I want to write about happy things but me and my partner are not talking because of:
• - money
• - him not ever apologizing

He wanted to order pizza. I mentioned the vegetarian kind from one place and he made pissed off motions because he wanted to get a family �deal� that was more expensive at another place.
I had reservations about spending that much money in the first place; we just spent $100 on pot, isn�t that enough for him? It feels like he�s not happy until all the money�s gone. All . . . that�s a laugh.
It�s funny how I say one little thing and he gets all defensive . . .
I�m tired of being the only one with fckn sense here. Him, it�s spend, spend, spend. He should have latched on to someone with more money than me. It�s been two months now and he still hasn�t phoned the guy he briefly worked for who�s been owing him $300.
We need to buy a car, but he makes no effort. We have no cultural life but he doesn�t care, he just turns the tv on.
It feels like he lied to me when we first started hanging out together . . . he agreed wholeheartedly on tv being crap and not wanting to live the average no-mind all american lifestyle.
I guess I probably lied too, about being someone who didn�t care; he liked that about me. Well, I do care now, and I�m fckn tired of this apathy that gets nowhere.
He should be my partner, not a weight.
All he wants to do is watch tv. I want to do spiritual things like, what? I don�t know because there�s no one to do anything with. He doesn�t want to do anything I want to do. He wants to watch WWF for chrissakes. If I had known about this day when I met him, I wouldn�t have stayed and would have proceeded with my trip to Mexico with Simon. At least single moms can make decisions without someone else�s influence. I would love to live an insulated life of culture but I can�t with someone so tv oriented.
This is all reinforcing my notion that I shouldn�t speak my mind, especially when it pertains to a man�s betterment. Would he understand this? No. I don�t think he ever really understood me and it�s my fault for believing he was on the same path as me.
None of what I just wrote reflects what I truly feel.
I�m on welfare, I shouldn�t have to support a grown man. The grown man shouldn�t whine if I don�t want to spend money on pizza.
I feel trapped, I feel pulled down, I feel drowned.
He never talks with me, especially about his mistakes which he thinks he never makes. It�s always my fault. It�s always me that has emotional outbursts. I�m always the one that seeks to improve.
I tell the truth: �you�re not confrontational� and �pizza�s too expensive.�
He gets pissed off so it�s my fault.

Later

I wrote a bunch of crap, now I don�t know what to write. I felt unhappy about myself and I projected onto my husband. I know I was hypercritical . . . we both need improving.
Being poor makes me depressed.
Well, at least I just wrote my rants instead of assaulting him with verbal abuse.
At least there�s that.

there was a huge smoke pillar towering to the sky. The clouds above were roiling and flashing. I saw people going towards it and disappearing within. I did not want to go in there so I didn�t.

Dream

I saw a man with breasts. I don�t remember anything else.

Tie-rant. Tyrant. Ha ha ha.
The owner of the Tim Horton's where I used to work was quoted in the paper as saying, �we�ve spent thousands of dollars . . . cleaning up the vandalism� re: graffiti. He said that he won�t help the neighboring high school with yearbook costs if the vandals continue.
What an asshole.
Why can�t we have spontaneous colorful murals here and there? Why do the walls have to remain grey? Why do business people have a need to destroy anything creative? It�s the business type jerks in our world that make it frustrating for anybody who�s real.

My family ties are weak and frayed. There is no sense of belonging nor is there any need to.
Enough poetry, here�s the shit:

