Tuesday, January 24, 2006


16.---Journal entry for August 9, 2002


All over the city women were changing, getting ugly.

Was this possible? Could strong, healthy, happy people suddenly turn flabby? Would beautiful running legs turn into varicose-veined, flabby, fat, crippled up limbs?

If this crime wasn't stopped somehow it could happen in the years to come.

And so it happened that the worst most inhumane assault took place. Mankind attacking itself at a whole new level.

Auschwitz was made possible by a philosophy. A belief in the inborn superiority of one country's people--a belief that other people were dirty, inferior and should be destroyed to keep the good from being infected by the bad. Somehow they were able to get a whole country to believe that they were the master race. After that, they could rationalize killing innocent people.

Nazi Germany was a new low point for mankind. Now this.

In a world where you can go to any newstand and buy magazines that portray women in the most humiliating and dehumanizing ways, there's now a new way to destroy us.

When will they be known to the police? How many woman would have to be victimized before the truth came out? She wondered how she could warn people--get the word out to the right people--the law.

(This was written in 2002--before I knew the government was the perpetrator.)

She tried already but it wasn't happening. She either told the wrong people the truth or the right people too little. But she knew the police would never believe her alone. She had tried to go back and let them know but the little she said sounded crazy and she didn't say much. They were beginning to get that LOOK--the one that means they're beginning to doubt your sanity.

She never wanted to see that look again.

She prayed but it was hard to under these conditions. She felt that God had to know this and after Auschwitz she knew it was possible she would not be saved. That doesn't mean that she gave up hope that somehow, some way she'd be released.

She wasn't getting any intuitive feeling of which way to go now so she'd have to think of what the facts were.



This is who she told: the Millbourne Police, the FBI, the Police in Northeast Philly, the Municipal Court and even a brief stop at her South Philly Police Station. She's been working with HRC--the Human Rights Campaign--to fight to get the Hate Crimes Bill passed to include Gays. She met the local guy who was running for Senate or Representative.

People knew her face was changing--they looked worried, felt sorry for her and looked amazed--How could that happen--how could a persons' face go from healthy and youthful to old and baggy in less than a year?

Dave knew alot and has some scientific knowledge too. Maybe he's trying to understand it. But W. has too much emotional baggage to think about it. He could but the minute he sees her he puts her into some kind of box and it's small and stupid. He's not interested in knowing that people are even worse off than he already thought.

While she tried to get word out she found out that the people to whom she felt closest had less faith in her than she had thought. That hurt enough to discourage her from telling anyone else.

She warned people in her apartment and the J.O. downstairs started another Hate Crime up. With the Middle Easterners on her and then him and all the Asians chiming in, she was under pressure constantly. And still they continued to chop her face up.

The Latent-Boys were doing her in. God was letting it go on for some one to learn a lesson she guessed. It's hard to imagine any lesson that could take over 2 years of bondage to learn. She learned that there was something worse than getting murdered.

As she tried to write it in book-form she felt more and more how impossible it was to get the truth out in an indirect way.

A song came on the radio as she was wondering what God wanted of her - "The Battle is God's not Yours." Well that was what she had figured but when was he gonna show up? She didn't mean to sound unfaithful, her faith was strong, but when was something going to break this up?

When September 11th happened she thought for sure they'd stop. This attack started over 2 years ago, her face was fucked up, she was in pain---when was the karma going to kick in?

S. got hers--when were they going to get theirs?

Well the song on the radio was for her. The battle wasn't hers no matter how much they tried to make it personal. And, as the song said, God was using her, and she knew that, for a reason. She was strong, and this was the battle of her life and maybe the reason she did all that recovery. Maybe God wanted her, chose her to be the one who could fight this out long enought for him to fix things so that they were caught. She had no idea how many people had suffered through this, how many people were forced to take their own lives under the pressure of continual torture?

She thought of that guy in Millbourne. She was painting the Millbourne platform at night when all of a sudden this man ran across the bridge. He was upset and in some type of hysterics and he was holding his arms as if he were hugging himself. He appeared to be tortured and in agony. She immediately thought he was insane. All she could think of was it was not going to be possible to stay there painting because this crazy man was here and she couldn't concentrate or even feel safe. She was pissed off at her bad luck as she packed her paints up to go home.

Now, in hindsight, she realized that he may have had this equipment put on him and been totally confused and crazed from the cruel surprise of being attacked in this way.

She knew she had been self-centered but she also knew that when you set up to paint at night on a lonely deserted train platform even though it's scarey and you are actually making good progress on the hottest night of the year--you just can't be anything but a self-centered artist.
Only the most determined artist would be there doing that and the only feeling us self-centered painters feel when we are interrupted in the middle of our work is irritation and anger.
It's not pretty but what can I say.

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