Last Thursday I had a thorough exam. The doctor’s assistant asked me if I would like to get into therapy.
“I have seen two therapist in Eugene who said they understood the problems creative people have. They didn’t. We did not understand there was insidious stalking going on, and much more!”
I had shown her pics of Alley and Belle. She went to find the inhouse therapist. My doctor came in. After ten minutes I played the ‘Witch Hunt ‘ video. She was – appalled.
“This is wrong!” she said as she heard the call for me to “be locked up.”
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“My neighbor believes I denied her sex because she weighs 500 pounds. She thinks I deliberately attacked her fragile self-esteem, and she is out for revenge – with our neighbor’s help! My mother was like this. She came on to me all the time, and when I denied her, she found a way to get revenge.”
My doctor couldn’t handle that. No one can. I tried. Female therapists are very attuned to helping a Female, and can not believe women can be monsters, too.
Yesterday, I came home on my bicycle and saw Cheryl by her car. She pretended not to see me. She came up behind me as I was about to lift my bike, and carry it upstairs. I let her go up first. On the way up the stairs she is telling me how strong I am for a man of my age. She extended her hand.
“I admire you so much. Let me shake your hand.”
There I was, almost to the top, and she had me where she wanted me. I was gasping for air. Surely I would take her hand – just to get her to move.”
“Move!” I said, but not gruffly, lest she go to Fat Momma, Big Nurse Ratched, and lie some more about how abusive of a man I am.
When my mother was a teenager, her sister Lillian took her to go see Errol Flynn at his home. Errol sent his best friend across the arena at a tennis match to fetch her. He had seen the commotion when W.C. Fields stepped on my aunts toes. Errol’s friend gave her his card with his address. Rosemary and Lillian fought at our family gathering over who Errol loved the most. When I saw the movie ‘Whatever Happened To Baby Jane’ with my sister Christine,I leaned over and whispered;
“Rosemary and Lil!”
Christine loved my sense of humor. It kept us both sane. Rosemary was seventeen, and Lillian sixteen when they were Errol’s living room taking in his dazzling smile.
Pierrot sent out a brochure two years ago that says the screenplay about my sister – and her family – was given to a famous un-named actress. That was two years ago. This might be BS, but, my screenplay will be the real deal.
I suspect Sue and Kim Haffner may have contacted Pierrot to see if they can be in her movie, as the Christian family who exposed Rosamond’s brother as a sexual predator. Sue was all in a huff when she read my blog and my anti-Rapture rant. Garth went to the same high school with the Haffners, who I suspect took his side in Snyder’s book – because they are STALKERS! They saw an opening – and went for it – their fifteen minutes of fame.
There was near fourteen million dollars worth of Rosamond prints left unsold when my sister died. This is not a garden variety artist. Two books have been written about Christine by outsiders. I am authoring a biography about two creative siblings growing up in a very abusive household. It is a miracle we managed to be so creative, in spite of those who were jealous of us, and did all they could to destroy us. Lilian and Rosemary Rosamond did not know they were related to Elizabeth Rosemond Taylor.
A disclaimer saying I never had sexual relations with my mother, will not stop my stalkers from talking, and making up more lies! The truth will shatter your heart! I confided in Kim Haffner when we became friends. This fat-ass parasite is probably writing her own book – for money! How evil. This is why she denies reading Snyder’s biography. That fat ugly pig took my sister’s biography, and wiped her big ass on it. Kim Haffner gave me back my sister’s book, DEFILED. And then she made me out to be a monster to neighbors who did not know me.
Kim Hafner has wonderful kind parents. Yet, she says they fucked her up – but good. She blames her obesity on her mother and her religion. She told me she was so full of shit, that it literally came out of her mouth. She had to go to the hospital to get all the crap out!
If my mother were alive today, and saw the evil this shitty human pig did to her two creative children, there would have been no need to take her to the hospital. Rosemary would have opened up that Demon, right here!
Lillian’s son and wife refused to see his mother because she told her bawdy Hollywood tales. Randy did not have a child. Lillian was never a grandmother. These were Bad Girls. Errol built a gambling casino on his farm. Did George Raft and his Mob show up for a all night game, complete with young women? Rosemary made porno movies for ‘Big Bones’ Remmer who may have been at the Mulholland Farm. These are the daughters of the Flappers, that rendered America a launching pad for the sexual revolution that made the Hippie ‘Summer of Love’ look like a church picnic. Liberated Women reasoned; if American Men are allowed to be as debauched as can be, so can the American Woman.
Below is a photo of me striking a Errol Flynn pose. I did not look like my siblings. My father denied I was his son, and was the product of Rosemary’s infidelity. He called me ‘Rosemary’s Baby’ in front of his friend Ernie, who brother was the head of the Mexican Mafia in San Quinton. You see, I pulled a big knife on ‘Big Victim’ when he came to take my sister Vicki on a ‘Drunken Drive’ to grandma’s house. He was ordered by a court to stay away from us, and our house. He was weaving into the furniture. He was on a two day drunk. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a big knife, and pointed it at him;
“Get out of our house!” I ordered. And, I saw murder in my father’s eyes, as he took a step towards me. Then, he changed his mind.
