Chapter 2, Book 3

Welcome back. Sit back, relax and enjoy the flight. I live in a very surreal world. Have you ever felt like you are on the outside looking in to a reality that you are just witnessing? I often feel that way. I remember bits and pieces of my childhood. It is very strange when you think about it. How can someone misplace 3/4ths of their memory from birth to about the 8th grade? This for me was about 13 I think. Maybe 12 I am not sure. See when I started to journal I believe I was about 12 or 13 as well. It is as if writing it down helps you remember to a point. So does talking.

This, in my opinion, this is why we have friends that we know we can trust to the death with what ever secret it is. These are the friends that save your life and your sanity. It is a weird thing. My roommate or roomie is one of those. She is the one I call roomie, and well she is not really a she, but a remarkable person in her own way when you get past the porcelain face that is her mask. You just have to look to see the beauty inside, the support. There are many a time she has helped save my life even though she is not aware of it, however I suppose she is now.

At one time I thought I had a very good friend; one that I confided in as well. We all three lived together for a bit, this friend, my roomie, and I. Till one day a little ghost in the house told me to watch my back. It matters not who the ghost was; it opened my eyes to the ugly inside this other person, not my roomie with the mask. I feel very sad for those who lack faith. It must be a very hard situation to be placed in, especially when you grow up in a Christian home. It was not the girl’s looks, but her demeanor, the lack of faith. You must understand both of these individuals were impactive people in my life. A perfect example to always question what appears to be good or bad upon the surface. Sometimes what is inside shows the true heart.

I have tried my whole life to get away from the abuse that occurred through out my life. I don’t know too many people whose mother was a lady of the street, with some nose candy issues. I just happened to be the white trailer trash daughter that was a burden upon her plate. The thing is I am not alone. How many children are born for a welfare check in the United States? Think about it, it is a disease. Who teaches our girls this, our boys? The parents; they learned it from their parents. The Government? Ourselves? Is there an actual answer to that question?

My life is no worse than anyone else in a way. We are all given what we can handle. There is a good book that tells us that. I have been very blessed to be placed where I sit you see. I have seen the side of a trailer to many times. I have seen the farmer and the struggles. I have touched Glaciers. I have seen things people only dream about seeing. To see some of the greatest wonders of the United States is no small statement to make.

Back to where I was going. I am not a whiner, but see the things presented before me; I have found that we are desensitized by propaganda and lies on a daily basis. Don’t people deserve to know there is someone out there who is breaking the binds that hold you back? That there are survivors out there. Is that bragging, or self-incrimination? Is it crying out poor me? I don’t think so. It is allowing others to know that another has walked their shoes? We have been there. We are functioning and it is ok. We are ok. We are not crazy for questioning things. Isn’t this our right? Our right as thinking people.


The horrors of the few memories I have include gifts being burned in front of me in a wood stove because we did not have wood and they were gifts to me. Now if you ask my Bi-Polar egg donor I remember all this wrong. This is where my mind gets twisted. If it were not real, why would I remember it so vividly? Why would some one make this crap up? Who in their right mind wants to bear their life through the spectrum of the world's judgment? Someone who is a true Masochist I suppose. See my life’s walk has been a cake walk to some, and a surreal world to the others out there that just shake their heads. Yet perhaps they went through something worse than I did. I also was blessed with a Step Mother of a Saint who took in a confused, freighted little girl and hugged her. That was my worst punishment growing up that I remember; simply to be hugged. It was like a thousand knives piercing your very flesh. I got nailed with some fairly hard things, like belt buckles. I have the scars on my hands to prove it.

My life is jumbled. See this is one of the side effects of PTSD I feel. Your mind is so jumbled. So messed up you are searching to put the pieces back together. You seek the answers as to why you react to smells, songs, and sights. It is a very weird thing. There is no controlling it. It is like you are full of the ADD label, but you are running in slow motion through a heavy weight of muck, holding you down into the ground. Like cement. For those of you who understand my words and how erratic I am. We may have the same history situation.

There are drugs, but here is the thing, the drugs come from the FDA. ( http://www.fda.gov/ ) The powers that be, therapist, wish to put me on these drugs to make me less erratic. Here is the thing about the FDA.

