is because my conscience won’t let me rest.

One of the reasons all this became so stressful is because I was worried about the welfare of two children. Their parents were told. They know who Mr Y is.

I don’t know what they do with their childcare now and I don’t care. I don’t want to know. They are not my responsibility.

Maybe I’m just very pessimistic tonight and am just feeling shit in general. I have a bad feeling. I know that some people like to give the paeds a chance to show that he can be a good person. Especially people from their religion.

God I have such a bad headache.

It’s been  a year since I last blogged here. I closed down the blog because I felt stronger and that I didn’t need to emote as much to stay sane, or that I didn’t need validation of others to stay strong….

I’m feeling pathetic because I’ve been on hold for some crisis line because I just needed to talk about this to someone and the counselor said, “what’s your problem? Your story is convoluted. You make no sense.”
And the thing is, it doesn’t make any sense why this affects me today – except that the Paeds made contact today and disowned my husband for not accepting him and his mother keeps talking about how sad, old and frail she is.

The whole situation is farcical, tragic and intriguing – oh the anonymous counselor (fisher of narratives)’s words. It’s not intriguing you fuck wit and yes it is out of your realm of experience…and maybe you’re just volunteering to get your welfare payments. I don’t know.

But this is what’s bothering me:

* If I had not discovered the internet pornography, no one would have been wiser and the happy facade could have been maintained. Everyone has moved on/continued living in denial – so what is my problem??

This is my problem:

1. I really don’t like to be around a man who has raped 3-4 of his daughters. I don’t care if he’s got one of his daughters to testify what a great grandfather he is and decent dad. It creeps me out.

1. I really hate how manipulative he is and how he is now the good guy in all of this.

Fact:

1. I’m just trying to lead my life and protect my son.

2. I don’t want to be around that bad energy.

3. I am really really sad about the whole situation.

4. I’m not the anti-christ. I just hate people who use religion to justify and forgive raping children.

I should have called the cops – but it was too many years ago now and those who were abused don’t want to dig through history or are deeply religious and find it a very Christian experience and challenge to forgive the fucker.

I don’t like swearing so much. I don’t like seeing my husband so sad. I managed to not let it affect me for a very long time.

just when y’all thought it wasnt gonna happen, my man REMY’D has returned!!!!!! possibly the freshest artist out there (suck a FUCK kid cuddle and lupe problemo), his new niggabeat, It’s 2:25, is easily the most pronounced lyrical whackness he has ever put out there.  i swear he needs to record this shit asap, so he can release a dope first album and save the australian rap industry,.  for those in the kno, you cna check it out right here!

I’ve been living here in sydney for the last 8 years or so, just about to start going to uni (MAC UNI WURD UP), but i still cant find anyone interested in producing my LP.  but i have lined up an interview on december 28 at INTERSCROPE RECORDS!!  i’m really looking forard to this becuz this is where Game is signed to.  also underneath it is obviously aftermath entertainment, with DRE and busta, as well as SHADY and G-UNIT, so if i get signed there itll be masterful…  obviously i’ll then need to bring REMY’D over to join on my album and record his own.

anyway my next post will be my reviw of BEFORE I SELF DESTRUCT which just came out, but before I do that here’s my new beat, Remylickin’ Good, which i have been writing for the last eight dayz about REMY’D (holla at ya boi) and the feelings he makes in my mind.

(Intro)
Give this nigga beat!
Damn boi you know I lookin at you!
Why you not see my affection for you??
I ain’t no mahfuckin’ Stan, I’m the real slim Caocao
You just a killer for filler in the house of Manilla
Wurd up!!

(chorus)
Horny for more than just Oporto
I can’t suck a McDick
Hungrier than Jack in a porno
Give that a King lick
But I really know my KFC
And all that it does for me
It’s fingerfuckin’ cockrockin’ Remylickin’ GOOOOOOD
(Woah-oh-oh-woah-oh-woahhhhh Remy’d for yo pain)

(verse 1)
All I’ve said is post mortem
I ain’t never gonna die
You see me kickin’ cunts
I can kill ‘em on the fly
I’m an un-PC fucker, all my ladies know this
But if you fuck me upside down my mouth looks like a clit
It’s raw like Slim Shady, Asher Roth is our baby
I fucked ten cows inside out then let them go crazy
What more could you want from a S-town dog
Who knows nothing more than shits and Gods
Religulous bullshit with Jerry Lewis in tail
I’m a goddamn python, he’s a mahfuckin’ whale
Remy’d kicked the telly off of my rapsheet
I made sure those bitches didn’t know about the gaybeat
Hittin’ the toolshed like its more than rape
There’ll be a class action GTA style that’ll go late
I’m gettin’ hungry now, let me hit a niggabeat
I only know ten black people, does that make me a sheet??

(chorus)

(verse 2)
Rembrant would you kindly fuck my cat
So I can look at her ten ways to sunset and suck that
All I want is mancock, dirty and wholesome
Wholemeal and honey oat ain’t gonna cut it
What was that on the radio last night about Emma Watson nude?
I wouldn’t give a fuck, ’cause she fucks dudes
I only get turned on by chicks who do chicks
Hatefilled lyrical contextuality until 2:26am
Eminem Relapse 3am in the horning
Dawning, fawning, shit just can’t be borning
Grammar school is for rnb pussies, just watch me!

