What to Talk About

There are just a handful – very few – people to whom I refuse to speak. Sometimes it’s because their behavior has been criminal. No point in mincing words, but I prefer not to speak to criminals. They all get cut off at some point in time.

Like the couple that stole $30 from my purse here at this AirBnB while I was distracted, then asked to borrow $30 from me. No point in causing a scene, so I’ll cut them off later, and play nice for now. I actually did loan them $40 because I only had $20s on me, since they’d stolen a $20 and two $5s moments prior, knowing they’d either return the same two $20s the next day, or keep those, too. Undeserved charity to two lazy people who complain about the state of the world while watching TV and smoking cigarettes. God forbid they look for a job! Grifters… They returned the two $20s thinking I trust them now. I don’t.

Point being, those who are eventually cut off from my little bubble of existence are cut off for good reason – mostly.

There are a few – just a few – who are cut off simply due to their association with criminals. They themselves haven’t done anything wrong; but, their relation to criminals, whether convicted or not, is a risk I’d prefer to cut from my world. It’s a shame, because I liked them, but… they’re not my family.

As I am not married, my family is very small, consisting only of my two children, their spouses, and any children that may come forth. My mother was taken by criminals in 1962. My father, Mr. Miller, died naturally at the age of 89. Anyone not fitting that description is not my family, though they claim otherwise.

Let me be clear… kidnapping is a crime. So is murder, blackmail, theft, rape, assault, and harassment. In fact, all of those crimes are felonies in the scope of my situation, up to and including the woman with the pregnant rat under her coat. It didn’t take long for it to make its presence known. Rat poison killed it before it was able to give birth – and long before it could damage my property. That’s felony harassment. Shame on you, lady.

In fact, shame on all of you pushy people who just don’t want to get the message. Guilt by association – sorry, but that’s just the way it is. With billions of people in the world, I’d think you could replace me with someone of equal charm and greater interest in being your friend.

Think about it… what on earth would we talk about? I have no interest in a conversation with you, no interest in your life or your opinions. I have no interest in working with you artistically or otherwise, so what is it that you want with me? Trying to make me believe God is angry with me for… for what? Not joining your sister’s church or any other church? Being omnitheistic? Reading Tarot cards? Believing in magic (aka prayer)?

God isn’t angry with me. He might be angry with you, but I know he’s not angry with me. I keep his Commandments – even beyond the first ten. So, what else do you want to talk about? Why I’m not married?

I seriously doubt you have, in your circle of friends, a man I would find attractive. We’re not birds of a feather, and I don’t like you. So, even if he were attractive, his association with you is immediately disqualifying. It’s not hate, it’s dislike – big difference. I don’t hate you. If you want the truth, I feel nauseated around you. I don’t know why.

I am offended by your sister’s demand that I join her church via those two faux religious zealots in Central California. Oh, you thought I didn’t know… I’ve known all along about that association, D. I am even more offended by your cousin’s repeated demand that I marry that son of a politician so that she could get rich. Human trafficking is a felony crime with no statute of limitations.

Worse yet, I am offended by your other cousin – the politically connected one – who blackmailed me in the 1990s. She’ll deny it, of course. She was the first to be cut off. Her two oldest sisters followed. The one sweet sister was just a measure of safety. I’m sure she’s innocent, but… let’s face it… you people are not my family. Plain and simple. It’s time for you to accept that fact.

It’s also time for you to leave me alone before the next ill-advised thing you do proves your association to this harassment I’ve been experiencing. I’m very busy, and would prefer not to have to sue the estates of your father and uncle. Money has never motivated me toward an action. I have enough talent to make plenty of money by putting my time and energy toward other, more productive endeavors. But, if it gets to the point that I am 100% certain of your involvement, I will have no choice. And I will consider the entire process a huge waste of my time and energy, even if I win – which I will, since I never fight battles I can’t win.

I could say all those things to your face(s), but what’s the point in trying to speak when I know it will evolve into a shouting match – with your side doing all the shouting? You know… that very ordinary weapon used by all sociopaths – whomever shouts the loudest wins… That’s why I will only fight in a courtroom.

What’s there to talk about? Oh, we have A LOT to talk about, and I think it would take up too much of the time I have left on this planet. But, if you really want to talk about it, we will do so in the presence of a federal court judge. Otherwise, I just really have no interest in your life, your world, or your people.

