Dedicated to Abraham Friedman

Sunrise Wonder

Several years ago, someone told me that Grandpa was not my "real" grandfather.  

Looking back now, I know that was not true. Grandpa was one thing in my life that was, in fact, very, very real.

My grandfather embodied all things constant: consistency, reliability, and unconditional love. I could always depend on him to be there for me: as a child, a young woman, and an adult.

So now I ask myself and all of you to help me define what is "real?" I believe you will come to understand it as I have: "real" is something or someone we can touch; something we can feel.

My grandfather was a man I could trust, a man I could admire, and a man who stood up for what he believed in. My grandfather was, in fact, a man that was so real that he could single-handedly turn dreams into realities.

When I was little, I used to go to my grandparent's when I was too sick to go to school. Grandma would load me up with tea and cheese and Grandpa would load me up with Vitamin C.

As I got older, he continued to care for me. When I was hungry, he sent me food; when I was cold, he sent me clothing. When I was sick, he sent me more vitamins!

When I was scared, he gave me courage; when I was lonely, he gave me shelter; when I was sad, he gave me hope.

He was a man of action, a man of honor, and a man of truth. But most of all, he was a man of integrity. He was a man who exemplified all things wonderful that life had to offer.

He was generous beyond reason and he gave me those things in life money simply cannot buy: he gave me roots, he gave me foundations, and most importantly, he gave me wings.

Rest in peace, Grandpa. You were loved.

Talking Points:

Relatively speaking: What is "real?" Does DNA alone define who you are? Where you came from? A relationship? Blood is not always thicker than water.

ELyssa Durant © 2008-2013 || All Rights Reserved ELyssaD™ || DailyDDoSe™ @ELyssaD™

The Last Goodbye by ELyssa Durant, Ed.M.

I can no longer protect the one who hurt me the most, and I officially declare myself as independent and free.

Goodbye for now to The Powers That Beat, I am growing so tired ofthat nightmare where I cannot move my feet.

I am one today, but I am not alone; my DNA and birthright does not make me a clone.

Any genetic disorders, whatever they may be; will never again stand in the way for my fight to be free.

My bloodline alone comes right back to you, and your ridiculous denials are nothing new.

I must protect myself from your twisted mind, never forget, late last night, you left me behind.

You may think I have forgotten all your hysterical pleas, but I am legally required to remind you of these.

I hope you are ready for what lies ahead, because I do not think anyone else will agree this was all in my head.

You may dispose of my photos, writings, and more, I am sorry you do not realize you have officially now escalated funny money into a full-fledged war.

You declared this yourself, on March the Fourteenth, and I will expect it in writing before the next April 15th.

You no longer manipulate my ID or actions and blame; for I am not the one who falsely claims to be poor.

You may find it a little bit harder to blame it on crazy and point the finger at me; I am posting it here for the whole to see.

Do not blame my siblings or my father's new wife; material wealth should mean more value than your own child's life.

I got excluded from the human genome, stop feeding me crazy, just bring it back home.

The suicide note I once left in your possession, should no longer be guarded as your greatest protection.

I defy the heritage that left me broken inside; any tears I have shed will finally subside; I no longer will allow myself to be tried by the ridiculous facade that has given YOU a false sense of pride.

I am now on my own, as was always the case; it is so very sad you thought of this as a race.

I will honor your request to sever all ties; it is long overdue that I be free from your lies.

I never signed on to your game of deception, there was much more at stake than a strangers' perception.

So just as you once photographed my tattoo, sadly but surely, this one joke is on you.

I doubt you heard my very last words, but they were words of sincerity I hope that you'll review because my concern was genuine; just too familiar, we discussed nothing new.

I defy my heritage and reject your faith; I think I am worth more than an aborted mistake.

I declare my freedom and reject your "good faith" I am sorry you believe I was your biggest mistake.

You are so transparent it is easy to see, I hope you leave this behind the same way you left me.

My bloodline runs deeper than your maternal pride; I pray for your sake psychosis is real, for I see no other way your pain will ever be healed.

I am over and done with this stupid game, I gave you more than one warning to amend your tax claim.

So as I fight for my freedom, my health and my name, I hope your psychosis protects you from shame.

I must no longer allow trauma to guide me through life; I cannot worry about details as you become a new wife, you are correct in your assessment that you have earned all the "things" you cling to for dear life.

 

If there ever was a time to say, "This too shall pass...," then please go ahead and kiss my tattooed fat ass!

ELyssa Durant, Ed.M. © 2009-2013

Take no prisoners, hold no hostages...

My dad used to sing this to me when I was a little girl... 

Two years ago, I had never even heard of the New World Order, Illuminati Elite. 

I lived a simple, silent, and honest life, yet still managed to pass as "normal" until I wast cast aside, shunned, humiliated and brutalized by friends, neighbors and police who knew nothing of the secret society simply referred to as "The Company"

Apparently, I have something they want-- dead or alive they don't just want my secrets or my silence, they want my genetic code.  

But in a perfect world-- i would find out that the reason my father has gone to extreme measures to distance himself from my life and my reality to keep me safe from the heavy hand of his corrupt colleagues in the world of the elite CIA and Illuminati.

I'm in deep.  Much deeper than I could possibly have seen until it became so obvious that I can't believe I even tried to write off recent events and "coincidences" as bad choices or random acts of violence and systemic corruption.

I am ready to take my place in the world.  I am ready to become the "man" I need to be so that I can protect my loved ones from being targeted as well.

I have always been  a vocal advocate for the weak and underprivileged, but I have never been more determined to watch the elite fall from grace as they have watched one of "their own" brought to their knees.