The thing is; I really dislike the FDA. I personally call them the Federal Death Association. Everyone I have loved has died or been harmed because of some reason of the FDA screw ups, well except my Gram, she died of old age as one should. She was the other person in my life who loved me, who held me, who paid attention to me. I was not a cast away with her, I was her little rebel; she knew me well. She knew my demeanor. She told me I would never be a writer because I could not spell. My answer was, "Gram that’s what spell check is for." I was in the 6th grade in Colorado Springs. I think then she knew if she did not weed me correctly I would not bloom, I would destroy. I am a late bloomer.

In my life there have been pivotal people who have kept me on the right line of things. I am very lucky person you see. I do not see me sharing my story for anyone to have a reason to think, “Wow, and I thought I had it bad.” I want to make it clear it is not about that.

It is about my journey of what I have survived, what I have experienced, what I have seen.

I call this book ‘My Life on the A Train’ for a reason. The A train in New York has several destinations you can end up and in several places if you do not know the lines. Subways run on lines. One of the A trains can drop you in several places such as Harlem, or Far Rockaway. You could also completely miss your connection and end up on the C or the E train as well. This will lead you to Jamaican Center in Queens to connect to the Long Island Railroad. Or you could just end up in Brooklyn. The A train is like our lives in a way. However on the A train, If you keep missing your stop just be thankful you have Airports along the way so you can at least fly somewhere to get away from the chaos. New Yorkers reading this right now are laughing and agreeing to my words, those who have not been here. You just have to experience it. I am not sure there is a way to describe how confusing the subway system to New York can be and is... I have posted a link for you to jump to in order to understand. http://www.mta.info/nyct/maps/submap.htm

As you can see this is something like my mind. I have massive chunks of my life missing in my head. With connection stops along the ride of the subway. What I do remember is extremely vivid. I perhaps imagined what I saw. My question to you is this, can you falsify what the Court records said on microfiche that to this day the court house that made you a ward of the state still has in their records? That is a very different trip, more like the trip on the boat in Willy Wanka and The Chocolate Factory. The original; the one with Gene Wilder. Here is a link to the site for Willy Wanka. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0067992/

In the last few days of my life I have become the super hermit of the year. Hiding out in my room, with these nightmares of memories flooding back. I do mean nightmares. Discussions in of my head of my Step Mothers death, memories of some of the things I survived as a child. We are strong as children. Our spirits take a lot to be broken until we become these mechanical machines. Listening to those around us. Saying yes and no at the right time. Hiding feelings, and burying them so deep we don’t know where to begin to unravel the pain. We have all been there. Maybe yours was the school bully or maybe you were the school bully. No one is judging here. I am just sharing.

Since this is going to be on the internet before the first two books are going to be published I suppose this is shameless promotion. Shameless, self promotion of a book I only could dream will help someone out there.

I however have to explain the waters that one enters into in my life when they walk in. Right now I am an anonymous person in your life. Simply someone on the computer that is writing a tale that you may or may not subscribe to. I suppose I should explain myself so that people can understand from this point on why I am writing what I am writing and why I write as I do.

I also want to get my name out there before other books hit the street in hard back. See my Gram knew I was stubborn as the day is long on a midsummer’s day in the middle of a heat wave while you are putting up fence post and even the warm tea is refreshing because it is liquid. I am one of those people who if you tell them they can not achieve it, they will. No matter how long it takes. Another advantage is that I live in New York; I see things most don’t have the ability to. As people are watching around the world today, they see on TV what I see live, in living, breathing color. Also, I was given a mouth for a reason, but my fingers are very important too. So is living, breathing, growing, and not becoming stagnant.

Right now in my life I am in a very unique situation. My hopes and dreams are on the verge of becoming a reality. Tangible, lil ole me from the trailer park. Making everything I have survived though a worth while journey. An opportunity. A blessing in disguise. I am generally a positive person. I also know I did not survive everything for nothing. There is a reason. If I were to give you a short run down on some of the things I have been through you would be reading for about an hour.