I will leave you with one last thought… People often make decisions based upon personal bias – especially when they have too little data to make a truly informed decision. The outcome of those decisions can be either good or bad, depending simply upon luck. So, you can make a bad decision for whatever reason – Machiavellian or not – or a good decision. And, while you may believe you’ve made a good decision, it may actually be a bad one. This is something all executives know is part of their job.

There are four possible outcomes: bad decision + bad luck, bad decision + good luck, good decision + bad luck, and good decision + good luck. So, what is luck? In my opinion, that’s where God comes into play. Thus, ask yourself… have I done anything to offend God? Key word is “I”. The answer can be found by reading your Bible with an open heart and open mind. For example… the 9th commandment goes way beyond that one line, well into so much as thinking about being fraudulent. Suffice it to say that the Bible and Machiavelli’s “the Prince” contain some very opposing strategies, both of which can accomplish the same earthly goal. It’s all a matter of allegiance – and whose luck you really want: God’s? Or Machiavelli’s?

Dear Stalkers

Yes, you… New England boy with the pleasant voice and brilliant mind. Well, maybe not you, per se, intentionally, but your boss(es). You’re a nice man. I enjoyed our conversations.

I suspected you a few years ago, prior to Facebook hacking
my account for who knows why… maybe because I spilled the beans about the plandemic having been just that at least 40 years ago, if not more.

Beans, beans, beans, and more beans.

Politics and the price of beans – both are in the clouds these days as things go; and I don’t care. I do, however, care that I’m being stalked and harassed by your crazy co-workers whose identities you probably don’t even know.

SO… I scattered some beans and built a virtual wall.

Yup, I turned off “Location” on my Droid, and got a VPN for the pewter. That’s what smart people do when Cruella deVil wannabes with faux names of similar meaning to my own pathetically beg for my friendship in the most uncivilized demanding manner at the local winery.

I’d only been there 20 minutes – how did she know where to find me?

There’s no need to drive in this lovely Oregon mountain community with more wineries than churches or restaurants. How did she know I was there? Probably the same way she knew to find me at a waterfall 14 miles out in the wilderness on a rainy full moon evening. I passed her car on the way back after being there only 15 minutes. She must have just been taking the unpaved fire roads to the nearest WalMart – certainly not driving out that way to confront me with a poorly practiced Cruella impersonation like she did last Saturday. “What have we here…”. I can’t help but laugh… I mean, seriously? “What have we here…”?

That woman is one scary Blitch (spelling intended).

Yes, folks, for less than a dollar a month, anyone can track anyone else’s phone location for any reason. America is in dire need of regulations on that kind of thing, which will never happen because some politicians seem to believe themselves to be herd dogs. Speaking of which, January 6… Thanks for the invitation, but anyone with a modicum of tech knowledge could see it was a set-up. I am so ashamed of our country right now, feeling like a parent scolding two toddlers fighting over a board game.

“Behave! Both of you! You will either play fair, or there will be no dessert for a week!”

“But he cheated!”

“Bleu, cheating is never worth it. Think about it this way… a real win is much more satisfying than a false one.”

“Well, he cheated last time we played.”

“Redd, is that true?”

“No, not last time, but maybe the time before, before the time before that.”

“Same thing. Why do you two cheat each other when playing fairly together can be so much more fun? I don’t understand.”

[Downcast eyes and a long period of silence until both speak at the same time…]

“Hush! Just hush! Mommy loves you both, and I want you to grow up to be productive, respectable adults. Cheating is simply not respectable. The whole world will reject you if you cheat.”

“Will you reject us?”

“Never. I will always love you no matter what, but I have to say that I feel hurt and disappointed when you disturb the peace of this household with all these squabbles. Please try to exhibit with absolute clarity that neither of you even want to cheat. And by all means don’t use accusations of cheating as a tool to manipulate me. If I catch you doing that, I’ll take the game away entirely. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am”

“How about let’s put the game away for now and go bowling?”

“Yea!!!”

