if this is your first trip on the A train, welcome aboard it is only fair to warn you to buckle your seatbelts, read the disclaimer, it is going to be a bumpy ride. Welcome aboard. All Aboard the ATA who are coming. You are free to move about the cabin space provided.

Prologue otherwise known as catching the reader up.

noreply@blogger.com (Aingealicia) — Sat, 28 Mar 2009 22:55:00 +0000

“My Life on the A Train” has two books before this however; they are not on the computer yet for publication. I am a simple woman that lives in New York City, Queens to be exact. I am a Freelance Writer here, so along with half of the economy, my money is always tight, but somehow a higher power and Faith has guided and protected me so I have not had to sell my soul to the machine.

So in this edition of ‘My Life on the A Train’ where you join me in my life, I have been recently diagnosed with a condition that thousands of people deal with on a daily basis. I know much like my life, some of my writing is a confusing, frustrating, irritating at times. I ask you bear with me. I do have some very funny life situations. Everyone needs laughter in their lives.

Right now, my life is in a suspension mode, so I needed something to do while finishing my other books that are going to press by the end of the year. With my diagnosis of my condition, this is especially difficult for someone like me who has been labeled as a “work-o-holic” to be in suspension mode. I am very long winded as well so please bear with me on that. I will work on it. I am easily distracted and can change my topics in a heartbeat, or a key stroke in this case. Before I tell you what I have been labeled with by the State of New York, I wish to give you a background on me. A sort of self-introduction so you know what you are getting into before you begin down this crazy road.

I am like many, we all have stories of being survivors of abused children, marriage, and Government. Especially those who are artist, it shows in their work.

I am an artist, I am an American and Patriot of our Country, I am opinionated, and a bit narcissistic. I am a Gonzo Journalist. http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/1069436/gonzo-journalism I would be labeled as a Conspiracy theorist by some and a freedom writer by others. I am just curious and research, research, research until I find the answer. If 2 plus 2 does not add up to 4 there is a problem in my mind and I question it.

I feel it is important to have an introduction to the books that I will be placing out there for the masses to read. I am from Generation X, born in 1971. I grew up in Colorado all over, but the one place I spent a lot of the time is Lamar, Colorado. A little town down in the South East part of Colorado. I have posted a link for you so you can see where I grew up as a teen.http://www.ci.lamar.co.us/ This is an important fact to know before you begin to read my words. I have traveled to Alaska, lived in California, Maine, Utah, Massachusetts, and now New York City, which is its own world in itself, the concrete jungle.

I feel it is important to warn the reader as to where they are headed with the writer so they can make a choice as to whether or not they wish to read their works. Not just something that is forced on you like you are in school. I hold fast to the Constitution and use my 1st Amendment rights to the fullest ability as I am able. I believe in education, thus there will be links in my writing for you to follow if you so choose to do.

I want to thank you the reader for joining me on this road of my world, the world of a dreamer, a believer, someone who knows that inside everyone there is a beautiful creature waiting to get out. I am not sure how this book will go over. It is part of a much larger project that has been in the works for several years on paper and in the mind, and the time has come to get it going. It is a project for humanity, so as you read my words, if you donate to what you enjoy, you will be helping humanity in this day and time and allowing free press to cross your computer screens. This humanity project is a pipe dream I will admit it but simple in its thought process. It is a foundation that will help people all around the world. I mean actually help them. It will have to start in NYC, but the idea is based off the story of Pay it Forward. http://www.payitforwardmovement.org/

I believe that if we all help, we can change things. We can create the world around us and transform it. I know it is a big undertaking, however it is my baby and I wish to get this baby rolling if you can understand what I mean. I will give my word on paper, or well the computer at this time that 10% before taxes will go to this fund for any profits off this book. I know that does not seem like much, but when you figure if I had a 1,000 readers a day who gave $1.00, .10 cents goes to the humanitarian fund. For one day that is only $100.00, however, that is also, around $3,000 a month. So as the readership grows and if that is all they gave, the fund will grow. Thus everyone is taking the pay it forward concept to an extreme.

This year, being the kick off year, our first recipient will be the Bronx Zoo. http://www.bronxzoo.com/ Why? They had to fire some animals and well I am not ok with that. I know that the money that is granted will allow the animals to keep their jobs. Also I can go there and hand them the money in person, so that everyone will know that is exactly where the money went. Depending upon the amounts that are made for each month, will depend on which project we help. There are several places that need the money right now, food shelters, homeless shelters, zoos, no kill animal shelters, etc. Eventually the idea behind this project is that 10% of this humanitarian money will stay in New York because that is where this book is coming out of, but that other 90% will go back into the community that the money comes from. This allows all the readers to think of places in their community that could use this financial help. We need to give back as artist, not just artist but as humanity to make humanity work. I want to help in that situation. This is the best way I can think of doing it.