As I told you, sometimes it is like I have ADD. I don’t, this is my everyday, normal life. This is why I have to write things down. I get started to talking about one thing then it leads to another and another and you forget why you even started writing in the first place. Much like the book 'Fear in loathing in Los Vegas', this is a very disjointed book but it has a point. ( http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2008/nov/08/fear-and-loathing-condensed )

This journal had a point when I started it over a bowl of French Onion Soup. I also feel it is important for people to understand me. Or at least try to. So many people of today go out there and they stew in their own juices until they are boiling over and can not stop. They are very angry people. I am a very angry person. I am angry at me, I am angry at the world, I am angry at the Government, I am fuming inside. This seething, angry monster waiting and waiting for a change but the thing is you can not sit back and be stagnant and think you are active.

I have these novels in me, these issues. Forget issues, I have a library you can check out the novels in, but I am not alone in this place. There are so many out there that get placed on the computer and they read and write. They cry out for help and no one listens, let alone really does anything. This is not the case completely you see. There are a few of us out there who do try to make a difference in someone’s life.

There are some who are healers, advisers, helpers. There are also those out there that the computer is their life line. Do you realize that in today’s world, more people are addicted to the computer than some other things in life? They will sit there and be on the computer for 10 to 20 hours a day with out even thinking about it. It becomes their link to the world, the outside. I understand. It’s ok. It’s a scary world out there.

As one who is there at times, this is my solace, but this solace does not pay the bills you see, nor does this solace achieve much but madness inside the mind. This is also a form of free therapy for me. When you think about it. Unless you know me, I am this anonymous New Yorker writing to you from a 13 by 12 padded room in Belleview on the Psych ward. Here is the link ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bellevue_Hospital ) This is just the time they take the straight jacket off for an hour and this is what I choose to do, to write.

Told you I could have ended up as a Manson or a Dahmer. I admit that fully. I am not however am not them. I have no desire to be them. I wish to help, to inspire, to surprise, and to make people laugh. I love laughter. See there I go again, loosing track of my thoughts. I suppose this is why most writers use an outline for a book. I am not so sure that is a permitable thing for today’s reader. (I do tend to make up my own words and grammar forms from time to time.) I think that the readers need a daily chapter to read. Like people used to read the newspapers.

I believe I was explaining why this was the 3rd book and not the 1st book. I believe as an artist, people need to see you as you are before you become somebody if you are destined to be so. So that when you are somebody that is in the tabloids world wide, you were a real person before the lies unfold. I also have experienced a great deal in my life. I can not cover my life in a book. It would be like reading a collection set of something to the lines of War and Peace. (http://www.online-literature.com/tolstoy/war_and_peace/ ) Not just one novel but a set.

I am also trying to put the pieces of my life together to understand why I am not functioning. I figure if I am going crazy shouldn’t the world go crazy with me? I think it is a logical statement. I also work at home and this leaves little time for blogging or journaling. It is not an easy task not to sell your honour thoughts in today’s world that believes in a lower buck and accepts lower work practices. I do not know if my writings will bother people or help them, but it is the way I think. I want people to see how I think as a person with PTSD. I am also going through some other things at this time. However, I need my journal to survive. Give it back; it’s mine I tell you, mine. There are times I am very selfish.

I figured if I am writing anyway; why not place this on the net as a test run to see how well it does. If I have a readership. I suppose in some form this is a self-validation for my ego. I am an egocentric by the way, incase you have not figured this out. Lately my life has been a bit like a chicken running around with its head half cut off. I have been running in several directions at once while trying to hold onto the path before me.

It is a nerve wracking world out there and inside your mind when you are trapped there, you are in your own prison. You have the key to remove yourself; you just have to find it. I have a hard time working with people. The more I know them the less I like. I am becoming a jaded person who lives in a box. The box happens to be the computer. Most people would say well just get off and go out.

Ok again, honestly, people give me issues. I feel their negativity for the most part. It is like this disease of apathy out there sometimes. You can not tell me you do not feel it where you are. People are afraid. The economy is going to hell in a hand basket; we have a new leader of the Free World who got given a can of worms from several years of issues concerning our Country and the World. Right now the morals of America are that of a 3rd world Country. I am not bashing America, I love America, I do not want to live anywhere else, therefore if I am going to bitch. I must do my part to fix what I can. Read the disclaimer on this blog before you criticize me. I put it there for a reason.