Nothing could speak more truth than the actions behind words. And since my actions thus far have not been clear enough, let me spell it out for you and answer those repetitive questions your people keep asking:

  1. I cannot be provoked to any level of violence. Please see ORS 166-065, ORS 163-190, and ORS 163-165. I now have two witnessed incidents and one non-witnessed assault with photos of the injury she caused. It might be time for your girl to back off, given that the last cited statute is a felony. All she has to do is… spill the beans.
  2. I am not, have never been, and will never be a prostitute. With three college degrees and substantial tech training, why would I even think about that as a career choice?
  3. Like all other normal people, I vehemently oppose involuntary human trafficking of any sort.
  4. Some people want or need to be prostitutes, and I do not fault them for it, but I prefer to live in a brothel free zone.
  5. I am 100% heterosexual, though it is none of your business.
  6. I am a post menopausal female – where did you get that I might be a “trannie” as he put it?
  7. Marriage is a spiritual sacrament, not a civic duty, so quit pushing me to marry for any reason other than that one.
  8. Yes, I have met that Anti-Christ Wannabe, so quit asking.
  9. I’ve never purchased cosmetics on Amazon.
  10. I lived on Clearview from 1968 to 1982; and it wasn’t in a tent prior to 1972.
  11. I am not a clone, as indicated by my Ancestry results (oh, brother!).
  12. I’ll sue when I feel like it, given the lack of a statute of limitations on this core issue.
  13. I love knowing the spawn of Satan is worried about it enough to pull all these stunts! LOL!!!

You boys are digging yourselves in pretty deep! I’m sure by now you need new shovels, so here’s my itinerary: Taxco, Cancun, Panama City, Rio, Argentina, South Africa, Melbourne, NZ, Thailand, Singapore, Bora Bora, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, UK, France, Spain, Portugal, Spain, France, UK, New York. That’s quite a number of Blitches to set up… best of luck there. I depart from SFO in January, though my VPN will continue to say I’m in Seattle – a city I’ve never visited. It’s going to be a trip!

So, sugarplum, I won’t be calling you back. And, btw, give my thanks to your bosses for the free rent.

Finally, yes, I know the majority of readers will have no clue what I’m talking about, and most won’t care. They will, like normal people, laugh it off as the musings of a wordsmith. Those that actually do understand will laugh and say to me “what are you talking about?” Human nature. Guilty dogs always bark first.

Clinical Reduction

Funny thing, the wisdom of moving on…
It seems so clinical. So… I don’t know…
cynical, perhaps.

I don’t know.

I wonder about life coaches…
with the right questions to help me
make the right choice.

Just let go.

But, I’m a poet! I am an actor!
I am a musician! I feel my art!
How can I feel my art without its essence?

Take it slow.

I know! I’ll put it in a little box,
and take it with me,
hide it from myself until I need to sing.

Don’t say hello.

Don’t wonder how he is.
Don’t hope for his happiness.
Certainly not for his sadness.

Don’t want to know.

That’s not the point, really…
It’s more of a universe thing…
A collective attunement… I feel.

So?

So, we were friends…
friends of the strangest sort…
like a thickness spread too thin.

It was a glow.

Yes! Surrounded by shadow.
All my shadows… my monsters…
my “handlers”… my crazy, crazy people.

Go with the flow.

Yes, well… I think I’ll flow into sleep about now.
Busy day tomorrow.

Looking forward to the next 21 days!
New songs, new muses, new thoughts,
Renewed synapses, better art!

Uh Oh

I just realized tonight that some folks reading my poetry might take it seriously. A poet’s job is an interesting one – especially to me as an actor. I observe my own thoughts, having learned to do so as a character development method. So… what I write in poetry, whether good or bad poetry, whether positive or negative, are all just thoughts. I don’t always believe what I think, if that makes any sense.

“what are you thinking?” I think everyone thinks that is an invasive question. “It’s the thought that counts…” No, I disagree. Just as in playing a role on stage or in film, it’s the action that counts.

Thoughts are just that… thoughts… words that come into the mind to describe the current emotion. Fear, lust, love, longing, rage, disgust, wonder, awe, inspiration. These are, in general, the emotions I have from time to time. Sometimes it’s pure imagination.

I especially love those poetry prompts that challenge us to write a poem containing specific words. Those always develop into fun stories for me… like the woman at the bar in Colorado who meets the guy with the periwinkle pin. Gumboots was the hardest word to weave into that one, but I made it work.

