June 29, 2014

..anywhere..

This kind of informs the previous post.. 

http://childabuserecovery.com/decapitated-dismembered-children-in-catholic-mass-grave-site-were-ritually-murdered/#.U7AG_u29Kc3

Not collaborated..

Taum.

Think our therapist might be having a wobble.. They get so adamant that murder and the worst of the violence was mindcontrol, sophisticated tricks and DID manipulation. We know us if it comes through that loud and clear over so many years when we are no stranger to the tricks, it can't be ruled out.  We said before that we needed her to believe us before the evidence came out.  The problem is of course is that she believes us but doesn't want to believe what we are presenting.  

She is human. She is intelligent and insightful all we can do is be ourselves the best we can and hope all that truth shows through.

Facts, like right and wrong were long ago anondoned but we see us, feat firmly planted on the earth, over and over the best we could do in the circumstances, marking the locations our ages their names forever unless we get back to them. We know what they are saying to even if we can't hear them or know their language. It's in every cell it's behind every drive. There is us in there and we are going nowhere until we at least ackwlodge it.

Would the flashbacks we are getting correspond to bone markings? Is there personal artifacts in there? Can you seperate the DNA? 


June 19, 2014

On and on..

Sounds like Alkysis is starting to have liver problems. Mum says she won't see a doctor but eventuly got round getting her antidepressant refill. Think it's starting to dawn on mum that if she is going to have residency of the kids then she is going to have to tell the benefits people which means big sis won't be able to afford the place she has. Harder to call her Alkysis when not in such close quarters to the tragicness. She just can't care for herself. Keeps putting the kids at risk. Can't say what she needs what she needs to avoid.  

Haven't checked to see if the Harris verdict is in yet.

June 15, 2014

Not your playground

This is will hopefully become a poem one day. Today it is shinny cars in our scrubby Glen. The same parking spots, the weather the seasons our flesh growing but the words the things they did the roles we were told to play never changed. Stopped calling out to the farmer unless it was really bad. He helped us. After years of putting his head down and passing by, after those times when he tried and failed.  Up the track from our house. Behind the big barn, by the side where there track split.

Our mind changed though way more than the land the weather the fashions of the rich and the gagging to be rich.

"Your whole country is my playground."

We were staring, examining and poking about at the words through the usuals for days.  Sometimes this guy talked nice. I was getting older though the wrong side if 4 for our questions had stopped being cute for most.

He said a bunch of words we couldn't understand and we were not convinced that he did either. Explaining why guys like that are guys like that. Then in his softest radio voice and close to my ear and the back seat. I could see the fence behind our chicken coop.  

"Scotland's not his playground. You are"