I know I am here on this earth to make a difference. We all are. We are all parts of this crazy spectrum in our lives of a computer matrix. We are also part of that larger picture out there. The space you can not see but you know it is there. As I grew up all I heard was what I could not do. I am a very stubborn child and I do not believe in being told what to do. I believe we all have a destiny that we do not know why we do things but they are needed and we do them. Sometimes as I look outside of my padded cell I see life, in living color. The way things should be, but right now in this hermit state it is almost as if you can’t touch the color as of yet. It is not time. Almost like a caterpillar becoming the butterfly or a moth. A Metamorphosis of sorts.

I want to begin a new form of freedom, freedom of the mind. Realization that things are not always what one may think they are. I have lived some of the surreal things you hear about. Government testing, slipping through the cracks of Child Protective Services for years, living as an abuse survivor, not just an abuse survivor but a somewhat functioning one. People need to know. They need to see and hear. I will let them decide if it is the truth or a fabrication.

In my padded cell I have been forced to learn about my computer and money making ideas on here.

The struggle of the true American Writer. Do not sell your principals to the corporate world in any way, do not educate or teach or share in a negative way. We are Americans that should be building our country right now instead of tearing it down bit by bit. I also decided that the book 3 needed to go on the net before hand because of another very large point a friend of mine showed me. I am here to help people, not destroy myself in the process. I am helping no one behind the mask of the computer and trying to finish the other novels while my mind reels to write more. The words in my head become too much and I have to write. Exposing what I see of myself to the world before I step into the world.

Something keeps stopping me from finishing what I start. I am not sure why or what. It is like a shinny thing is placed in front of my eyes and I begin to play with it instead of continuing to play with the old shinny thing. Or perhaps there is a cosmic reason. Or maybe I am just lazy. I often feel it is the last one, myself but I am very hard on myself. I watch the world from my bubble. Afraid to move out of my comfort zone yet seeking the thrill of adrenalin. It is a sick, twisted, way of life. I also am waiting on our Government to start my SSI you see. They have stated my PTSD is unfixable. So in a sense I am unfixable.

I do not believe this. I know I am a worthy person with values and importance. I am just as important as that Dr or the Reporter on the TV. I am just as important as the teacher that has the next Einstein or Longfellow in their class. We are all important, not just me.

My words help my rage inside. They are like cutting the wounds out. Exposure heals. When you are ready to talk, you will and you will heal because of it. We are told in today’s society we should not feel. We are programmed this way. We are a dysfunctional earth if you look at it fully.

If we were not, how could the crash of Wall Street affect a country like Iceland? http://www.businessweek.com/the_thread/economicsunbound/archives/2008/10/iceland_goes_ba.html How many knew about that? I realize when this is in print, meaning you can hold the book, the links will not add up to a hill of beans. I will figure out what to do with that when the time comes.

For those of you who read, ‘Go ask Alice’, this book/journal is like that, except I don’t plan on dieing. Well not suddenly. I hope not anyway. I feel I must put this out there first so people will understand my writing in the other books. Plus I have a large project in the undertaking, so this is a stress relief. I do hope you are enjoying the ride. There will be more tomorrow, as for right now this concludes our blog/book cast day.

Chapter 1 Book 3

Welcome back to the A train. Just to let you know, compare this chapter to a 'Men in Black' chapter. ( http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0119654/ ) I am going to welcome you into my world of New York City; here after known as NYC, where to go for decent French Onion Soup, PTSD, and a survivor. It is important for me to explain…We are all survivors of something. Weather it be our parent’s abuse, bullies, death, segregation, starvation, humiliation, neglect, the wars that may be around you right now. The list can go on and on and we all can be classified with PTSD in this, today’s day and age. Show me a child in the United States that does not have some sort of Disability or Dysfunction, I will show you a liar. Well maybe if you are Amish but they live usually fairly naturally unless they are selling wood stoves to heat your home on TV. It is not just the United States either. It is everywhere in today’s day and age. You just have to look and see. I mean really see.

I grew up in a home I barely remember. In recent months as my roomie and I have been discussing some of my history. I saw nothing of it as I was living it. I just lived it, moved forward, and well never really felt or dealt with it. Sometimes you just don’t have the time to absorb, if you know what I mean.