My mom�s husband threatened to beat me and my husband. Here�s the scene: the two men were watching a hockey game while me and my son were finishing dinner and my mom was washing up in the kitchen. My son mentioned he�d like to be a cop when he grows up. I said that cops are the modern version of the ancient warrior, and I quoted a line from Celtic folklore, �a true warrior protects the weak, and the strong fear him.�. Well, the ol� �stepdad� just went ballistic. He yammered about not being �afraid of no cops� along with various profanities before threatening, �if you don�t shut up, I�ll punch you.� he turned to my partner, �you too if you try to do anything�.
�Hey, it�s your house�
�damn right it�s my house� He proceeded to fume around the apartment, muttering how it�s still the same as when I was a teenager. He went to complain to my mom about me and she actually told him to fck off. That�s when his poor little baby pride got hurt and he grabbed his sports bag and split. We were planning that night on going to our friend�s birthday at a bar where she organized a punk rock show. We did not miss it.
We haven�t been back, we haven�t phoned and my mom didn�t phone until nine months later to tell us when she�ll be coming to bring the christmas present for her grandson. She puts me on the spot by asking if her husband can speak to me; I reluctantly consented, thinking he might actually apologize (weirder things have happened). What�s the first thing out of his mouth? �Hi brat.�
No apology.
You jerk. You don�t threaten me for no reason, then call me a brat.
I hate this crap. I hate the guy my mom married and I hate his son.
I met his son at fourteen when I ran away for a week. We went steady then my mom and his dad met. We all lived together, me, my mom, my boyfriend and his dad. After a few months it was my ex-boyfriend I shared a house with. That�s a fckd up life for a teenager.
I wish I never ran away, I wish I never met that first boyfriend, but I ran away from my parents� and my brother�s bullshit.
The story many kids feel: �they always criticize what I do, they never see the truth in my actions.�
Actions resulting from dysfunctional family environments.

I think the exclusivity of some �groovy� scenes are due to an imbalanced social order.
Explain.
Ok.
Our common culture is based on fear and hoarding. Amerika has stockpiles of ammunition, gold and money. �Groovy� people are against that kind of thinking. So am I. I see a scene of the enlightened kind that reject pop culture yet exhibit the same behavior pattern as the classic upper class, the reluctancy of bringing newcomers to their gatherings.
So here�s a group trying to break free of the deathkulture. They want to create their new culture based on hemp, vegetarian cuisine, drumming and the assorted new agey type stuff, but they�re surrounded by pop culture in the form of yuppies, aging �right-wingers� and �basic families�, and they�re probably afraid of being �invaded� . . . why, who the hell knows.
So what does all that have to do with the unbalanced social order? I don�t know; I had it, then as I wrote, I forgot. It doesn�t really matter anyway.
We know a scene that�s loosely connected in this town. Our scene is basic people. They�re not vegetarian, they�re not anti-logging, they�re not anything except just trying to make ends meet.
I�m trying to write but I feel mentally congested.
I�m not sure what I�m feeling. I feel suspended. In limbo.
All I do is sit and stare. Why?
I think of my childhood family and I feel no comfort. I feel really sad when I think of my family not ever accepting my style and not ever truly loving me by respecting what I had to say.
What did my parents expect of me? When I was a kid I expected myself to become an animal doctor and artist. When I was a teenager I expected direction. I knew I wanted to draw and do creative artistic kind of things but did not get the right direction, I did not meet the right people.
I feel like a failure because I did not fit in naturally like my family did.

Even the Goddess seeks help in order to help me.

Torn asunder
locked within
- boxed in -
chained down

Why the hell do I feel that way? My partner loves me and I love him. We have a beautiful son who also loves us. What we lack is a place in society.
We lack employment.
We are poor.
Welfare takes care of the rent, but it doesn�t help you.
I have a lot of potential. Here�s my potential so far: airbrush clothes and hardly sell any for twelve years, make dreamcatchers for six and haven't finished assorted projects.

Queen of cups: holder of a holy grail. Vivid imagination endows her with vision.

She is crossed by an ace of pentacles, the power to achieve material comfort.

She used to cry at the nine swords above her,

she will receive divine teachings, like a hierophant.

What she has is judgement.

What she wants is . . . ten swords in the back? (Reversed) unfavorable criticism.

King of cups (reversed), she is intense and merciless, unrelenting thirst for power and wisdom.

Magician (reversed) around her is deception, nervousness, forgetfulness, failure.

She hopes and fears being original, fearless and ready to defend her convictions with nine wands.

