On August 5 2012, Wade Michael Page approached the Sikh Temple of Wisconsin. He entered the temple and fatally shot six people who were there to prepare the Langar, a communal meal. Page also severely wounded one of the responding police officers. Page took his own life after being shot in the stomach by a police officer.
It’s easy enough to chalk this sort of incident up to one unhinged extremist. Page identified as a white supremacist. However, a climate of intolerance creates fertile ground for hate towards others.
Back in the present, Pepper listened to the strains she'd discovered all those years ago. Then they had been the sounds of freedom and rebellion. Now, although her love for these songs had never died, there was something quaint about them, accompanied by a heart-wrenching sense of loss.
Dedicated with love to Malcolm Young for everything he made possible
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Hello, and welcome to another Wordless Wednesday Fail, where the Real Cie shows images (often things she's done in Photoshop) and refuses to comply with the "wordless" part of "Wordless Wednesday".
Youth is wasted on the young. When I bought this album, I was young (fourteen) and super stupid. I think I really believed these guys would be like they are on this album forever. Older than me but still young enough. Sassy, impish, but nowhere in the vicinity of actual evil, like some morons made them out to be. Actually, in spite of the provocative humor, they were really sweet people who just wanted to make the world a more enjoyable place. I loved that about them.
I never thought that less than a year after I bought this album that Bon Scott would be dead.
I could not have imagined that Phil Rudd would end up a meth addict, estranged from the band and in trouble with the law for making foolish, drug-fueled threats towards a person with whom he had a disagreement.
I certainly never thought that Malcolm Young, who created the band, would have his cognitive abilities destroyed to the point where he could no longer remember the works he created, where he didn't know the brother to whom he was so very close, and where he didn't even know who he himself was.
Y'all can't tell me that this plane of existence isn't Purgatory. I'm convinced that it is. Those of us who are stuck here are just trying to get by. Some of us, like these guys, try to make it a little nicer for their fellow inmates.
Maybe if we all learn the lesson that we need to treat each other a little more kindly, we can get out of here.
Today I discovered the spell a day app for Kindle. I have difficulties setting up to do proper spell work in my current circumstances, so I felt this app might come in handy.
The spell I found was for connection with the fairy realm. I met a fairy named Aria. I thanked her for speaking with me and discussed my need for assistance in the physical realm. We will see what happens next.
Istro-Romanian is one of the four dialects of Romanian. There are only a few hundred speakers, mostly aged over 60 years and in the Susjnievica Zejane localities in northern Croatia. When they disappear, it (the dialect) will disappear.
According to UNESCO, Istro-Romanian is one of the European endangered dialects (UNESCO Red Book on endangered languages - Seriously endangered languages).
What is the difference between Istro-Romanians in Istria peninsula on the border of Slovenia 700 years ago and as you speak today? The dialect formed remains a mystery that linguists and historians are still trying to solve. Diversity is all the more astounding as there are significant differences between the two dialects spoken between Istro-Romanians living one side of the mountain Ucka.
Meanwhile, Italians and Slavs made several attempts to claim the dialect and community and Romanians are interested in becoming more than Istro-Romanian.
EXPLICIT DISCUSSION OF DISTURBING THOUGHTS RELATING TO SEXUAL VICTIMIZATION.
SUCH THOUGHTS DO NOT MAKE THE VICTIM OF SEXUAL ASSAULT A BAD PERSON.
BUT THEY DO CONTINUE TO VICTIMIZE HER/HIM EVEN MANY YEARS AFTER THE EVENT TOOK PLACE
Sometimes I feel so very alone, even when I am surrounded by the people who are supposed to love me. I think of Gem and the difference he has made in my life, but even that can't clean away the filth on my soul. Although Gem knows what it's like to be shy and melancholy, I don't think he has any idea what it's like to feel rotten to the core.
Although I feel that Gem saved my life and that he wouldn't reject me for being an outcast, sometimes I think that if he could really see me, he would see a horrifying creature that he could never resign himself to being anywhere near. Sometimes I think I really am the worst of things. What if my soul is nothing but a rotting corpse?