It was pointed out to me that, ‘Yes every 17 year old holds their mothers hand as they die’. That got me to thinking what a surreal world I had. I never had looked at it that way. I remember very little of my childhood before High School and even High School has dots that are missing. This frightens me. I am missing chunks of my life that I am not sure if I should let sleeping dogs lie or open that can of worms. I remember a few limited things in my life. If you were to count on your fingers what I remember from birth to the age of about 10 or 11 years old I have the grand total of about 15 hand picked memories my fucked up mind will let me remember. Each significant, each its own damaging and incriminating nightmare of memories, that is if you let them haunt you.

I have been debating how this chapter would go. I am rewriting on the computer the three other books at this time, but my journaling became a part of me when I could and did write on the A train. Right now the A train has landed on platform called home base. Right now spring is in the air. I am fasting; my roomie works outside the home about 40 hours a week. I stay home and write and research and do what I have to do to survive while holding on to a hope and a dream, a leap of faith. Until the next story comes along for me to report on to get out in the world of NYC, at least out of my room.

Faith is something I have held on to since the day my mom died. I am very lucky that my faith can sustain my being on several levels. It is my guiding force in this life. I know it well and faith has never failed me; big words to preach from one that you don’t even know. My weakness, vanity, my strength with out question, faith.

As we make a quick subject change to a point, at least I warned you.

I watch these shows and see what they want to show you. What they want you to believe. Let me ask you, haven’t you noticed in society if and when you do not need the TV to tell you what you already know, you get labeled as a freak an odd ball. Everyone has a TV right? So often you get questioned if you are not part of the machine and handle or do things differently than the “average” person.

I have been questioned every step of my life of why I have done what I have done. If I were sane do you think I would have moved to NYC on a leap of faith, a hope, and a dream, and not a dime to my name? No sane person does that. I did. Wait, maybe Madonna might. My life on the A train is not just about the medical issues I go through from my screwed up childhood, but what I have seen and experienced in the world. My reactions based on faith, my sight as an outsider becoming an insider to NYC, what I see from my rose colored glasses. Hey it will be a fun read and you can see your life is really not that messed up.

As I talk to my extremely understanding and patient roommate, when I go on my rants and rages of tyrannical talk. I see things that others don’t. I am at a point in my life where I feel the revolutionaries run through the veins of my feet to my heart and soul. Egging me on to the end, to stand and say Wait, stop. What is going on here? How do I stop this madness in the Alice in Wonderland world presented to us in this the Candy Coated United States situation.

As I research my stories I feel how certain journalists who were there before me, who wanted to tell the truth felt as the lies go deeper and deeper in the Government and I am uncovering. As I do this I put two and two together, certainly not as fast as I watch the Government steal from the children of the future right before our very eyes. Yet we are so medicated and pacified by what we are spoon feed from the grade of well honestly, birth. The guidance around our children, in this day of technology, are that of great influence. The propaganda spread on a daily basis that is, as long as freedom is duct taped and silenced.

Don’t tell the truth of what we are doing. Gasp, the people of the Free world might get upset and we can’t have that.

I have become jaded living in the City. It is like this downpour of every inhumanity known to man. Pimps sitting on Park Ave, heroin users on Madison with bruises so visible that unless you are inhuman you can not but feel. There is the Gods of Rockefeller, CNN to spread the lies, to allow the world to see what the government wants you to see on your TV and computer. Blocking of the free words spewed by the men while society should be crying out, saying, “Listen Asshole, we have a problem. We need to talk.”

With PTSD you live in this constant spin of disorder in your mind. It is so hard to explain. You have debilitating situations depending upon where you are and at what stage you are at. It can create so many other things, migraines, pain, depression, chronic fatigue, night terrors. The list goes on and on. Each is debilitating in its own right but add them together and you become paralyzed in your own home and your own head. I call it the hermit stage, but that stage is coming to an end for me and I dread it. I dread dealing with people, the touches, and the stairs. I am not what you expect behind the computer screen. I am not the person you would expect to meet. An insane, beautiful woman. It is not the normal thing, they usually call them psychopaths.