Eight cups (reversed) outcome of these is temporary success without gain, �journeying from one place to another without purpose or interest�.

Summary

the �quest for the holy grail� affects my state of mind, reminds me of the Goddess�s work.
The queen�s power of vision is influenced by the power to bring material comfort. The power to bring material comfort conflicts with the power of the holy grail.
Does it?
My mom doesn�t seem to care about me anymore, even though she gave me her old computer.
My grandpa�s $1000 inheritance will bring me employment.
I speak my truth, but my mom misunderstands and criticizes.
I seek to have �rulership� to fulfill my desire of disposing of rulership once and for all. The world around me had inverted my magic.
I�m afraid of having to defend my ideas.
If I don�t stay True, I�ll be aimless.

I guess I�ll write what is on my mind. What�s on your mind? My mom not being my mom anymore. Not that she was ever that cool anyway. . . just that now she doesn�t care that the man she married threatened to punch me in the face because I had recited to her grandson a Celtic saying about warriors after he said he wanted to be a cop when he grows up, �A true warrior protects the weak and the strong fear him.� I hadn�t the chance to explain the old english meaning of fear being respect, because her husband erupted in anger at me and what I said, taking it completely personally, saying crap like,� I�m not afraid of no f**n� cop . . . blah,blah, blah ...You talk back at me and I�ll punch you,� Then he turns to my husband who was watching a hockey game with him, �and you�re not gonna do anything about it�. He just replied, �It�s your house�.
�you bet your ass it�s my house...blah, blah, blah, grumble, grumble,...just like when she was a f**n� teen...� My mom told him to shut up so he took his bag and left in a huff. A few minutes later she drove us to our (true) friends� house and picked us up the next morning to drive us to the ferry. She didn�t talk about what happened. She came for the 40 min. ferry ride and still would not talk about it. She drove us home and stayed for about an hour. She wouldn�t let herself be real until the time came to say goodbye; I hugged her and we cried like that. I think that was the last time we were to be as mother and daughter. Now we are strangers, and it is her husband�s fault. It�s her fault too for letting him call her stupid and �Duh-nyse� and other assorted anti-woman put-downs and dirty, nasty jokes. He is so full of hate and ugly thoughts that I feel like a puritan christian next to him.
In fact, I�m starting to feel more "christian" as the years go by; I�ve always been offended by gratuitous violence and destruction as a child but didn�t know that my feelings were based on truth. My mom should know better now, that her child�s sadness was not unfounded, that her child knew what was right and what was wrong and that the life she saw around her was all wrong. It was full of inadequacies and double standards. My mom should know by now what I stand for, what I�ve always stood for; freedom to be who you are... freedom for those kids that get picked on because they have hobbies and talents... freedom to not be afraid of being alone for introspection. . . freedom to not let any jerk tell you you�re any less than you are. I stand for what too many people got condemned for. . . freedom. . . How do I define freedom? It is having no fear of being laughed at, or being hated thru envy.
In other countries one fights for the freedom to simply tell stories. America seems lulled into thinking it is a free country , and it is, as long as one has the money to be free with. The insidious liar, the stealer of freedom is Envy of the Greed. This personage tries to steal one�s personal power by wanting discouragement, by envisioning one�s downfall and relishing in it. The Envies like nothing more than to destroy one�s works of love. It is a power that can only be defined, and thus nullified, thru poetry.
What do you mean?
There�s a fear of the unknown that permeates our american culture
�no one should have fun if I�m not having a good time�
�no one does anything good for me so why should anyone else have a better life�
Still don�t understand. . .

Why does it seem like some people are �allowed� to be talented and others who get recriminated for the same talent? I�ll tell you why. It�s because kids are trained to be as nazis; they look for the slightest difference in dress or conduct and set it apart to be ridiculed at their leisure. Those kinds of people are the type that wonders why their lives suck and put down anyone that tells them why it sucks. They hate themselves but won�t do anything to change it.
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