(bridge)
I gotta bridge it, gotta fridge it
Dogs can’t see me hard
Gotta bridge it gotta ditch it
What’s your girl lookin’ at me for?
Baseball born from a dirty dog’s dick
Autotuned like a negro Slick Rick

(verse 3)
You fuckin’ up now, I can see you on my CD cover
All you need is Remy’d to show you the way
What more can you want than a true Aussie soldier?
Better than ten chinks rockin’ with bulgers
What the fuck did that mean, I’m totally spittin’
If I meet Remy’d my anus will be red shittin’
I put my wurd in the gospel, the Gestapo know me
I remember Pac and his wurds say ‘HOMIE’
All that I want now is to sit down to my meal
God’s greatest warrior, rapper Remy’d is a steal

(chorus x2)

(Outro)
You been fuckin’ wit’ tha wrong boiz!!
Interscope!  Aftermath!  Shady!  Gggggg, G-Unit!
Remy’d Records!  Caocaochords Ltd.!
2010 and forever testetonguing bastard fucks!!

I’ma work on an album cover soon guys!  hope you like!!

Het was deze namiddag de Professor R. Van Cauterenleerstoel aan de faculteit Toegepaste Wetenschappen van de K.U. Leuven. Professor Van Cauteren was een maatschappelijk geëngageerd thermotechnisch ingenieur, wat hem o.a. deze leerstoel opleverde. Ik vermoed dat het ondertussen de 41ste jaargang is. Voor mij was het de eerste keer dat ik er aanwezig was.

Het onderwerp was “Maken ingenieurs het verschil? De rol van de ingenieur in de maatschappij.” Het programma vind je alhier.

De algemene teneur was dat de ingenieur een vergane glorie was. Vroeger, in de negentiende eeuw, waren de ingenieurs (staatsingenieurs en nadien de burgerlijk ingenieurs die de spoorwegen en mijnen aanlegden e.d.) de ondernemers van de maatschappij. Ze hadden ook een maatschappelijk engagement. In Duitsland bijvoorbeeld hadden hun werknemers een pensioenfonds, een ziekteverzekering avant la lettre, … Ze zaten toen ook meer in de politiek. Tussen 1831 en 1885 zaten er 37 ingenieurs in de Belgische Kamer en  Senaat (30 liberalen, 6 katholieken en 1 onafhankelijke die eigenlijk een halve katholiek was). Nu mogen we al blij zijn (nu ja, meningen verschillen natuurlijk) als je er 5 vindt.

Misschien dat ik er de komende dagen nog wat meer aandacht aan besteed, maar hieronder alvast mijn tweets per spreker.

Luc Soete, UNU-MERIT (United Nations University – Maastricht Economic Research Institute on Innovation and Technology)

De (hoofd)rol van de ingenieur (PDF)

Waarde-paradox: waarde van kennis vermindert drastisch zodra het in een product op de markt verschijnt. => continue drang naar innovatie

Jan De Maeyer, KADOC (Documentatie- en Onderzoekscentrum voor Religie, Cultuur en Samenleving)

Ingenieurs in de lange 19de eeuw: de promotoren van de moderniteit (PDF)

In de 19e eeuw zaten er 37 ingenieurs in het Belgische parlement. Nu?

3 dingen kunnen een industrieel ruineren: vrouwen, drank en ingenieurs. Het eerste is het leukste, het laatste het zekerste.

In Engeland werd je ingenieur bij een meester (‘apprenticeship’). Eerder industrieel ingenieur dan burgerlijk. Geen staatsingenieur zoals in Frankrijk.

19e eeuw: ingenieurs-ondernemers (lees: KMO’s van toen) waren belangrijk (Stephenson, Brunel) => impact op maatschappij.

Duitsland: Borsig, Krupp => verzorgden hun werknemers: ziekteverzekeringen, pensioenfondsen, ziekenhuizen, …

In de 19e eeuw voldeden scholen niet aan de noden van de industrie. IMHO nu ook niet!

In de 19e eeuw was de ingenieur een bemiddelaar, een “zendeling” die de vooruitgang “predikte”. Niet eenduidig: positie in UK vs in DE.

Belangrijk 1880: Cockerill heeft een ingenieur als CEO nodig, wegens te diversifiërende technologiën!

Besluit van de koffiepauze:

Ingenieurs moeten meer de taal van de maatschappij spreken.

Griet De Ceuster, Transport & Mobility Leuven

Maatschappelijke kosten en baten van verkeersprojecten (PDF)

MKBA: maatschappelijke kosten- en batenanalyse (over verschillende alternatieve scenario’s).

Vb 1: Sint-Truiden wil een eigen weg naar de E40. Staat al 30 jaar gepland.

MKBA is nooit gemaakt voor de Oosterweelverbinding!

“Wallonië is wit want daar zijn geen gratis kaarten van beschikbaar.”

MKBA: altijd een referentie-scenario nodig!

