Killing, Raping, and Crucifying the Artists, their Lovers, and Models

When I started dating Melinda Frank, my good friend, Bryan McLean did not approve.

“She’s a black widow. Because of her my friend Sky is dead.”

Melinda had become close with my sister Christine. She was written up in TIME magazine for speaking sentences when she was six months old. She wrote profound poetry, she influenced by her twenty four year old lover, Sky, who hung around the Beat Poets of Venice.

“What was
can never be
brought back

Killing, Raping, and Crucifying the Artists, their Lovers, and Model Message List
Reply | Delete Message #445 of 490 Killing, Raping, and Crucifying the Artists, their Lovers, and Models

“What do you want me to do – kill him?”

I spoke these words to Melinda Frank, my second girlfriend. She was sixteen
years old. She was my sister Christine’s good friend who dressed like Anne
Frank. I am sitting with her in the shrubs in front of her home where she had
gone to hide. She, Bryan Mclean, and I knew Melinda’s father had her first
lover, murdered! Donald Frank had called up my family and promised them I would
be dead by the end of the day. He had caught Melinda and I cutting school. We
made love for hours in my bed, we getting down to our underpants, and, we almost
went all the way. For this – I must die!

Thanks to Melinda I am alive! When I was in her father’s house listening to her
deranged father explain his brutal philosophy of life, that’s when I began to
leave my body. A white light came out of my chest and I felt like I was
floating. I felt that I could fly away. I felt that no harm could come to me –
in this state!

I had been looking at Melinda lying on the floor on her stomach, she completely
oblivious to what her father The Murderer was saying to me. She was reading the
jacket of a Bob Dylan album. I studied her wet hair, that not but a half hour
earlier was completely covered with blood. Blood streamed down her face in
rivulets as she held on to the door jam. Frank had hoisted his daughter on his
shoulder – his cross to bare. He had no sons. Just two daughters to carry on his
lineage. Donald and his brothers were members of the Jewish Purple gang. The
owned half of New Mexico. Why wasn’t Melnda taken to the hospital?

“I’m not leaving with Greg! Melinda cried as he yanked on her with all his
might. He was desperate to separate us so he could send his goons to kill me
like they did Sky, the beautiful twenty four year old lover of Melinda, who
looked just like Jesus. He deflowered her. Donald had Sky’s face disfigured with
a blowtorch. Bryan was Sky’s close friend, and was angry at me for dating her.
He called Melinda a Black Widow.

Melinda and I had gone to the motel in back of my house to call her grandmother
and have her wire money for her to take the bus to Texas. Earlier, sencing
something was wrong, Melinda had called home only to hear from her mother Donald
was out looking for us. The grandmother would later turn us is.

While sitting in the manager’s office waiting for a Moneygram, we heard the
front door bell sound, and the young manager got up to go to the desk. Now we
hear an angry voice and the manager is backing up into his office Donald right
there in his face, What a fucking animal.

“Where are they, cocksucker? Tell me, or I will rip your face off!”

I get up, and start walking towards Donald, whose head turns like a wild beast
to see who is in the room. He spots his daughter, and me. He comes rushing at
me, gets in my face and screams!

“C’mon, mother-fucker – hit me! I haven’t had some fun in a long time!”

There’s his sixteen year old daughter beholding her father on the verge of
killing her second boyfriend she loves. He can not be doing this for her sake!

Melinda sands up and gets between us. Donald’s eyes are black pits. There is
murder in his eyes. I do not flinch, or back down, but speak calmly to him. I
have dealt with his kind before. My own father committed insane and violent acts
of violence and derogation against members of his family – only for the reason
we were HIS family. There is an ownership issue here.

Donald grabs Melinda by the wrist and starts pulling her towards the door, but,
Melinda digs in her heals.

“C-mon, sweety! I’ve come to take you home!”

“I don’t want to got with you!”

Donald now drags her to the doorway, and when she grabs hold of the door jam he
gives her a violent tug that sends her head flying into the front desk. You
could hear the sound of her head hitting the edge. Blood begins to pour down her
face. Donald throws Melinda on his shoulder, turns to carry her out the door,
but Melinda takes hold of the door jam again.

I understand this is a struggle for my life. Melinda won, for now.
In looking at her on the floor in her pajamas, I flash back to an hour ago, and
see what really frightened me, and I was really afraid for the first time. A
very large man had come into the motel office. He was about six foot six. He was
wearing a white Stetson cowboy hat. He had an air of authority. I saw him as a
World War Two Veteran. He was appalled at what he beheld. There was blood
everywhere. He came at Donald, begging him to put the bloody girl down. Now it
is Melinda’s turn to look just like Jesus, like Sky did. Her big eyes were
pleading with the big man for help.

“This is my daughter! If you know what’s good for, you’ll back off!”

The big man stood there frozen, studying the murderous black eyes of a wild
beast. He was struggling at the very core of his soul, for he had never backed
down. Did he kill Nazi in Germany? Now……..he backed away, slowly, looking
utterly defeated, because he ascertained that Donald was carrying a gun, and had
made it clear his defence for killing the hero was to protect his underage
daughter he was rescuing from the Motel of Filth and Sin.