Here lately, I’ve been examining emotions I’ve buried for three decades, trying to make sense of it all. My love for him. Real, genuine love. Why it’s still there after all these years. My treacherous emotional baggage. OMG! My own fear of rejection. Rationalizations that are most likely far removed from reality. Projections based upon past experiences. All that STUFF. Just stuff.

I realized something, though… I realized what motivates me most is love. It’s what motivates me to make a move, to make a change, to improve, and to create. Love doesn’t always mean stay. Sometimes love means run away. Caring about oneself and others sometimes leads to the need to escape.

I haven’t escaped entirely – and by that, I mean escaped my treacherous childhood. That needs fixing. It is my hope that everyone has grown up enough to stare the truth right in the face without quivering. I can.

I’m going to call that man from 30 years ago just to say hello. No expectations. He was dear to me, so, at my age, and his age, what is there to lose or gain by just seeing how he’s been all these years? I would rather risk rejection if he finds my call a bother, than regret not having made the call at all.

My instinct tells me not to call. Ok. I won’t call. It would be better if he called me, wouldn’t it.

Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts.

I never know what to believe!

Ok, so who was the guy from 30 years ago? I’ll drop a few hints. I refer to him as “the music man” obviously. But as far as I know, he never starred in the musical by the same name. He played guitar, and had a voice like Adam Duritz and like Robert Plant. And he kind of looks like this movie star I’ve seen but never met. Beautiful man, inside and out.

He definitely wasn’t one of the rich ones who demanded I marry them (how romantic). One of those said to me “when we get married, it’s going to be my way or the highway.” I took the I-10 east to New York. Poor guy, he otherwise was very sweet, but big mistake to announce a lack of a collaborative attitude on our third (and last) date. Funny in retrospect, though. Just think! I could have been a miserably rich Houston socialite! Aaaaannnnndddd… probably get caught having an affair with the music man. He was truly irresistible.

My music man had a good job. We met at a party at his house in 1989. Or was it 1990? I don’t recall the year – just that it was the only Superbowl party I’d ever attended. His wife to be approached me the same day, upset over my presence there. Hmmm… note to self – be possessive. NOT. Sorry, Can’t. Jealous, yes. But not possessive. On the other hand, isn’t that two sides of the same rusty penny? Whatever…

He married her. They had kids. So, what is up with my subconscious mind that I still have this giant torch for him? Is this the torture God has in mind for all poets? Unrequited love? I have to laugh, because it’s so unbearably ridiculous to blame it on God. Obviously, it’s my own fault. Ah, then again, he’s a little at fault, too. I have a feeling he still loves me.

So, what am I supposed to do in a situation like this one? What, exactly? What would any other normal human being do? Call him and say “hey, by the way, do you still love me, because I really can’t even begin to get you off my mind, and it is driving me crazy.” ? LOL! Sounds like something out of a movie. Like Sleepless In Seattle where they’re drawn together by their thoughts.

The day we met, I’d given my son a haircut, and accidentally sucked the wedding band part of my wedding ring up into the vacuum cleaner. It was before the party. The thought occurred to me at that moment “God is telling me I’m not married anymore.” I’ll never forget it. Serendipity.

Maybe I should go out and buy another wedding ring and a vacuum cleaner – recreate history. [That’s a joke, just in case someone wants to spin me crazy.]

Crazy… speaking of which… define it. What is crazy? Fatal attraction – that’s crazy. SO crazy, no matter what the gender of the offender. That movie, while very good, forever put women in a pickle. We can’t let men know we like them, much less love them lest they think we might make soup out of their cat! AND YET… statistically, it’s men who are more likely to go postal on a break up.

I wrote a poem about men once, claiming they don’t feel. I was mistaken. I never really liked that poem. I don’t know why I ever repeated it or read it out loud. “Hurt people hurt people.” That was me being hurt, and I am so very sorry if my words hurt anyone.

Men do feel. They feel very deeply. I think more deeply than I, as a woman, could ever fathom. I see them now as these beautiful candy shells hiding sweetness that I don’t know how to find. I think I grew up knowing only the ones that were hurt, who had that extra cracked shell leaking a bitter layer of resentment against those who had hurt them. Some with bitterness that spewed everywhere, covering the world in a black muck, making us all seem bitter.