Het is ons 7 euro waard om een uur sneller ter plaatse te zijn (vrachtwagens 27 euro).

Verkeersstudies zijn complex!

Zo’n beslissingen langs een referendum maken, ik blijf het pervers vinden! :-]

Maatschappelijk denken vs industrieel denken. Ook bij economen!

Ann Heylighen, Departement ASRO K.U.Leuven

Ontwerpen voor VEP’s (Very Experienced People) (PDF)

Very Experienced People = eufemisme voor ouw zakken

Vanaf 60 ben je “een oudere”. Aan de haarkleur hier te zien zitten we met een probleem. Er wordt hier gelachen met W. Martens en de paus

Check Sun City West in Arizona!

Ouderen: 60 tot 100 jaar jong. 40 jaar overspannen. Heterogene doelgroep!

Vb: lage instap bij treinen niet alleen goed voor gehandicapten, verhoogt ook instapsnelheid en -veiligheid bij anderen!

Check TableTalk van IDEO. Versta uw café-partners terug!

Metalen ring in de tafel, is microfoon voor hoorapparaat. Compatibel met al bestaande hoorapparaten => voordeel voor slechthorenden!

Ingenieur-architectes zijn de designers onder de ingenieurs.#parallellentrekken #schonepresentatie

Luc Sterckx, SPE-Luminus

Energie en milieu: een kwestie van creativiteit op een stevige technische basis (PDF)

Groeiende wereldbevolking en groeiend energieverbruik per hoofd. Stabilisatie op 9 miljard mensen in 2050…

Verdubbeling van vereiste energie tussen nu en 2050 (nog erger als baseline = gemiddelde Amerikaan). #doomed

Uitputting fossiele brandstoffen, veiligheid en kostprijs (20.000+ miljard dollar de komende 20 jaar). Zekerheid bevoorrading? Marktwerking?

Gigantische uitdagingen dus! (Water is trouwens de helft van de kost)

Aarde krijgt voldoende energie van de zon, maar we hebben een technisch en complex omzettingsprobleem. Geen filosofisch probleem!

Transportproblemen (Sahara naar Europa, grote verliezen!), opslagproblemen, … Verschil door _onderbouwde_ creativiteit!

Maatschappelijk draagvlak nodig voor de nodige, kostelijke oplossingen. Vertaalslag naar beleidsmaker en bevolking!

Technische taalhygiëne. Details zijn belangrijk. kW, MW en GW zijn verschillend, net als eenheden (Kelvin, Newton, …)! #scholing

Zwart noch wit, maar wel grijs! #noslogans #damnyoupoliticiansandjournalists

Er is geen tijd voor geklungel in de marge… Rekening houden met randvoorwaarden (econ, maatschappelijk, …)

Wat betreft zonnepanelen: ten gronde is dat goed. Maar moet gestructureerd. Zet ze in Italië ipv hier (opbrengst x4).

Er komen betere zonnepanelen aan, maar gaan die de huidige onmiddellijk (of pas over 20 jaar) vervangen?

Maar over zonnepanelenkennis: zit in China, maar niet in Vlaanderen.

@raf__ hij is idd pro-kernenergie. Beschuldigt openbare omroep van verspreiding van ideologische standpunten (subjectief) ipv technische feiten (bvb. interview op Radio 1 van vrouw uit Doel, haar vriend zou licht geven ten gevolge van de kernstraling)

Als we allemaal elektrisch gaan rijden (omdat de fossiele brandstoffen op zijn), dan moeten we 2,5 keer zoveel electriciteit produceren als nu.

Aanpassingen aan electriciteitsnet voor user generated energy zijn gigantisch (duur).

Uitlaatgassen van bio-diesel zijn ramp qua fijn stof.

Al bij al waren het vijf interessante sprekers. Punten van aandacht: multi-disciplinariteit moet nog beter (met economen, filosofen, antropologen en andere -ogen), plus de ingenieurs moeten ook meer de taal van de beleidsmakers en “het volk” spreken (want zij gaan de taal van de ingenieurs nooit leren).

Ik heb de verhaaltjes achter de tweets niet uitgeschreven, mocht je er vragen bij hebben, stel ze gerust in de comments!

Yesterday, as I was nurturing my misery in front of the telly, I zapped through the stations to see what was on. I needed something light (even shallow) and funny (even goofy). What I ended up finding was a programm about… right: babies. The programm‘s name was „Kinderwunsch“, which translates to something like „desire to have children“. One of the few exceptions where german is more conchise than english and doesn‘t deliver a tough 18 syllable word.

It was neither light nor funny, let alone shallow or goofy. But I had to watch it anyway. Right as I entered, there was a happy couple looking into the camera, talking about how great pregnancy is, how happy they are to be preggers and how eager they were to meet their baby. She was about 9 weeks pregnant for the first time in her life. So while I was watching alienated about the happy bliss that I will never gain back, the narrator said: 

 „After years of trying to get pregnant, they finally are. This couple fought for their baby. And they won“.

 They w-o-n? 

They faught and won? I faught, too and all I got was a knife in the heart. Does that mean if only I faught harder, I would have won, too? And beside that: Won WHAT?