Captain Victim had raised me and my brother to be mean. I was twelve. My artwork was touring the world in a Red Cross show. I am still waiting for someone to come help me, and declare I am…………..The Scapegoat! You see, it is much easier to blame the totally innocent one, then the Real Criminals. Christine and I should have become Axe Murderers. It bothers trained psychologists that we didn’t. They can’t – cope!
I wish my granddaughter a Happy Mother’s Day. Blessings to Christine’s daughters.
Happy Mother’s day – you two!
“I just tried to post this on your page. Happy Mother’s Day Daughter!
Heather has very dysfunctional folks in her family tree. It has been a real struggle to remember and honor my mother, Rosemary. Finding this site, has helped immensely, because I was the family healer. And, I was all alone with this – shit! You can not begin to heal unless you identify where it hurts, and why. The evil woman who lives below me, employed Heather, and the riff between us, in her vile Stalking of my family. She reveled in there being no family unity. She celebrated our wounds. I may have had the worse mother in the world, but, she was the only one I got.”
So, it was a joke I was Errol’s son. Here we are smoking cigarettes at Christine’s wedding to actor, Rick Partlow, at Micky Roonie’s first home. We had the best conversations, and the best laughs. The three of us – were crazy! We were Bad Asses! We have been around the block. They Haffners can’t hang with us. Fuck off!
“Let’s go over there and smoke cigarettes.”
Rosemary drove Vic from our home when I was eleven. She stabbed him between the eyes with a knife. He never paid child support, but took credit for Christine’s success. After he raped her daughter, Vicki said our niece knew better that to drink with Vic.
“The same thing happened to Christine and when we drank with him in our twenties.”
Did anyone gang up on my father and shout “You need to be locked up!” No!
When I saw Lillian again after many years, she gasped;
“He looks just like Vic!”
“I told you he was lying about John not being his son!”
Rosemary said her daughter got her talent from me, and,
“You were her John. You led the way!”
Not completely true. I was cast into the wilderness as the Family Scapegoat. I died for everyone’s sins. I don’t know why all the therapists I have talked to, can not grasp this. Perhaps this explains the near-death experience I had at twenty, in 1967. But, this idea gets me labeled ‘Psychotic’. Everyone around ne owns a identity crisis. I don’t! My Family Title is pretty solid. I pretty much raised myself. I am entirely self-taught. I didn’t have parents. I had rival adult siblings that fought with my siblings – for everything! Then they went after our children.
The last time I saw my mother, she asked if I had any children. I told her a Seer said I had two children.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to get your hands on them!”
I was an Adult Child as long as I can recall. Sometimes I grow weary – and leery!
1.a person who is blamed for the wrongdoings, mistakes, or faults of others, especially for reasons of expediency.
synonyms: whipping boy, victim, Aunt Sally; More
2.(in the Bible) a goat sent into the wilderness after the Jewish chief priest had symbolically laid the sins of the people upon it (Lev. 16).
(to be continued)
sully, mar, or spoil.“the land was defiled by a previous owner”
synonyms: spoil, sully, mar, impair, debase, degrade; More
desecrate or profane (something sacred).“the tomb had been defiled and looted”
synonyms: desecrate, profane, violate, treat sacrilegiously;
I met Elmer ‘Big Bones’ Remmer when I was fifteen. He and his wife (or girlfriend) looked like Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus, they both having white hair. They walked into our home on San Sebastian Avenue, our benefactor wanting to meet the children of their employee. Rosemary ( a made woman?) was working for Rucker hydraulics in Emmeryville and met Remmer in the Oaks or Menlo Club located in mob-owned town. She started editing porno movies for Remmer, then starred in them. Many nights Rosemary did not get home till after her four children were asleep. We would find a doggy bag from a restaurant in the fridge. Vicki sees her three older siblings as her real parents.Remmer was bigger then I thought. He is named along with Mickey Cohen and Frank Sinatra. He ran the Cal-Neva Lodge and took his case to the highest court in regards to his card rooms in Emmeryville and San Francisco. It looks like Remmer was trying to make gambling legal in all of California which would put the Mob out of business in Nevada. However, Remmer was the Mob.
There was a brawl and arrest in LA involving the actress, Vicki Raaf. Here, Hollywod make-believe, meets real reality!
The Red Cross had a youth art program in the 50s and early 60s where a hundred works of American art were chosen to tour the world in a international show. I was chosen twice, when I was twelve, and when sixteen. The work I rendered at twelve can be seen in the photo above hanging on the wall. It is a watercolor of a sailboat.
The second work was a watercolor of Oakland’s Produce Market painted from memory. My brother and I worked the summers at our father’s warehouse located at second and Market street near the train tracks in Jack London Square. Acme Produce was located in a Victorian warehouse with a façade like the one on the house I lived in with my wife, the artist, Mary Ann Tharaldsen.