Maybe I’ll cut my hair like my mother’s, and just not go platinum. Maybe we’ll cross paths at Costco. I’d come back to Texas if it meant being with you – but do we have to stay? It’s hot!! How about winter in Texas and summer in New England or Oregon? Or year round in the highlands of Panama?

For now, though, I’m headed to Thailand for the spring. I think my stalkers need a vacation someplace nice. Fella’s, you surely must be tired of sunny Oregon winters. My phone will be on as usual, so you won’t have any problems tracking me. I’m going to a lovely place, but can’t recall the name. It’s this city on the border of Laos. I’ll be the one with the long brown hair with the solid blue bathing suit and Fendi sunglasses sipping a MaiTai. LOVE those! See you in paradise!

How to Approach a Lady

I could probably wrap this simplicity
into a multitude of texts,

but as for me…

I might be vexed with a sharp tongue;
yet sweet lips await the smile of true love.

True love…

What is true love,
but a seed buried just deep enough

to bloom.

A lady doesn’t bite,
but we do nip nasty in the bud

following karma’s last act.

More Fame Than I Want

Listen, not gentlemen with more money than common sense…
I am not interested in your type.

What type is that?

The type that would pay web algorithm developers to send me smut
disguised as Amazon’s “Based upon your shopping interests.”

My Amazon shopping interests do not include cosmetics,
particularly not oddly shaped lipsticks.

I purchase all my cosmetics from Chanel.
Their lipsticks are all shaped quite normally.

I purchase these cosmetics with my own money,
earned through legal means

Via my intellect, not the advantage of my gender.

I know who you are, and I am not impressed by your bank accounts.
Never have been. Never will be. You’re not my type.

My type is a gentleman. My type has a soul.

So, please quit wasting your money.
Please quit wasting my time.

Please quit.

Just quit disturbing my peace and tranquility with your …
I’m sorry… there’s not a word for that in any language.

Just please go away.

Kind regards,

Joy

Update: immediately following this post, my phone and computer were suddenly and inexplicably free of ads for sex toys and crass purchase opportunities. Thank you. I am honored that you actually read my poetry, though these years of stalking have been annoying.

The world is changing, as I knew it would. We’ve been evolving as a culture of humans (collectively in all our separate cultures) toward a better understanding of truth vs propaganda. More and more, people view the mainstream with one eye closed, thinking of Hitler, of McCarthy, and of the 1960s. It won’t be long before 1962 and 1963 are straightened out. For heaven’s sake, my high school principal was the first to tell me she had always been suspicious of the events of August, 1962 — way back in 1978.

So… fellas. I’m taking my time because watching the process of change is so very interesting. That day will come when hate will not accompany truth. It’s not here yet. You have to evolve first. Leaving me alone is a step in the right direction.

I would next appreciate the return of my Facebook page, intact, exactly as it was when you hacked it nearly two years ago.

Meanwhile, have a wonderful holiday season! Happy Thanksgiving! Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukah! Happy everything related to the winter solstice. It’s a beautiful time of year, and I genuinely hope you enjoy it with those you love.

Kind regards,

Joy

Princess Piqueé

Once upon a time…

Here we go again with that trite line

Once upon a time in a land far…

Oh, please… seriously? For God’s sake, make it real.

Ok, fine… this chick in the good ol’ US of A…

I like “Princess” better… this priceless princess… that works.

May I get to the point please?

Yes. Go ahead.

Ok. This somewhat snobby princess with a laundry list of…

Now you have your audience thinking in terms of
dirty clothes and dirty laundry,
like you’re washing off the mud.

Well, maybe I am… may I please just be creative here?

Yes, of course. Go ahead.

Ok. A grown woman in Oregon who left Texas, New York, Florida, and California for many reasons, one of which was the flagging culture in all of them, decided to write a poem about all the reasons she has ended, or not even begun relationships with men…

Sounds interesting. Useful to the broken hearted.

Yes. Thank you. Anyway, she wrote down this list she’d planned to use to develop a script, and realized what a good poem it would make, but her busybody muse that day kept interrupting and she lost her train of thought.

Uh… sorry. Keep going. I’ll shut up.

Fine. Thank you.

I don’t think I want to hear this.

