Bedsheets

 

Girl Banksy

"Out With Lek 2"

Sacramento, CA

My Last Week

 

This last week has been a lot. Amongst everything going on, this morning I realized I forgot to think about Kori on Earth Day.

On April 22, 2015, Kori May was stolen from this earth by a semi-truck driver who hit her head on. 

Kori knew who she was. She never questioned the image she portrayed and felt no need to apologize in a world that convinces young girls that we always have something to apologize for. She would capture photos and moments of us, but I'm sad to say I have no pictures with her outside of our 9th Grade panorama and from our photoshoot as "The Seven Deadly Sins". I am not in possession of these things, but I am manifesting that they will reappear back in my life.

Kori always surprised her friends with cute little notes or a gift she had made with her own love and care. Kori loved plants and always learned everything she could about any new addition to her family. She once bought a Venis Fly Trap which we named "Nom Nom Nom". When the lil' guy didn't make it, she made sure I knew because she knew I would want to know. She just did, without being asked. That's the kind of person she was. She had goals, dreams, and desires. She went after each and every moment. She built the life she wanted. She left Utah and always encouraged me to do the same. She reminded me often that there was a whole big-ass world out there and that I needed to see it. She would randomly write me loving, inspirational, and thoughtful messages. They always came when I needed them most. She was so aware of everything. She cared about animals and lived a life that showed that. She cared about the environment and our Mother Earth.

The irony of her death being on Earth Day

was not lost on most of us.

So yeah, I will live a better life because she can't.

Kori May

November 25, 1990-April 22, 2015

Parole Hearing for Cristian Alcatar

    Today I chose to attend (virtually) the parole hearing for one of the men that robbed me 10 years ago. He didn't seem remorseful. He never said sorry; not once. All I heard were excuses. He was young. He hung out with the wrong people. He has suffered from depression since being locked up.

I saw his family logging in behind their own computer screens, and the anger took hold. He was asked if he had a plan for progress if he were to get out, to which he said he didn't. He was going to move back in with his sister in Orem, Utah. He was congratulated for his support system. The same support system that tried to help them not be caught after they (he, his brother, and a friend) had robbed countless people. He was told that they'd seen a positive improvement from him.

He had literally started a prison riot in just 2021.

I was watching ONE WHITE MAN determine the situation of something he knew nothing about. While the previous guy heard it be asked if there were any victim's present; Cristian was not given that information. He didn't know I was there. He didn't know I was watching them. They didn't ask him how he felt after what he had done. They didn't ask if he had remorse. They mentioned that he had multiple offenses from prison outside of the riot. When they brought up his graffiti charge from his arrest 10 years ago, they asked if it was from before or after the robberies, as if that would determine if he'd learned his lesson. He hinted that he couldn't remember, but that it was right around that time. I yelled into the abyss. He and I both know he continued being a dumbass after the night of April 4th, 2012. He continued to commit crimes even after what he'd done. He knew what day that graffiti charge was from. That misstep is what got him caught. Read that again: the popo caught him for graffiti and not for his violent reign on Utah County. He knew the day. He hadn't learned his lesson then and I do not believe he is a changed man now.

So to his dick-ass replies of :

"I was just a kid..."

"I had just turned 18...

"I suffer from depression now..."

"It's been hard because I lost so many years, so young..."

"You know how it is..." (when remarking on being in a gang)

Well, where do I fucking start?

C,

I was just a fucking kid. I was 21. I had a fucking future grasped in my hand. I was working two jobs and I had just registered to return to college. I have suffered from depression and anxiety since I was in the 4th grade.

After the robbery, my head was so fucked up that I didn't even start seeing parts of myself again until I was 29 fucking-years-old. It's been hard to sit with yourself? Yeah, I can fucking imagine that must be hard.. I do know how it is. What I don't understand is how you cannot look around at all of the fucking people who don't join gangs. I hope you enjoy Orem, UT. I will memorize every detail of your fucking face. I will know you the second I see you. You won't have a mask, and I won't need one. I wanna talk, truly I do.

Oh, and that incredible support system you speak of. I don't have family. Yet here I sit, working on myself. I have many plans set in place to keep making progress. I do these things because change takes work. You're shit.

Sincerely,

- The "Bitch" at a tanning salon

Brooklyn Subway Mass Shooting

Another shooting, and a monster among many, is still out there. 

These are hard times to not have a drink.

The world is shit.

Under Pressure

"Out With Lek"

Sacramento, CA

Cedar Rapids Mass Shooting

There was another shooting.