If events from my past haven't killed my soul, they have certainly done their best to try. There is no-one that I can explain this to. How can I explain that part of me believes that I deserve to be raped, violated, spit on, urinated on, defecated on, and eventually left weeping in a pool of feces like the worthless piece of shit I am? How can I explain that I get turned on by the thought of being degraded, even though I wouldn't want such a thing in a million years?
Gentle though he is, I feel that Gem couldn't possibly understand this corrosion, this vile putrescence. Although wounded, he will always be young and innocent at heart. I am evil in spite of wanting to love and be loved. He is pure, I am filth.
There are times when I just want to stay in bed, not wanting to be seen by the world. Sometimes I can't bear for others to gaze on something so monstrous as myself.
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PLEASE BE SUPPORTIVE OF ONE ANOTHER
I created the CCCC as a support tool for creative people living with mental illness, as we are often misunderstood and made to feel foolish in blog hops for "normal" people. This can trigger depression and suicide ideation, and who the hell needs that? Personally, that happens for me quite enough as it is.
Today is the birthday of one of the people who inspired me to stay on the creative path when the forces around me (family, school) were telling me that this was foolish and impractical. Unfortunately I was never lucky enough to meet him in person, but he still means the world to me.
Most people wouldn't give him a second look. He's no GQ hunk or "Alpha Male." He's tiny and not conventionally attractive, but I think he's beautiful. When I say "beautiful," I mostly refer to his soul. However, I do admit to finding him physically appealing as well.
I would like to wish him a happy birthday, but he does not have happy birthdays, because this has happened to his brain.
He has gone from this:
To this:
To this:
He is 63 years old. His brother has said of him that "he isn't in there at all any more." He does not remember what he did. He does not remember the people to whom he was closest, including his brother and his daughter, who was standing beside him in the second photo.
He inspired me not only to be creative in spite of the fact that I was being told it was foolish and impractical, but to continue living in spite of the fact that I was being told I was worthless. I was twelve years old and contemplating suicide.
I was badly bullied. I didn't know it then, but my bipolar disorder was fully awakened with puberty. I was sad all the time. I felt like a major disappointment to my family. I felt like a freak. I was physically unattractive and painfully shy.
The fact that this painfully shy little man half a world away managed to create powerful music that reached out not to the "cool kids," AKA the bullies, but instead to freaks like me made me want to keep living, if for no other reason than to piss off the assholes who were bullying me. Whenever I held one of his band's records (Initially cassette tapes made for me by one of my few friends' older brothers) I felt like shouting out "see this? This was made for people like me, not for you assholes!"
I felt like I mattered to someone, even though he didn't know me. I thought that if he met me, he might want to be my friend. Sure, he was twice my age, but I would have behaved in a mature fashion, which would have made him treat me like an adult in most ways. I would happily have been his assistant.
He wasn't one of those perverts who would have taken advantage of a naïve kid. (Looking at you, Ted Nugent. Sadly, also looking at Steven Tyler, Iggy Pop, and Jimmy Page.) He might have enjoyed certain substances, sometimes a little too much, but he always had a strong sense of ethics. I loved that about him.
I was a bit of a dichotomy at twelve. In some ways, I was extremely naïve. In others I was old beyond my years. I was drinking and getting high. I knew almost nothing about sex, in spite of the fact that the kids at my school saw fit to spread rumors that I was easy. I wasn't. I wanted nothing to do with most of the boys at my school, and the one I was interested in saw me as a little sister.
I never made good on my creative dreams. Improperly diagnosed mental illness (I wasn't diagnosed with bipolar disorder until I was nearly 40) had something to do with this. I know now that I never will be anything but desperate and destitute. It's probably stupid for me to continue writing. I am a dismal failure. I let my hero down, although he will never know it, at least not in this life.
I continue writing although it is rare for me to receive any sort of response, just in case I actually reach someone who really needs it. Also because if I don't let the words out, they come out in the form of increased self-loathing. So I continue to write.