My journals are my therapy and when I was told about live journal I thought it was a weird thing but the thing is now I get it. It is a way to reach people; you can reach them or they can reach you. Journaling is one of the most important things to therapy that you can have. It is a tangible way to touch your heart and mind; it is a way to heal. It is a way to get your words out with out them cutting you back. Journaling has saved my life more than once. Writing has saved my life more than I care to admit. My writing gave me solace, it still does. I am not sure how I am going to handle this, my mind races so fast some times. I have a friend who feels I have ADD. I feel like I am not doing enough. That my time is constantly running out. I am on this constant treadmill, running trying to catch up and begging for the break I am due.

At a very young age I knew that I was to do something in this world. I was going to make a difference. I am still wondering about that. I look at my age and who and what I am, what I have done in the world and to people. I scream inside of the words used to cut and destroy them in my wake of hate and anger. A part of me is tired of being silent of what happened in my life but because I am not a whiner I usually keep it in. There is another part of me screams inside saying no; this is to share, because someone out there needs to hear this. I feel like this crazy person inside my head, screaming, pulling my hair out stuck in the movie 1984 while big brother waits on me to tell them I love them only to be shot in the head when I do; when I submit to not having thoughts or questions. ( http://www.online-literature.com/orwell/1984/ ) Another part says do what comes natural. Write; it saved your life. It only has to reach one. See the other two books are not out yet, so if you are confused it is ok. I have 2 parts to this book that is still being put on the pc.

I just needed to release the pain inside. For cutters out there, this is my cutting tool. Showing the world how screwed up in the head I really am. I look back on my life and wonder why I did not become Manson or Hannibal Lector? What makes me tick different? I certainly grew up in that state of mind and could have easily slipped to that side. I will tell you I have no desire to go out and kill a bunch of people to get my word across. I would rather use what I am good at. Writing, I have become this stagnant mold in the water and I am tired of that. I know I am moving forward, fighting the good fight but I also feel time slipping though my hands as if time is running out and I will never make my mark in the world. I know I can not be the only one that feels this way in the world today. My life experiences have made me an expert in my life.

I have removed most of the people in my life who have caused me great harm. Harmed my Psyche. Part of that is admitting to them your wrongs, but also stating what you will not tolerate in your life. If they can not accept that they can not accept you. My sperm donor falls into that world. I have many personalities; each angry part of me has an angry child. I am a very angry child inside. Crying tears of blood that absorb into the skin before any see what is there. It becomes this pulsating inner organism that can destroy you if you let it. Like Carrie. I know I reference to the American stories but I don’t know enough foreign world films to compare there. So please forgive my ignorance to that fact.

I was going to bed last night and I saw myself as this rat caught in a trap seeking the exit and that cheese the scientist reward you with. Shiny things, food, reward, good girl. Patting my head and sending me on my merry way. I too often feel I am living in some psychedelic world as this curmudgeon whispers in under my breath about how the world is falling into corruption, that we have become a society so blind we can’t wake up enough to save ourselves. This can not be true.

There is a child inside me that whimpers at the tree of life, seeing what we are loosing so quickly. That my problems of my history given to me seem so small and insignificant, as I am an insignificant against this great Mother Nature. That we are throwing to the wayside because of our lack of trust and faith in ourselves and others around us.

With my medical conditions I go through on a daily basis, which I will get into further at another time, I still see the world and where it is at this moment and there are times the pain is so overwhelming all I can do is draw into myself and wish to sleep thousands of years instead of standing and saying wait, something is wrong with this system. The mechanical people pass by me on a daily basis here in NYC; they are headed to their own world, to their own problems. You can not blame them. NYC is a wonderful city, please do not get me wrong, but it also holds the apitomy of every apprehensible crime known to the human spirit. You can not live in NYC and not feel the despair that runs through its streets. Especially since 9-11.

When I look at the large scope of things my survival is nothing compared to what mans PTSD survival issue may be. This concludes our book cast day. And if this is your first trip on the A train, welcome aboard it is only fair to warn you to buckle your seatbelts, read the disclaimer, it is going to be a bumpy ride. Welcome aboard. All Aboard the ATA who are coming. You are free to move about the cabin space provided.

Prologue otherwise known as catching the reader up.

“My Life on the A Train” has two books before this however; they are not on the computer yet for publication. I am a simple woman that lives in New York City, Queens to be exact. I am a Freelance Writer here, so along with half of the economy, my money is always tight, but somehow a higher power and Faith has guided and protected me so I have not had to sell my soul to the machine.