I speak not only for myself, I speak for a few other people who have had their lives completely and totally destroyed and torn apart by the wolves that simply don't see the full picture.

RB:  this one's for you...  you have nothing to fear, but I'm pretty sure you already know that. It is the rest of these sorry fuckers that needs to worry, because paybacks are a bitch.

My father once told a colleague that I may be the only person who is as smart or smarter than he is, and if that is true, I would do the same to my own children if I had them.

Thank you, daddy-- for making me stronger than I ever believed I could be...

Bye-Bye Spotty (content warning)

Here we go again... i wish people would cared as much about their children as I do about my Spotty. So I guess this is goodbye again. I'm not stupid, and I know that I can't blame my mom for this one since I'll be the one to drive her to the shelter tomorrow.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I really hate this world.

No one gives a shit about the kids who are already here living in poverty, foster homes, on the streets, or anyway the can to survive. So who gives a shit about a few people who at least have the luxury of a quick painless death rather than having it drained out of them day by day; tear by tear, year after year after year after year.

I don't want to get rid of Spotty. I don't want her euthanized when I feel her little head nuzzled against my neck. She is not sick, she is not, her only crime is belonging to me. What the fuck with thois wprld. we can through puppies into plastic bags and freeze them to death because it is "easier" than "putting them to sleep."

So yeah, there you have it. I fucked up again. How ironic that the one thing I don't have is the only ting people seem to want from me. I can't wait to hear about this one. I am 36 years old. I am not a child I am not a criminal I am not cruel.

Why must they take the one thing I love-- the one thing that loves me. Does it make it all better for everybody else? dad, I learned my lesson. I have accepted the hand I have been dealt.

If I say I'm sorry, would that make it okay for me to keep Spotty? Will someone please tell me what I need to say because I'm not sure what I did.

I'm old enough to know that nobody's coming to save me. I don't even biother to ask but why must an innocent animal who did nmot ask for this be the ultimat6e ounishment for a sin I don't remeber conmmitting.


So where does Spotty go? To the farm with Abby & Ollie during divorce number two and custody battle number 4? WIll my father mail me some fake ashes out of the fire place. Will my mommy drive her out to Suffolk County so she can use an assumed name like "Harrison" so I can't locate her? At least I found Pepe. I can only hope that one day I'll find Spotty.

Special message to two "special" people: KBDWK: I hope some takes Ziggy from you. Dad? Well, whatever. I can't think of anything care enough about to lose-- so enjoy. You win. Isurrender. Whatever. I guess you'll tell what I'm supposed to do because that worked so well with my last Landlord.

Why can't live a life without empathy. I guess if you don't love anything but yourself, you will never know grief.

Well now I'm really fucked, because I'm not all fond of myself these days. Don't worry, you don't need to call parents, they already know, and they couldn't care less. In fact they'll probably bill you for wasting there time. Besides, unless you went Harvard, Yale or Princeton they give a shit what you think. So join the the club.

Goodnight for now. I'm going for a drive to see if I can find a shelter for poor little Spotty.

Just remeber this: Spotty didn't chose me. I chose her. So here we we go again... apparently there is not a single person I know who is is willing to save Spotty. Actually that sounds about right. I know exactly how she feels.


~Previous Post Remembering Pepe~

I am standing in a sea of unfamiliar faces. There is violence everywhere. Red. Broken. Bleeding.

I am holding Pepe, and he is broken. Bleeding. Clinging to me, clinging to life. I rush through the crowd looking for safety. There is no way out. Just angry faces in a sea of violence.

In the distance, I see two police officers. I run to them believing they will help me find a way out of the madness. Believing they will bring me to safety. A safe haven. Shelter from the storm. Free from the madness. Free from the violence. Free from this sea of unfamiliar faces so I can get my bleeding, broken, suffering friend the help he needs to make him well. The help we need to be whole again.

When I reach the podium, the men were facing the crowd. They were standing there, backs to me; they just stood there to face to the crowd banging their black, wooden nightsticks while on just standing there Beating their nightsticks against their palms. I call out but no one listens. No one can hear me above the roar of the crowd. So I tap them on the shoulder, holding Pepe close to my heart— hoping they will instinctively see the love and fear in his yellow gold eyes. Of course, they would rescue us. Yes, they would rescue us and bring us to safety. Free from the violence, free from the madness. Free from this hell and take us somewhere safe. Somewhere far, far away from here. And then they turn. In unison, they turn around to face me, and I look at them. I am horrified. I am horrified because these are not police officers at all. They are clowns. Literally, figuratively, in every way they are simply clowns. Clowns in uniform. In unison. In unanimity. Inhumanity. My worst nightmare. The cops were clowns.

Pepe was “only” a cat, but I made him a promise that I intended to keep. I would give him everything I longed for: keep him safe, keep him fed, make him well, I would give him love. Lots and lots of love. Unconditional love. Always. Until the day my perfect little angel would return to heaven. And I did. And he did. And we did. Alone, together, Pepe gave me strength when I was too weak to care for myself. He could not talk, but he sure tried!

After seventeen years, Pepe died the other day, and my worst nightmare did not come true. I loved him until the very end. Even then he gave me the most perfect and fitting gift. He gave me freedom. He gave me comfort. He gave me hope and he gave me peace.

I know that I can love. I am capable of complete, total, unconditional love. He was like a child. Pure, innocent and completely, totally, unconditionally loved. Yes, I am capable of love. I am capable of complete, total, and unconditional love. Pepe, my precious angel, may you rest in peace… There is a better place for you now. There always was.

Blink for me... take a STAND for children, March forth, and Write On...