Seven months filled with uncertainty and danger for their unborn? As far as I know they won nothing so far – besides a ticket to the preggo-club. They are currently applying for a lifelong membership of the „HFC: Happy Family Club“. What they don‘t know (because they haven‘t read the fine print in light grey, about Pantone 7541) is, that at the same time they received a floating membership in another programm called „DBP: Dead Baby Parents“. If the membership to the HFC gets denied, you‘ll have no right of objection (nor will somebody consult you beforehand) and will automatically be handed down to the DBP. Like it or not. Though you can be in possession of memberships to both clubs, your life will never be the same either. 

The camera followed the couple into the house and the already fully furnished nursery with crib, changing-table, toys… you name it, they had it. They opened the closet and showed clothes, varying in size from newborn until 2 years of age. I was flabbergasted. They were so full of optimism, with such an unwavering trust in life and the strong belief in the health of their baby. (I mean, can you be more optimistic than already having everything ready when you‘re 10 weeks along?) 

I was envious. Not in the sense that I didn‘t grant them their happiness. Just that I wanted to have a slice of it, too. 

So I wondered, what do the tv-stations do with couples like us? Given the chance they‘d feature a couple who had to have a stillbirth, would they give them the pink slip right away? Or would they give them the chance to show a glimpse of the other side of parenting? Probably not… they‘d be too scared about the viewer-ratings… And even IF… would the couple agree to let the camera in? Show the world their darkest moment in life, filled with the same kind of love – just without the screaming part at the end. 

I really hope that the couple will be able to take home their winning-ticket (aka: baby) to pass the final hurdle for proper members of HFC. Because if not, they will have a big room full of stuff to remind them of what they don‘t have. I was very reluctant (and fortunately totally broke) during my pregnancy, so I didn‘t buy anything. Not one thing until 33 weeks. I got given a few things from the grandparents-to-be and friends. It all fit into one small carton. I packed it the day I came home from the hospital after the birth. The place was a horrible mess and I couldn‘t look at all the pregnancy- and name-books, onesies and hats. Most of all the cute animal-blanket where he would have laid after he was born. 

Looking at these things crushed my heart even more that it already was. Because I knew Sky would never see, use or wear these things. I couldn‘t handle it. 10 minutes later it was all packed up and put away and I was sobbing on the couch. This day and the following night was even more hell than what I just been through in the hospital. It had sunk in. Sky was gone and far away from me in a cold room. My belly was flat. And yet it was a ridiculously warm and sunny august day. 

The Dad left me the same night, because he couldn‘t – quote – „always be there“ for me. He said, now I needed to be there for him. I was already weak as hell, still having an infection, pain inside and out. All I wanted to do was sleep. But he argued for a couple of hours, yelled, packed his bags, his guitar and left in the middle of the night. 

I was alone. Laying there all night, hoping he‘d come back. I must have fallen asleep in the early morning, because when I woke up it was nearly midday. My belly: empty. The other side of my bed: empty. My best friends: on holiday. My sister: newborn baby. There was nobody to call. Even if, I felt so ashamed that moment that I don‘t think I would have called anybody anyway. I was in pain and needed to get my meds from the pharmacy. That was the only reason they‘d let me go from the hospital the day before. I needed those meds. And what was I supposed to say on the phone…? My son is dead. My husband left me. My life is a hellhouse. Do you feel like flying 1000k to be here for me? I know she probably would have, but the shame, the shame…

I still remember sitting by the window and crying, looking out whether The Dad would come back. For a second I fancied to jump out (I live in the 5th floor) and end my misery. Follow my son. Screw The Dad. I don‘t know what kept me from it, maybe the not-knowing if it would be high enough. So I got dressed and decided to get my meds instead. The Dad had also taken the car so I had to walk to the pharmacy. I realized how weak I felt, dizzy, sad, confused, all of it… and I felt so naked without my big belly, felt like every second I would meet somebody enquiring about my baby. But I made it there and back. Like a robot. With the new DBP-membership stapled on my forehead.

The Dad came back the next day. Up to today I cannot understand why I have taken him back. Leaving your loved one the night after your child was stillborn is… unexcusable, I think. But he was the only connection to Sky. The only person that has seen him besides myself. The only person that has known him.

Today – the more I share Sky‘s story with this community – I feel like there‘s so many more people who „know“ him. There‘s no need for any kind of contact with The Dad anymore. Not even if I knew where he was and would be able to contact him. Sky will live on in my memory and the memory of the women that are by my virtual side. And I am so thankful for that.

I paused before writing this post, something I don’t usually do, I gave a thought to closure. You see people around me are in different groups, those affected by my bipolar and those who are not.

Out of those there are ones that know it and ones that don’t.

Out of those are family and friends, and finally out of those are those who are more affected than others. For example whenever I’ve read about someone who has had to suffer bipolar and after a while got diagnosed, usually that person’s partner who stuck through it all and lived to see the diagnosis. Well, they understand but they don’t really have closure do they? I mean my wife and my in-laws suffered a lot with me during my bipolar years. The point I’m trying to make is that people who don’t have bipolar have trouble dealing with the person once that person has been diagnosed and finally have some control over it.