It is also why I created this group, which may never have a single other participant. I keep doing it, because you play even if you only have one person in the audience. You play even if that person is the bartender, who has to be there anyway. Because the music wants to be heard. Or, in the case of someone like me, the words want to be read. Even if the only person reading them is the one who wrote them.
The fact that I rarely receive acknowledgement hurts sometimes. I have, however, learned that seeking approval is no reason to do anything. I will never get approval.
My hero went unnoticed by most people. Granted, he was much more successful than I've ever been. However, his contributions to music are overlooked by the general public. He never let the fact that his younger brother received all the attention turn him jealous or hateful, and I admire that about him too.
Never seem to be in front
Or part of the exciting times
Destined for a life of second best
The blackmail not the bribe
Together now whatever work has gone unsung
He'll be forever Malcolm Young
Always gnocchi not linguine
Never Hitler you're Mussolini
Often the sideshow but not the circus
Always Malcolm never Angus
End up Carlton you wanted to be Negus
Single pluggers never sneakers
Always headphones never the speakers
Shouldn't have a complex cause
He wrote Highway To fucking Hell
Together now whatever work has gone unsung
He'll be forever Malcolm Young
Don't be too cocky cause he wrote Stiff Upper Lip as well
For what it's worth, I always knew he was special. The ones who get overlooked often are.
All my life I've dreamed of having my Princess Moment, where all the struggling proves to be worthwhile and I'm at last rewarded. I no longer have to endure the strife of having too many bills and not enough money. I no longer have to feel like an outsider. At last I have what I need, and I am respected and treated well too.
I've never had my Princess Moment, and I've come to the conclusion that I never will, at least not in the fashion portrayed in movies such as this.
Perhaps, however, although I live in squalor and people tend to dislike and misunderstand me, I've been given gifts that I should be thankful for. I'm not saying this to be a Pollyanna or to deny the challenges that have confronted me. I'm merely saying that although this world does not and will not ever understand people like me, it doesn't mean that I am completely without happiness. There are reasons to be grateful.
I may appear to the majority of people to be the worst of things: physically ugly, psychologically troubled, financially desperate. I am not the kind of other person that other people want to be with, and I am surely not the kind of person that other people want to be. However, I have been given gifts that the beautiful and lucky people will never understand, and for that I am, at last, grateful
The above is a screen shot of the Ghost Radar Classic app. Ghost Radar ostensibly increases your chances of detecting spectral activity. I downloaded it because the building where I am currently assigned (I work as a home health nurse) is over 100 years old.
I was pretty sure that in a building of advanced age, I should be able to detect some sort of spectral energy. I received a few words: Carlos, Mexico, married, and another.
I am not sure how I could fact check the names of the people who have lived in this building. Perhaps I could look up past census records. In any case, such research would take a while.
I was hoping to receive some sort of message from Gem or one of my other spectral friends. I asked Gem why I didn't.
Gem said that the sort of energy which gets picked up by ghost detectors is a lower vibration energy than that at which entities such as himself function. There likely is not even be a personality attached to the energy. It is psychic residue.
In extreme cases, such as murder, the residual energy can cause disturbing phenomena to manifest. A spirit can remain involved in such cases, but they do not continue to repeat the actions which occurred at the time of the incident. The repetition is akin to a tape loop. It is an image and kinetic energy with no occupying soul.
There may or may not have been trauma involved in the case of the type of spectral energy which my ghost radar is picking up. It very well may simply be cast off psychic residue, akin to a crab leaving behind its old shell when it sheds.
A higher spirit such as Gem IS the personality. Gem, like every other incarnate person, has left behind psychic residue in places that he frequented. It is easier to make contact with a spirit in a place that they were familiar with, but it is not necessary.
Discarnate spirits are free to move about as they choose, generally speaking. A spirit may choose to remain in a given location, but encountering an actual spirit using tools such as EVP and ghost detectors is the exception rather than the rule.