So in this edition of ‘My Life on the A Train’ where you join me in my life, I have been recently diagnosed with a condition that thousands of people deal with on a daily basis. I know much like my life, some of my writing is a confusing, frustrating, irritating at times. I ask you bear with me. I do have some very funny life situations. Everyone needs laughter in their lives.

Right now, my life is in a suspension mode, so I needed something to do while finishing my other books that are going to press by the end of the year. With my diagnosis of my condition, this is especially difficult for someone like me who has been labeled as a “work-o-holic” to be in suspension mode. I am very long winded as well so please bear with me on that. I will work on it. I am easily distracted and can change my topics in a heartbeat, or a key stroke in this case. Before I tell you what I have been labeled with by the State of New York, I wish to give you a background on me. A sort of self-introduction so you know what you are getting into before you begin down this crazy road.

I am like many, we all have stories of being survivors of abused children, marriage, and Government. Especially those who are artist, it shows in their work.

I am an artist, I am an American and Patriot of our Country, I am opinionated, and a bit narcissistic. I am a Gonzo Journalist. http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/1069436/gonzo-journalism I would be labeled as a Conspiracy theorist by some and a freedom writer by others. I am just curious and research, research, research until I find the answer. If 2 plus 2 does not add up to 4 there is a problem in my mind and I question it.

I feel it is important to have an introduction to the books that I will be placing out there for the masses to read. I am from Generation X, born in 1971. I grew up in Colorado all over, but the one place I spent a lot of the time is Lamar, Colorado. A little town down in the South East part of Colorado. I have posted a link for you so you can see where I grew up as a teen.http://www.ci.lamar.co.us/ This is an important fact to know before you begin to read my words. I have traveled to Alaska, lived in California, Maine, Utah, Massachusetts, and now New York City, which is its own world in itself, the concrete jungle.

I feel it is important to warn the reader as to where they are headed with the writer so they can make a choice as to whether or not they wish to read their works. Not just something that is forced on you like you are in school. I hold fast to the Constitution and use my 1st Amendment rights to the fullest ability as I am able. I believe in education, thus there will be links in my writing for you to follow if you so choose to do.

I want to thank you the reader for joining me on this road of my world, the world of a dreamer, a believer, someone who knows that inside everyone there is a beautiful creature waiting to get out. I am not sure how this book will go over. It is part of a much larger project that has been in the works for several years on paper and in the mind, and the time has come to get it going. It is a project for humanity, so as you read my words, if you donate to what you enjoy, you will be helping humanity in this day and time and allowing free press to cross your computer screens. This humanity project is a pipe dream I will admit it but simple in its thought process. It is a foundation that will help people all around the world. I mean actually help them. It will have to start in NYC, but the idea is based off the story of Pay it Forward. http://www.payitforwardmovement.org/

I believe that if we all help, we can change things. We can create the world around us and transform it. I know it is a big undertaking, however it is my baby and I wish to get this baby rolling if you can understand what I mean. I will give my word on paper, or well the computer at this time that 10% before taxes will go to this fund for any profits off this book. I know that does not seem like much, but when you figure if I had a 1,000 readers a day who gave $1.00, .10 cents goes to the humanitarian fund. For one day that is only $100.00, however, that is also, around $3,000 a month. So as the readership grows and if that is all they gave, the fund will grow. Thus everyone is taking the pay it forward concept to an extreme.

This year, being the kick off year, our first recipient will be the Bronx Zoo. http://www.bronxzoo.com/ Why? They had to fire some animals and well I am not ok with that. I know that the money that is granted will allow the animals to keep their jobs. Also I can go there and hand them the money in person, so that everyone will know that is exactly where the money went. Depending upon the amounts that are made for each month, will depend on which project we help. There are several places that need the money right now, food shelters, homeless shelters, zoos, no kill animal shelters, etc. Eventually the idea behind this project is that 10% of this humanitarian money will stay in New York because that is where this book is coming out of, but that other 90% will go back into the community that the money comes from. This allows all the readers to think of places in their community that could use this financial help. We need to give back as artist, not just artist but as humanity to make humanity work. I want to help in that situation. This is the best way I can think of doing it.