Then, don’t read it…

La la la la la… not listening.

Well, when you’re in a better mood, here’s the list. YOU write the damned poem!

Smoking anything! Wandering eyes An erection in public Wedding ring Wedding ring tan line Too much tanning Drunkenness Loud voice Too many “buddies” around Absurd pickup lines Too much cologne Bad teeth Dirty fingernails Foul language Poor taste in clothing Dirty shoes Lipstick on the collar A “too familiar” woman Pre-occupation with his phone Glancing in the mirror Slamming a shot glass down onto the bar Bathroom behavior in public Dirty bathroom Dirty kitchen Unmatched dishes Inability to cook Flashing expensive car keys Mentioning his expensive car / house / stock portfolio Mentioning his girlfriend Mentioning his wife Married, married, married Mentioning his cohabitating girlfriend Lack of interest in the arts Excessive interest in sports Lack of education Disdain for educated people Pre-occupation with net worth Messy house / car Personal hygiene issues Underwear showing Acting too familiar too soon Not calling enough Calling too much Waiting too long to call Annoying voice Self-absorption No creative outlet Couch potato Lack of ambition Discouraging commentary Armchair psychiatry Fear of dirt and natural living things (spiders, etc.) Doesn’t like music / movies / theater Too many prescriptions Poor dietary habits Manipulative behaviors Unkind behavior toward anyone

Dang Woman! Demanding much?

 

Loving the Rain

Rain, then sun came today.
It’s finally getting cold after weeks of sleepy heat.
Afternoon doldrums at eighty-five, despite the A/C.

Snow in the mountains, quenched the Cascade fire,
I hope… the smoke was pleasant, yet, well, smoky.

Austin calls to me, my baby boy, music, theater,
all that I am – except for the heat and floods.

Best Mexican food in the country, that’s for sure.
Austin, except scary people live nearby.
Will they leave me alone?

France – maybe Bordeaux, except I don’t speak the language.
Bilbao, perhaps? Spain is nice.
Spain is sane… so far as I can see.

I watch the rain, and wonder where to find peace.
But at least the forest isn’t burning anymore.

Strange as it Seems

The angst… painful lessons, all…
but so appreciated!

Demons and angels among you
all led me to this point of gratitude.

Strange as it seems.

And so, you are released with love
and blessings, those who came with love.

You are banished forever,
those who came with lies and deception;
yet banished with gratitude.

You were the road signs, the stop lights,
the warning signals, even when mixed.

You were the catalysts and the explosions.

You, precious ones, were the embodiment
of Christ – yes, that one… the divine masculine.

Strange as it seems.

The doors are closed, sealed, and dis-integrated.
Replaced with grace, and self-love.

As we move forward in space and time
with all of us as one,
my soul prepares for the next life,
though I hope for forty more of this…
this journey to find love…
not knowing all along that it is me!

My Bad

He did it on purpose…
driving me crazy to feed his ego.
Oh, how clear I see it now,
thirty years hence.

“Call me! I dare you!
Call me on that number
listed online. I’ll listen,
then remain proud
behind your back.”

Oh, love, it’s tempting.
We of the poetic bent
believe in love despite
our perceived insanity.

“She thinks she knows my soul.”

I know your soul,
precious son of…

“I won,” he’ll think.
“she hates me.”

Son of the universe,
I don’t hate you.
I resonated with you.

Like all of us,
I wanted it to be love.

So glad to finally see
this isn’t love.
No… just the physics
of human vibration.

Two soul bubbles intersected
on an identical wavelength,
amplifying the pattern in me
to the point that I felt it –
like electricity across my chest.

Strangest thing ever,
but it wasn’t love.

You’re right… I barely knew you,
but the vibrations were
something like that Brian Adams song –
the one in the snow that you told me about

the last time we saw us together.

Yes, you won, my love.
You win.

I’m gone. Finally! Really!

Took me forever to figure it out…

NOT!

Oh brother! I was in a sad mood.

He’s not like that. I know he’s not like that. Sometimes I wish I could give myself a reason, as do all in this situation. I have to laugh at myself when I recall these moods. Like one part of my mind telling the part that guides my heart that it’s entirely wrong and irrational. Let it be. Observe it. All things are for one reason or another – none of which anyone will ever really know.

 

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