The problem are many but they boil down to a few causes,

1. They don’t know which part of it is bipolar and which part of it wasn’t

2. They may still be dealing with the consequences of the bad decisions made under influence of the bipolar

3. more causes

The problem is the person who has bipolar has never seen any closure either, they go through tough times and hurt people around them and then before they know it they are in a high and never get a chance to do anything about it. Only of course to make some more mistakes and step on a few more hearts.

I would love to hear from someone who has moved on from the untamed bipolar past and how they’ve managed to get closure.

http://www.itvs.org/facetoface/flash.html

These are more or less audio interviews with 2-3 portraits of the person talking. Watch closely. The image flickers occasionally.

Great layout and design – kudos!

Last week I told my shrink I needed a break from our sessions. Not a indefinite never-see-again-one, just a break. Not going there for a few weeks. I told her about starting this blog and how good it feels to let it all out without censoring. That I could voice my feelings and let out my pain whenever I feel like, not just every monday morning at 8-bloody-am. I also told her I didn‘t want to hear „just let go“ for a while. That‘s what she says to me sometimes. 

Let go of… what? 

The fact that my son has died? I accept that he is gone, understand he‘ll never come back, never be replaced and all that. I know I have to keep on living my life. All that I know.

But „letting go“ sounds for me as if she says „Just don‘t be sad anymore“. Which I can‘t. There will always be days where I am sad. I know the lighter days come around more often now than in the past. But sometimes the grief and pain comes back in full force and lingers for a few days or weeks. I can‘t just switch it off. I would – if I could.

So I have my shrink-break. We will meet the week before christmas to talk about how it felt. I mean, she helped me a great deal with many things beside the grieving process. But she herself says, that sometimes she can‘t help me because she simply doesn‘t know how it feels to loose your kid.  

But she gave me one thing as a homework… I am always very good in pointing out things that I cannot do (yet), things I am lacking, qualities I haven‘t developed and believes I haven‘t overcome. She wants me to write lists of all the good things in my life, if it‘s only a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. She said sometimes I forget how far I have come in the last (nearly) two years since we met first. True, I am not very good in that: „self-praise stinks“, is a very popular figure of speech here so maybe I have incorporated that into my inner self. So today I will try to write down things that have improved in the last 20 months. Things that got better because I worked my butt of to make them improve. 

- I voice my feelings more often and don‘t swallow them all the time.

- I can talk about Sky without breaking into tears as soon as I think about him. I can SMILE when I talk about him.

- I worked like a maniac and got rid of shitloads of debt.

- I got out of a bad relationship. I lead a single-life now and have no desire to change that in the near future..

- I meet my friends reglarly – even though I feel like an outsider at times.

- I take my camera with me at all times to capture beauty when I see it. As a proof that it‘s there.

- I am not scared coming home from work anymore because I know there‘s peace and tranquility awaiting me.

The shrink also asked me whether there‘s something I gained through loosing my son. (I looked at her as if I wanted to either slap her or leave the room). I don‘t know if there‘s something I gained – in the positive sense. I have developed a deep fear that more of my loved ones will die unexpectantly. I would gladly swap my own life for the one‘s of my family (given the chance to make a deal with the Grim Reaper). Even if that would show how selfish I am, letting my parents go through the same pain that is loosing a child. Just so I wouldn‘t have to go through losing another loved one. 

But I guess there might be one thing that has improved: I am not afraid to die anymore. Before Sky, in a mortal fear situation I was petrified. Scared to death. Unable to move. Today, if had a meeting with the Grim Reaper and he would tell me that I‘d be run over by a bus tomorrow I wouldn‘t have the same feeling anymore. Sure, I would be sad that I can‘t spend more time with family and friends, but I would look forward to what was to come. I would hope to meet Sky again, somewhere in the abyss above.

Don‘t get me wrong, please. I don‘t want to be dead. I like living. And I still fear a long, painful process of dying… maybe even more than before. I guess Monica would call that cancernoia…

It‘s just that I lost some of that existential fear from the nothingness that is death. Because there might be the slightest chance I‘ll meet Sky again.

Phew… how come my post about good things has become so dark? See… I shall practise it more often to find light in the dark.

“Heart ‘Repair Kit’ — Stem Cells Regenerate Broken Heart”
Headline, Science Daily News

~ * ~

These skin-to-skin interludes
Are cardiac first aid.

Stem cell touches that
Ignite an intimate, intricate
Chemical choreography -
Other people construe as
Forgiveness.

Everything and no-thing
Has changed.
The striated muscles
We call hearts –
Are mending.

It’s a common miracle.
It is not a love poem.

It was a miserable Wednesday morning. The wind blew strong from every direction and the rain seemed to fall sideways.

One woman held up a hand to shoo me away. I wondered if she knew about that ’80s to ’90s phenomenon where you put out your hand and shouted an exaggerated “ba-rick wall” to whoever you were trying to ignore. It seemed to have vague connections to Valley girls or something. I think a popular comeback when I was growing up was to spit on the perpetrators brickwall hand and say “grafitti.” I held myself back from doing this to the innocent, although slightly rude, old woman.