I am going to put book 3 out as a blog because blogs are so much a part of our lives now days and it is an excellent way to get your work out there. This allows me to see what type of readership I will have and allow me to be a freelance writer as well. As you donate to help this book it will keep running and will pay for the bills so I can keep writing. Shameless but it is the truth.

We always say we want the truth. I am going to share my truths with you and allow you to decide if you like the truth or not from my prospective. I have a George Carlin wit, I question everything around me, I am a cynic, and I am an artist. You have been warned.

This book, ‘My Life on the A Train’, started over a bowl of French onion soup and the current situations in my life. Many people who heard my story told me I should share it so others can see that there is hope beyond the painted veil that we are presented with in this life. My story is no better and no worse than some. My walk of life is not easy, but it is my life. I am not saying I am better than anyone, never have, never will. I have many frailties and faults. I believe we all see ourselves far worse than anyone can judge us.

The first two books are hand written and are being placed on the computer. Some of the content are of an adult nature. So if you are shocked easily then I would not read my words. If you have an issue with Freedom of Speech, shut your browser. You do not have to read my words. I am not writing these words to sound like I am whining or complaining, just showing people the process it took me to get to a point in my life I could actually write my words down and share them with the world. Call it group therapy. Feel free to leave your comments. They all will be read and I do not delete comments nor approve them. We are all entitled to Freedom of Speech. I am in NYC, last I checked that is still part of the United States and that is covered in the Constitution. http://www.usconstitution.net/const.html It is the 1st Amendment.

I also am a Freelance Journalist and know that there are lies told to us on a daily basis; from GitMo to the budget. I have access here in NYC that most don’t have. I am here where a lot of this activity is going on. I know that we as a people of this United States have the ability to change things if we choose to. If we have the information we can take action. We have young men and women dieing for our country and it is a tragedy. We have men, women, and children dieing in our streets on a daily basis. Someone has to stand up for them. Someone has to speak for them. We are that someone. We are their voices. Sometimes we just need someone to speak out first as an example. Or join in other with other voices who speak the same.

I have seen a great deal of the United States. I have lived with several different cultures. I have worked in food shelters and walked the streets of New York. Passed by the World Trade Center and touched Glaciers. My life has been a fantastic writer’s journey to say the least. I want to share the beauty I have seen as well. Share my experiences. I also want to write my own autobiography. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Autobiography before I become somebody that is recognized as a writer in today’s world.

My chapters are very much blocks out of my life, much like a blog. This is why it is called ‘My Life on the A Train’. There are many stops on a subway train. We are just along for the ride. I feel it is what we do on this ride that matters. You never know who you are going to touch or how you will touch them. I believe we should touch one person everyday in our lives to help them along the road of life.

I also believe in humor. Humor is the medicine of life that cures the broken heart, the downtrodden, and the hopeless. If you can get a chuckle you have at least made a positive impact in someone’s life that day.

Now that you know about me to a point, let me welcome you aboard the A train. My condition I have been diagnosed with, PTSD, not just PTSD but a type of PTSD that I will never be rid of. Happy days are ahead on this bumpy ride.

Disclaimer:

*I believe in my First Amendment Rights, I believe in your First Amendment Rights. I will defend to my death for your rights to say what you will, please remember that as you read and may become upset or angry. You do not have to agree with me just as I do not have to agree with you. I am a very strong, tenacious, woman that has very strong beliefs for a reason, this is my way of sharing them.

*Oh it should be noted that most should not read this if you are under the age of 16 with out your parents knowing, just in case, not because I do not think that you are not capable of reading this, I am sure you are, you made it past the 6th grade, it just contains some adult content and well honestly, as a parent myself, I would want to know what my children are reading.

*Also as an artist I feel it is our responsibility to take responsibility for what we give to the public and to have some self monitoring to the current situation of mass media and any forms of mass media including video games. Argue all you want, but the creator of the monster is responsible for its care until it leaves your hands,

*Oh and artist please don’t send me any letters of hate mail. Honestly can you tell me that current book, painting, or game, or any other assorted artistic thing you are currently working on is not bane of your existence or simply put, a monster.

*Please take my blog/book writing with a grain of salt and enjoy as you read.