End Of The Lime

There’s nothing I could have done different
For all that I had was the idea that came to me.

There’s nothing else I can do and live for strangers,
For I knew that when I stood back up, I’d be punched down forever.

There’s not a product, any one motion, or handwave that will save me from Fate
For I can just about save myself from what I always figured and no more;

The end of the lime is a rhyme for the kind of line
Nobody wants to be in, and I will always fail in a society that cannot look in a mirror
To see and love what others should see and love about you;
If you were a bullet I’d not dodge, just as I did, and wait for an entire round
For the beginning of what death you bring me is better than living dead without
But what life could be lived in such a world as this absolute tyrannical madness
Plaguing what keeps you superficial and inconspicuous to everyone but me —

(rough drafts by JST Louise [a pseudonym])

Trench by JST Louise [a pseudonym] (35mm photo; photoshop tinkered)

Well, I’m writing a #metoo for a bunch of dead celebrities & more… and that makes me dangerously busy. So I try not to stress out by leaving the Internet blogsphere for weeks and weeks; for now I live the same day over.

The book won’t be out for (at least) a decade. Sorry, it’s one of those “please come back in the future and know I’m being the best me I can be; I don’t know what’s going to happen (ever), but it won’t be fun for me, but I’ll try to throw in a smile for you.” If you think a celebrity has it easy in life, just remember: it’s because they’re actors… they’re acting at all times because if they said what’s really on their minds they’d start yelling and they need to tell you their anger might be because they were abused and that’s the reason for their emotional stress level, especially when they are poked and prodded like a caged animal for as long as they are in the spotlight. And sometimes after the limelighting is over, harassment can still continue from Hollywood sources that want to keep their secrets from coming out of the former celebrity.

Not all celebrities experience abuse from Hollywood and some evade the scenes in which people are taken advantage of, but this is difficult when most of the industry has become so comfortable with the underbelly of what a celebrity has seen, and I’m sure there’s a lot any celebrity has not and could say (if they felt free and safe to recap the horrors that they may have witnessed and remain silent for out of fear).

I’m learning that I must begin claiming ownership of apprentice historian in training; I love wearing new hats of trade and believe in the power of female riveters who work as hard as men in factories was deemed inappropriate for women; I’m not afraid and have read stories that are atrocious about these war mongers (high ranking government officials; Department of Defense) along with Hollywood and other undisclosed cults [of usually racist structures] preforming horrible abuses to other living beings. I wonder if the simple reasoning of a serial killer is because they were bored or because they think it’s funny —

Who writes their life story at the age of 30 unless they’re in danger or have overcome danger –; I’m sure danger will never cease and must live according to war mongers as a perpetual occupation in which peace is never the end goal. Peace would put the monger out of a job, but of course I’m boiling down the logic and (sadly)  war is inevitable in nature and thus human wars will sprout, curl, fester, but peace can also be achieved and war mongers jobs of keeping peace can in fact be what they were supposed to be, which was reaching for peace and freedom of fear for a better tomorrow.

The almost dead ‘soapbox’ for the manuscript poemfound.wordpress.com

I’ve posted some of my leaked #metoo story over there… sometimes the posts get deleted. Last post I wrote, a month ago, a free e-zine (She Was Benjamin Buttoned — The Report), didn’t send out properly to the email subscribers, a funny not funny moment for a writer attempting a serious digital protest of constant failure; the problem is much worse than I can properly disclose at this time. In fact, I’m foolish enough to have a blog when I probably shouldn’t, not in a world where I’m attempting to protest and say “Nobody is safe with governments mass spying on private citizens” and then my wordpress blog doesn’t get sent — and I’m left wondering if any social media is worth using to reach out to find real readers who might care to know that there’s a huge problem and huge abuses being flaunted in plain sight, and the celebrities wishing to tell what they want are most likely scared — because the #metoo movement is technically whistle blowing of an elite type unimaginably scary and not for children to hear, but it’s for children that I write, for it is children who are in grave danger if what I say doesn’t get said the way I wish to write it behind the scenes here on the Internet, I can only share that #metoo is happening for more than just actors, it should be happening for journalists and even the military could stand to utilize the #metoo movement as Edward Snowden was probably not the only NSA employee who has a big problem with mass spying —

Edward Snowden didn’t say enough. So I’m attempting to go further, except I didn’t steal documents, I’m simply writing my memoir and rhetoric about mass spying being the worst invasion of humanities safety and no one is safe with a government who harasses and pays assassins to shoot religious peaceful activists like MLK Jr.

I’m getting tired of blog editing and need to simply focus on getting the book to the next step; I’m on page 500 and most likely will end up with a 1K in page number to ruin the rest of my life —

Eh. Anyone doing a #metoo has probably already a bit of a ruined existence, so… when you’re at the bottom of a pit, you have only a few choices — I’m still working on what I can do, what I shouldn’t do, and getting over the regrets of fresh failures.

There’s nothing I can do, so I move backwards and hope I can live like a real Luddite [without the Internet, without strangers], but here I am blogging when I shouldn’t be it seems. I feel as if sharing danger creates danger for readers, for even knowing that a random poet nobody is writing a #metoo for celebrities who are dead. This is dangerous.

But in life, we are given the ability to make mistakes until we die, so… I’m not dead yet.