I watched people cross themselves as they passed the doors.

There was a Gypsy beggar sitting in drizzling rain outside the church entrance.

I turned away from her and rummaged around for change. It was mostly 10 cent pieces and a 1 euro coin. This was not a completely charitable donation. I wanted information. I crouched down and asked if she often waited outside the church.

“I don’t do English.”

Those may not have been her exact words. She tended to mumble, but I gathered “English” and some sort of negative as to her speaking it.

I tried again, rephrasing and speaking clearly. I was really hoping to get a unique angle on church attendance in the area. Obviously, this woman sat outside the church all day, maybe she noticed more people attending lately. Maybe the surge in traffic is why he chose the spot. I got the same answer as before.

“I don’t do English,” she said shaking her head.

I begrudgingly tossed the fist full of change in her paper cup.

After about a dozen parishioners refused me an interview, I decided to give up.

So many excuses came out of the people’s mouths.

“I’ve an appointment at half past 10,” one elderly woman said as she looked at her watch. I offered to walk with her and she declined. I thought the most polite people were the ones who listened to me and then declined. At least they did not lie or ignore me.

“What do you want? Oh, no.”

At another church, a gruff old priest told me point blank there were no new people in the church. I liked him, he didn’t smooth over his words with deceitful tact. Then again, maybe that’s why he’s a lower priest, delegated to selling candles and prayer cards in the church shop. He directed me to a few other priests.

The first priest was not there. I left my number with a woman who seemed to act as secretary and shop keeper.

I found another priest who gave me some decent quotes. While talking to me he touched my arm. I cringed a little. He kept it there until we parted. He seemed like a nice guy overall. It’s just that anyone who is that devoted to Catholicism tends to put me at unease.

He was very bitter about the city taking away the bus stop in front of the church. He partially blamed that for the drop in attendance. I think he hoped I would write it in my story and help his cause.

I did write it in as a kind gesture, although I am sure it will get edited out. It’ a bit of a tangent.

My last stop was the parish priest. He was not there and I was told to come back in a few hours. I did and I was told to come back the next day.

I came back to the Liberties area two days later on Friday. It was a much nicer day.

The one priest had never called me back, so I went again to find him. He was again absent and so I again left my number with the secretary candle seller.

I went to find the parish priest and he was not there either. I was told he was at lunch and to come back in a few hours.

I wandered in the Liberty Market. I wondered what it looked like historically. It had surely let itself go. At least the cheap flea markets in America have some spirit to them. If you’re going to go tacky and cheap, don’t half-ass it.  Despite the slim pickings and overall trashiness, the area was busy. Nothing interesting was being sold. No miracle magnet bracelets, WWII knives or cute inbred puppies — just fake brand name clothing and light fixtures.

I was tempted to get something to eat, but the lunch rush hour and long lines ended up dissuading me and saving me money.

There was still a lot of time left so I waited in the church’s Grotto Shrine and Shop – a tacky looking area with rocks masoned together to resemble a shallow cave. Inside the cave are smooth marble-looking walls with a wall of candles. A Mary, mother of Jesus, lawn ornament overlooks the spectacle.

I watched a homeless man discreetly ask praying people for change. One woman knew him by name.

Strangely he never asked me for money. He asked me for a light. I said I did not have one and then procured one out of his pocket. He then asked me for the time, but before I could answer, procured a watch.

A woman on the way out warned the shop keepers that he was there disrupting the spirituality of the shrine.

I went again to harass the parish priest. I rang the bell. Earlier in my attempts, I had become used to ringing the doorbell multiple times and waiting countless minutes for an answer. This time, it swung open right away.

She recognized me from before, but still interrogated my purpose. Eying me suspiciously, we stared at each other for a long time.

“Who are you again?”

I answered and she kept silent. It was a long uncomfortable silence. Her gaze was only broken periodically with a glance to the office out of my view. I wondered if we were having a stare-down and if I had to win it to talk to the priest.

Finally, the parish priest came into view and let me in. I guess I won the stare-down.

He was much larger than the other priests, like a bouncer for the Catholic faith. He had a very firm handshake and was much more wary of me than the others.

We interviewed with him sitting across the room. He gave the politically correct quotes I expected from someone in his position.

I did like one quote where he said the word “bum” in relation to it filling seats. I finished my story with that quote. It seemed appropriate to end a story with a quote about people’s ends.

On the way home I went through a narrow and trashed alleyway because it looked interesting. It ran alongside the church on a side rarely seen by the public.

I stumbled upon an old horseshoe. Instinctively, I picked it up and wrapped it in a brown paper bag that previously held a box of pens (somewhere in interviewing I lost my pen and had to buy more).

I could tell by the remnants of manure on the ground that the novelty horse and carriages sometimes went through here. I looked at the seldom seen side of the church. It was bordered by ugly concrete slabs and chain link fencing. It looked like a crack addicts playground. The concrete was flat enough, though. I thought the priests could easily set up some basketball hoops and get their game on between sermons.