In my painting was a red truck like the Ford the Presco males drove around in, delivering produce as far away as Crockette California. This painting is described in a letter sent to my mother by a official at University High School. After coming home from Europe, the Principle asked if he could hang it in his office for awhile.
I was given a brochure that had the artwork in it that got lose long with both paintings. My uncle Vinnie saved a panting I was honored for when I was in the seventh grade, he finding it on the garage floor. He got it framed and hung to with the seascape I gave him.
Determining whether or not your mother is insane was, but, is no longer the consideration of Bohemian Author, Ken Kesey, because he is dead? However, Thomas Pynchon is still alive, and according to me ex-wife, he had issues with his parents. Mary Ann does not offer much detail about the parents of the elusive Pynchon, leaving many to wonder if it was his mother who drove him insane, and thus, he wrote crazy-ass novels that predict the coming of Word Grafiti mixed with Jazz. I have been very liberal with my tales about Might Mo, who was generous with her madness, she sharing it with anyone who got in range of her psychic six-shooter.
To sandwich myself in between two hugely famous Beat authors, has doomed me to failure, for most will conclude I am trying to emulate them – and am insane! However, Ken was never incarcerated in Camarillo State Mental Hospital as was our family friend, Sue Villiani, who was my lover, and Christine’s best friend. After failing to get her out, my sister Vicki, and Keith Purvi,s took her off campus, and were taking her up north, when she got scared, and asked to be taken back. Keith was the lover of Nancy Hamren of yogurt fame. Sue was a very beautiful and talented actress. She is the hidden Star of my autobiography ‘Capturing Beauty’.
Yesterday I discovered the Scary Dairy that lie on Lewis Road. It was built by the hospital that built on land purchased from the Lewis family who were good friends of Rosemary Rosamond. A Lewis sent my mother the home movie he put together in 1990. He, whose name I forgot, never stopped asking Rosemary to marry him.
I also discovered the Perry Lane Cottages that Ken and Faye Kesey lived in at Menlo Park. They were torn down. Consider the Columbia cottages, the graffiti, and Stefan Eins, the Creamery mural, the movie ‘The Horses Mouth’ and the Quest for Belle. Here it all ends, in a field of broken and lost dreams, that amuse the Graffiti Ghost as the Scary Dairy.
Rosemary was a Veteran. The WAVES must have overlooked her madness due to the fact she scored the second highest score on their aptitude test, and they put her in a code room in Seattle spying on the Russians.
Below is are images of the Insane Asylum taken by a Lewis whose brother dismounts from his horse to…..to pose. These young people are entertaining the possibility they may be in The Movies. There are two scripts out there about my crazy sister, the famous dead artist. The Lewis movie was made long before Ken’s movie. Rosemary told her children se had a scholarship to Camarillo after they rode up and talked to the head doctor. I think he was looking for a Star Patient. Hollywood cranked out some fine psychological melodramas. I’ve been depicted as a dangerous and scary mad man….who escaped from The Funny Farm!
I am going to write the university and declare the Scary Dairy a work of art, a Fashion Moda West is you will.
The Scary Dairy is an old dairy farm adjacent to the former Camarillo State Mental Hospital, now California State University, Channel Islands. It was run and maintained by the staff and patients of the hospital as a form of work experience and additional income for the hospital. In the 1960s the dairy was closed and the buildings fell into disarray and have since been heavily vandalized.
The land is now a part of the California State University, Channel Islands. The public is welcome to explore by foot during the day. University police officers patrol the area frequently and are on the lookout for large groups of youth, vandals and firearms of any kind (including paintball guns) and any other suspicious activity. The field adjacent to the dairy has been used for sheriff exercises and training. The trails around the dairy are used by hikers, runners and photographers.
Wedged between Menlo Park on two sides and the Stanford Golf Course on a third, the subdivision is 100 years old and forever resisting incorporation. There are no sidewalks or streetlamps. But there are a lot of ambiguities, starting with the name. It is either University Heights, University Park or West Menlo. Scott lives at the corner of Stanford and Palo Alto, which is in another county. The area is bordered by a Menlo Park public school — Oak Knoll — but even the kids who live across from it can’t go there.
The biggest ambiguity of all is Perry Lane itself, which is one thing the white-suited Wolfe got right by getting it wrong (along with misspelling Sebern’s name). On maps it is Perry Avenue, though to call it that “you might as well call it Perry Boulevard,” Scott says as she looks down a street that is just one block long, two cars wide and seems narrower with all the overgrowth.
The approach from Leland Avenue is marked by one of the original wooden cottages, a one-story box unpainted and unlandscaped. There is only a smattering of them left. Given real estate pressures, it is amazing all of these shacks haven’t been scrapped.
The cottages, built as shotgun houses when adjoining Stanford University was taken over as an Army camp in World War I, are also disappearing. “Most of the Perry Lane houses were only marginally modernized,” says Paul. “And even those that were don’t suit the tastes of people nowadays. Our house was over 100 years old and didn’t meet any current building codes. I had to work hard to keep the house alive without attracting attention of officials.” (Aside: Street signs say “Perry Avenue” but locals it Perry Lane.)