Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Life, is it a dream?


It is true; I read the book - "Life is a Dream;" I did this while attending a course in Spanish Literature. This is what I learned: When you are dealing in the throngs of power, beware of the one who wears the "thong" of today. In the story -"life is a dream," this child made the Queen scream so loudly during child birth that the king had him locked up until his 18th birthday without telling him that he was the prince. Shit! if only some one did not tell me that I was a prince, but told me everything else that I needed to know in life, I too would forgive the king for his immaturity. Now that would imply to me that you "should" pop into life as genitally as possible; do not fuck around with mother. Meanwhile,  but not as in my personal case, the prince was instructed in the arts, humanities, and sciences. Also, there was a caveat added to the king's edict; the prince had to understand the "why" of the king; for, if he did not, the king would not let him live. Right! So what am I saying?  OK! This "story" about the prince could be my metaphor or simile, as you like it, into my life's story. In my dream remembrance though Brain Core therapy, this is the new thing in my mental health idiocy in which I'm presently involved. Because, since my mental rapture, my memory is in question on many points of remembrance. So when I am recalling some past event in my life, it is more or less me telling you a story about my life as if I just finished the book - I do not always believe my own memories because I was tortured in prison. Plus, when I got out of prison the community attempted to do their best to interfere with my mental hygiene. I was beaten and raped while I was living in Charleston -yes, there were many more misadventures between being beaten and raped. Yes! You could say that I was "crazy." This is why I went over to the other side. I had no legal rights; the police were never any help as far as I was concerned. They rattled my cage on many occasions. The one thing that I know for sure is that they are not there to protect and serve me in any shape or form. So, the truth is simple -I lost touch with reality because my reality was so toxic. I was on probation in the state of SC, living at 22 Bennett St. I had a bulls eye on my back because I'm the registered felon; I'm on the states most wanted list. I'm living in downtown Charleston. I was easy prey for the perverted predators of the Christianized South. They could stalk me because it was easy to find me. I was living and working in the boarding houses of Charleston. I managed at different times as many as a dozen properties on the peninsula which I rented out the rooms by the day or week. But most of the tenants came and went according to their schedule - People passing through town, looking for a job, testing the waters to see if they could fit into the Charleston seen. Maybe they were taking classes at the College as I was; who knows the what's or why's of the boarding house crowd. I just ran the fucking places because no one else would offer me a job, just Vicky.  What a special woman she was to me. She was the idea behind the "Vickie Lynn" house at 22 Bennett ST. Charleston, SC. 29401