There were bike tires, broken bottles and plastic bags scatted everywhere. It was the polar opposite of the Grotto shrine on the other side of the church.

I went home and cleaned up the horseshoe. I hung it in the hallway by the front door. As I was finishing the story, it fell down with a clang.

Aftermath Kraken AK-47 Airsoft Rifle airsoft gun

Comes with: 8.4v 1200mah NiCAD battery pack and 250mah trickle charger. WARNING: Battery charge time is 5 hours with the included charger. Do not overcharge your battery or you will damage it. You may receive an incorrect manual. We will upload the correct manual to our site soon. 1000 ct .20g bb’s included! AfterMath Kraken AK-47. Professional training and competition-model machine gun fires semi or full auto, at a wild 370 fps. Solid design features a steel barrel, steel body, frame and steel gearbox. Adjustable Hop-Up system. Includes a NiCAD battery and charger, 1000 rounds of ammo and a detachable magazine that holds 600 rounds…. Adjustable Flip-up Front & Rear Sights… Aftermath Kraken AK-47, Black. Metal Gear Box System, High Torque Motor, Adjustable Hop-up System…

Reviews from Customers

“Great Aeg”
This gun is a powerful weapon. Anyone who wants a solid AEG around $100 should buy this gun.It is insanly accurate. The only problem is the smallish clip, but its still a great gun!!!!!!!! You can buy an extra clip from the aftermath website

P.S. I do not work for Aftermath or Gameo

“Amazing gun”
This is a great gun for any experience of player. I got this gun at Big 5 for $119 on sale. This gun is worth all 119 of those dollars. The box says 370 fps and it is actually very close to that. It is also very accurate. If you take a little time to adjust the Hop-up You can easially hit a target from 100 to 150 feet away. All the internals are metal and the outside is a very high quality plastic. This gun is not going to break. It is a pretty big gun, around 34 inches, so make sure you have a good place to store this when not in use. It also weighs about 7 Lbs. Finally, The gun comes with a 600 round magazine. It’s Probably the best Hi-cap i have used. It feeds well and you do not have to wind the wheel too often. I wind it every 100 shots or so.

If you were going to buy this gun, you should really go to Big 5. Sports Authority also carries some aftermath guns. So if you are looking for a great gun, but not wanting to pay for shipping, or risk the gun breaking the gun durring shipping, you should definately go with an aftermath.

” Best AK-47 Yet”
This is a great gun. I am 100% satisfied. I bought this weaapon and it out performs my JG AK47, CSI AK47, and my UTG AK47. The Aftermath AK47 blows thenm out of the water. This gun shoots around 380fps, and is acurate up to about 150ft. Unlike my JG, and CSI ak’s this gun has a metal gearbox. highley acurate. This gun features metal upper reciver, one peice nylon lower reciver, metal inner/outer barrel, metal gas chamber and tube wich is the part above the barrel on the front of the gun, metal trigger and trigger guard, metal mag catch and release, metal sling mounts, metal dummy cleaning rod, metal sights, metal front sight housing, metal slector switch, metal [...] plate, metal stock clamps, nylon OD green foregrip, pistol grip, and stock, od green sling,ABS magazine wich is the only disadvantage. very solid gun it looks just like my real AK. It weighs about 11 pounds with battery in the stock. this gun is also tokyo marui compatable. Super buy for [...] dollars

See all detials of Aftermath Kraken AK-47 Airsoft Rifle airsoft gun

Relations between Egypt and Algeria have been taking a serious turn for the worse in the aftermath of Algeria’s World Cup playoff qualifying victory over Egypt’s national football (soccer) team in Khartoum on Wednesday… From VOA. Full story

This site may contain information about: english football archive. The blog is also related to: soccer world rankings.

Excuse any typos, I’ve got some bulky bandage on my hand.  Got x-rays, got a bandage, and was told to keep it “extra-extra safe”.  Missed an AP history test for this.  The doctor felt it, asked what hand I write with and made some god-awful “that’s not good” face.  I wonder if I should be worried.

I have to keep my hand wrapped to keep me from bumping it on anything.  Can hardly move my fingers, but somehow I”m managing to type– I don’t know how writing will be tomorrow, I’ve already tried– handwriting is a bit iffy, but readable… for the most part.  Sure hope no one wants to cheat off of me tomorrow.

Poetry performance tonight, but I’m not in it.  I’m excited, but I don’t want to see anyone I know and have to explain why my hand is a balloon of bandages.  I’ll have enough of that tomorrow.  I’m thinking about wearing a jacket and keeping my hands in my pockets.  Not a bad idea, really.  Think anyone will notice?

Anyway, fingers tired of typing– covered in scratches from pulling my cat out of the tree because he didn’t recognize my dog with a hair cut.

Love, guys.

<3

Apparently I have enough time to update my post tag list, nothing new in the land of N yet, trying to figure out how I’m going to interlink all of my story’s into movuies and stuff.

Dear Kiddo,

Today is another 19th… Some months it passes and I notice days later. Today, I must‘ve dreamt about you, cause I woke up and my first thought was: YOU. And you just wouldn‘t leave my mind all day.