I cannot understand how this has become normalized.

It happened at a club that holds "Silent Dances".

I am reminded of my own nights, living in the moment.

Everyone was so happy, so carefree.

I felt those things for the first time in years.

In a sense, I was safe.

Or was I?

It could happen to any one of us.

We don't know when or where.

We can no longer dance like no one is watching.

Be Kind

Jerry Springer

   My X had many a tale that he loved to tell, over and over and over again. This one in particular was in regard to Jerry Springer and the show that follows behind. He said he'd had an opportunity to go on the show but didn't end up going. I remember thinking this was fucking cool, while almost certainly high on cocaine. Let us pretend for a moment this is a fact and not a spun-web-of-deceit; possibly the experience of someone near him and not himself at all. I no longer think it's "fucking cool". For many reasons, but most prominent being that he could have just gone to a family gathering and had a good show. I could tell when I first met them that they were holding back on being their true forms, but even when they held back that never prevented me from witnessing their racism, misogyny, internalized misogyny, enabling of child abuse, and poor treatment of service industry workers. Throughout those 3 years there were numerous occasions where I'd have to throw some extra money on the table to make up for something he/they had done or said. They knew I did this for a living. I can't lie, it really put me in my place amongst the bunch. I didn't like talking about myself around them; by the end I didn't like talking at all. I dreaded even being around them. I took that dread and placed the blame on myself.

I thought I was crazy. Then one day his sister made the mistake of opening up to me about the one-thing she had no idea would start to turn my gears. She was talking about the person she had started dating. She said she hadn't told their older sister about the relationship yet because she didn't know how she would handle it. I was very understanding because I can only imagine what coming out as yourself can feel like. Then she said she wasn't worried about her partner being a woman, she was worried because her sister would tell her she could do better. It was like a punch to my gut. I need to take a moment to tell you about this person we shall for the sake of anonymity call: Tina. Well Tina is pretty great. She is kind, thoughtful, patient, understanding, and worthy of anything she so wishes. So when his sister said this I just thought: "What in the fuck?" I couldn't shake how uncomfortable it had left me.

They don't see value in kindness and compassion, they see a target. They see value in what can be given to them. They care about what can be seen by others, how much they can take, and what they can get away with.

So yeah, Jerry Springer.... super fucking cool, bro.

Sacramento Mass Shooting

   Tonight, as I left work, I could feel the aftermath of what had occurred. It clung to the air. We are normally fairly steady on Sunday nights but tonight people would randomly trickle in and then there would be nothing. Less than 24 hours earlier and just 15 blocks away people had died while out having a good time. Eating out and going to bars didn't really seem to be as commonly wanted. I drove my car down a street of bars that weren't open. That's right, places that make good money on the weekends were closed. Getting through traffic was pretty fucking easy.

Working tonight was rough. Life has been rough. Every time I hear of another tragedy involving gun violence I am transported to another moment. I see that gun pointed at my head. I remember how scared I was. Then I think of what those poor people felt like. From there, I am defeated. PTSD is a crazy thing, really. You can go months without a single thing harming your well-being. Then a car can drive too slowly behind you, or a loud bang makes you jump through your skin, sometimes a person will just walk a certain way and you freeze. All the well-being is gone. The world becomes dangerous, and you are once again transferred to another time and place.

When I got off, I quickly walked down the side alley to get to my car and cursed myself for not having my cat ears in my hand, I suddenly noticed how quiet it was. I couldn't hear a thing except for my feet against the concrete and my own heightened breathing. There were no cars honking and no drunk friends talking loudly to one-another. Once I could see J Street again, I quickly noticed there were no people walking while eating something yummy they'd bought at the desert diner just kitty corner to the alleyway. There were empty parking spots sprinkled down the street. That silence was deafening.

The other day I got asked if I ever get scared living by myself. It was a complicated question to answer for someone who overthinks things. Simply put, yes.

I do get scared living by myself. Some nights not so much. That silly PTSD though, it's a really good buddy. If my neighbors motion light goes off, I perk up. I shut off all sound. I wait. When it's windy, and I am very clearly aware that it is windy, but something thuds a little harder than I like, I am ready for an attack. I am sure someone is going to charge in and rape me or preferably* just murder me

The trauma that comes from violence is so deeply embedded that I don't think it ever really goes away. This is sad, but it is also needed to make change. I hope Sacramento remembers how today felt.

*I've hit my limit on sexual assault, thanks.