“The father rat has to take care of his baby rats, or, everything is chaos in
the world!”

As Donald lay his, kill or be killed, philosophy on me, I began to leave my
body, because, I was not out of danger. As long as Melinda and I were in sight
of each other, I was safe. But, how safe is that? How safe does that feel? And
then my angry brother knocked at the door. He had come to my rescue, or, so he

A week ago as I tried to fall asleep, I began to shake violently. After a half
hour I took some pain pills. I almost dialed 911 three time. I could not breath.
I was having a severe anxiety attack. In recalling things about my struggle to
have a normal and healthy sexual bond with a normal and sexually healthy woman,
I was going back and recalling why this was so hard for me. I loved Susie,
Marilyn, and Melinda so much. But, Donald gave me a very clear message; “Make
love to my daughter – and you are dead!” This 0ut of body experience would
contribute to my death on McClure’s beach

Melinda was hiding in the bushes because she was suffering from PTSD. I loved
her do deeply, and cared about her so much. I suggested I try to get along with
her father, who wanted to hire me to run a movie theatres he owned. After I was
working for him for awhile, I would ask for his daughters hand in marriage.

“I don’t want that! You don’t understand how much I hate him!”
“What do you want me to do, kill him?”

I got no reply, and knew our relationship was over. Melinda wanted a Knight in
Shining Armor to come take her away from her father.- any way he could!
As I talked abount Rena, I kept coming back to the fact she was just seventeen
years of age, and thus, underage. Rena had told me she was eghteen. I think I
was in Donald’s house to celebrate Melinda’s Sweet Seventeen Birthday.
Growing up on a ranch in New Mexico, the only school around was a small Catholic
School. The head Nun, would make Melinda huddle down in the space below her
desk, and take sharp kicks at her, telling the students;
“This is how you treat a Jew!”
Today is Ash Wendsday. Melinda was written up in Time Magazine for speaking
sentences when she was six months old. She could never utter these two word;
“Help me!”

“It may be many months after the ordeal when you feel like your life is just
getting back to normal when a heavy rain (after surviving a hurricane), hearing
a car door (after leaving an abusive spouse), or even the telephone ringing
(after a family tragedy) triggers you and your heart races, your body starts
shaking and you are literally terrified, all over again. ”
Jon Presco
Copright 2005

Post traumatic stress disorder[1][2] (PTSD) is a severe anxiety disorder that can
develop after exposure to any event which results in psychological trauma.[3]
This event may involve the threat of death to oneself or to someone else, or to
one’s own or someone else’s physical, sexual, or psychological integrity,[1]
overwhelming the individual’s psychological defenses.

An out-of-body experience (OBE or sometimes OOBE), is an experience that
typically involves a sensation of floating outside of one’s body and, in some
cases, perceiving one’s physical body from a place outside one’s body
(autoscopy). The term out-of-the-body experience was introduced in 1943 by G.N.M
Tyrrell in his book Apparitions,[1] and adopted by, for example, Celia Green[2]
and Robert Monroe[3] as a bias-free alternative to belief-centric labels such as
“astral projection” or “spirit walking”. Though the term usefully distances
researchers from scientifically problematic concepts such as the soul,
scientists still know little about the phenomenon.[4] One in ten people has an
out-of-body experience at some time in their lives.[5] OBEs are often part of
the near-death experience. Those who have experienced OBEs sometimes claim to
have observed details which were unknown to them beforehand.[6]
In some cases the phenomenon appears to occur spontaneously; in others it is
associated with a physical or mental trauma, use of psychedelic drugs,
dissociative drugs, or a dream-like state. Many techniques aiming to induce the
experience deliberately have been developed,[7] for example visualization while
in a relaxed, meditative state

PTSD is a less frequent and more enduring consequence of psychological trauma
than the more frequently seen acute stress response. PTSD has also been
recognized in the past as railway spine, stress syndrome, shell shock, battle
fatigue, traumatic war neurosis, or post-traumatic stress syndrome.

Diagnostic symptoms include re-experiencing original trauma(s), by means of
flashbacks or nightmares; avoidance of stimuli associated with the trauma; and
increased arousal, such as difficulty falling or staying asleep, anger, and
hypervigilance. Formal diagnostic criteria (both DSM-IV and ICD-9) require that
the symptoms last more than one month and cause significant impairment in
social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning (e.g. problems
with work and/or relationships).[1]

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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1 Response to Killing, Raping, and Crucifying the Artists, their Lovers, and Models

  1. Reblogged this on Rosamond Press and commented:

    In 1964 at the age of seventeen I was offered a job managing an adult movie theatre on LA by my second girlfriend’s father who was the head of the Purple Gang. Melinda was very upset this offer was made, because Donald had her first lover killed. I considered taking so we could have some freedom. I did not wsnt to be virgin any longer. I really wanted to make love to Melinda for a very long time to come. She said THEY would suck me in. There would be nothing left of me, and us.

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