My beautiful little Sky. I miss you so much that I can‘t even put it in words… Another 19th without you by my side. The 27th since you‘re gone. I sat in the car driving home today and looked at the time: it was 15:07. Your time. The time where I held you. Once and never again.

Your little cousin would have a ball with you. She‘s a babbling whirlwind and the two of you would have teamed up to get all the treats from Granny & Grandpa. You would have kept me and Sister pretty busy, creating a weekly hubbub on our family-dinners.

I visited them today. Last time you met her was when she laid on my preggo belly right after she was born. You kicked her butt, remember? I am sure you do. I hope you watch out after her, too… Sometimes she pronounces words, as if she‘s a native english-speaker. We laugh then – and I think about you. Maybe that‘s you sending a sign through her. Maybe I am just kidding myself to feel better. But anyway – whatever helps is fine with me…

I will light all candles tonight and think about you. Wherever you are, I hope you‘re happy and without pain. I hope to see you again in my dreams (and hope to remember it). I love you to the moon and back times 27.

Love,
Mommy

“OPENING NIGHT DEFEAT” Oil and graphite on paper – Courtesy of the FANTOM FACTION

Crazy new record from Stat Quo produced by Sha Money XL, Ghetto U.S.A.  I’m sure this will pop up on Stat’s upcoming release Statlanta, just a question of when Aftermath will release it.

Ghetto U.S.A. – Stat Quo

Today is one of those days where everything is hard. I am a weepy, passive-aggressive, grumpy lady. Just waiting for somebody to say something unjust to me so I can freak out, have a hissy fit and jump up and down. I was at the supermarket recently when a toddler threw a circus-worthy tantrum. Right in line at the cashier (yes, beside the sweets) he threw himself on the floor, kicked around and screamed a blood-curdling scream. I was tempted to join him. Isn‘t it a shame we can‘t do that as adults anymore?

Hmm… Sometimes people have the impression that Sky‘s death has made me tougher than before. As in: no taxes could bother me when I‘ve already buried my son. No bureaucracy is ever going to affect me because I have been through so much worse.

True, I have been through much worse than my recent officialdom madness. The last three years were an assembly line full of life-changing, traumatic events (LCTE). The cherry on top was the stillbirth of my son. Now does that make me seem invincible? And: why would it make me stronger? Because I simply survived and did not kill myself?

I wonder if people see it more as a lightning-doesn‘t-strike-twice thing? As if I could live freely right now because I already have the worst things behind me… („Worst“ being a very open term, there‘s alway room for worse…)

- survived natural disaster? check
- have been assaulted? check
- stillborn kid? check

The list goes on… Well, even if I had been struck by lightning before, I would still not run around on the open field during a thunderstorm. Because if I expose myself to a certain situation I need to live with the dangers and the possible outcome. 

For example: I always loved traveling and have a lot of it under my belt. No matter how remote the place, how unstable the government, how risky the area. I took precautions as far as I could, developed a street-smartness and hoped for the best. (Forgive me if I’m making up words). I expected to be in trouble one day. When the LCTE arose, I dealt with it. The lesson learned: Bookmark hurricanewatch-website and always carry candles and snacks in the backpack. I still carry my little keyring torch for always being prepared for a power-outage. Call me McGyveress…

 But when I was pregnant, I obviously didn‘t bookmark a page called „1000thingsthatcankillyourbaby.com“. Now, that I know at least 1001 tales of reasons why babies die, I just want to stick my head in the sand (though I would certainly choose an exotic location).

My divorce is a slowpoke compared to a snail. Nothing is happening, besides me paying and paying. I wonder if I ever make it through? I am sick of waiting for court-dates, lawyer-calls and translation-fees. I am sick that he is awol and I have to pay the price. One thing I love my lawyer for: She integrated Sky in the papers. When I was surprised reading it, she responded: He was no less, than if he‘d be here today. Word, I just didn’t expect her to think that way.

Now, I guess I lost my point. Fact is, I don‘t feel stronger than before. I even feel weaker, as if the slightest problem (taxes, insurance, work-bullshit) can throw me out of my path immediately. PMS will make me into a weeping mess. My skin is so thin that it takes less impact to hurt. That’s why Anna‘s post hit the nail today… As if you’d tear off the scab of a fresh wound and pinch the delicate layer of skin underneath. Ouch.

Two years ago, the road ahead of me was scattered with stones life threw in my way. There was everything between gigantic boulders and small pebbles. I have been so busy dragging them to the side and kicking them out of the way to clear my path. And now I feel drained. Tired. Sick.

Sick of my life. I lost my son to death, my husband to drugs, my optimism to life and my travel-budget to divorce. I am surrounded by happy friends with living kids, which can be hard to bear at times. As much as I love them, they show me all I have lost. And I feel like I am walking around on eggshells, hunching my shoulders and anxiously waiting for the next brick to fall on my head.

Dear Universe, please be gentle with me. I know there will be more bricks falling in the future. C‘est la vie. But please, could you make them lighter ones? And just throw one at a time? I think I deserve a little breather from all the LCTE-madness you‘ve sent my way. Take it easy on me for a while, will you?