I am going to put book 3 out as a blog because blogs are so much a part of our lives now days and it is an excellent way to get your work out there. This allows me to see what type of readership I will have and allow me to be a freelance writer as well. As you donate to help this book it will keep running and will pay for the bills so I can keep writing. Shameless but it is the truth.

We always say we want the truth. I am going to share my truths with you and allow you to decide if you like the truth or not from my prospective. I have a George Carlin wit, I question everything around me, I am a cynic, and I am an artist. You have been warned.

This book, ‘My Life on the A Train’, started over a bowl of French onion soup and the current situations in my life. Many people who heard my story told me I should share it so others can see that there is hope beyond the painted veil that we are presented with in this life. My story is no better and no worse than some. My walk of life is not easy, but it is my life. I am not saying I am better than anyone, never have, never will. I have many frailties and faults. I believe we all see ourselves far worse than anyone can judge us.

The first two books are hand written and are being placed on the computer. Some of the content are of an adult nature. So if you are shocked easily then I would not read my words. If you have an issue with Freedom of Speech, shut your browser. You do not have to read my words. I am not writing these words to sound like I am whining or complaining, just showing people the process it took me to get to a point in my life I could actually write my words down and share them with the world. Call it group therapy. Feel free to leave your comments. They all will be read and I do not delete comments nor approve them. We are all entitled to Freedom of Speech. I am in NYC, last I checked that is still part of the United States and that is covered in the Constitution. http://www.usconstitution.net/const.html It is the 1st Amendment.

I also am a Freelance Journalist and know that there are lies told to us on a daily basis; from GitMo to the budget. I have access here in NYC that most don’t have. I am here where a lot of this activity is going on. I know that we as a people of this United States have the ability to change things if we choose to. If we have the information we can take action. We have young men and women dieing for our country and it is a tragedy. We have men, women, and children dieing in our streets on a daily basis. Someone has to stand up for them. Someone has to speak for them. We are that someone. We are their voices. Sometimes we just need someone to speak out first as an example. Or join in other with other voices who speak the same.

I have seen a great deal of the United States. I have lived with several different cultures. I have worked in food shelters and walked the streets of New York. Passed by the World Trade Center and touched Glaciers. My life has been a fantastic writer’s journey to say the least. I want to share the beauty I have seen as well. Share my experiences. I also want to write my own autobiography. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Autobiography before I become somebody that is recognized as a writer in today’s world.

My chapters are very much blocks out of my life, much like a blog. This is why it is called ‘My Life on the A Train’. There are many stops on a subway train. We are just along for the ride. I feel it is what we do on this ride that matters. You never know who you are going to touch or how you will touch them. I believe we should touch one person everyday in our lives to help them along the road of life.

I also believe in humor. Humor is the medicine of life that cures the broken heart, the downtrodden, and the hopeless. If you can get a chuckle you have at least made a positive impact in someone’s life that day.

Now that you know about me to a point, let me welcome you aboard the A train. My condition I have been diagnosed with, PTSD, not just PTSD but a type of PTSD that I will never be rid of. Happy days are ahead on this bumpy ride.

Disclaimer:

*I believe in my First Amendment Rights, I believe in your First Amendment Rights. I will defend to my death for your rights to say what you will, please remember that as you read and may become upset or angry. You do not have to agree with me just as I do not have to agree with you. I am a very strong, tenacious, woman that has very strong beliefs for a reason, this is my way of sharing them.

*Oh it should be noted that most should not read this if you are under the age of 16 with out your parents knowing, just in case, not because I do not think that you are not capable of reading this, I am sure you are, you made it past the 6th grade, it just contains some adult content and well honestly, as a parent myself, I would want to know what my children are reading.

*Also as an artist I feel it is our responsibility to take responsibility for what we give to the public and to have some self monitoring to the current situation of mass media and any forms of mass media including video games. Argue all you want, but the creator of the monster is responsible for its care until it leaves your hands,

*Oh and artist please don’t send me any letters of hate mail. Honestly can you tell me that current book, painting, or game, or any other assorted artistic thing you are currently working on is not bane of your existence or simply put, a monster.

*Please take my blog/book writing with a grain of salt and enjoy as you read.