My opinion/my heart 10/07/09
Holy Shite Batman!
I get off the hook from taking one of my mate’s to his mom’s funeral tomorrow only to be asked to take another mate to her baby’s grave. WTF mate?
Do you know why I am finding it so hard to speak to you in person? I do. The emotions I am feeling now are very raw and very painful and I am hiding them as best I can. With, you, I don’t think that is possible. You seem to break down all the walls and barriers I protect my heart with.
I saw off 5 Metro Po Po from the tree outside Downing Street in my ‘Mary Poppins’ way. I was “advised” to leave and declined. My response after being stopped under the Terrorism Act after needing to “ascertain her details and identity” and “what she was doing”. “singing loudly” was already written down as a reason to stop me along with my “small placard” regarding bullying. Give it a rest. My name is Charity Sweet and I will sing out where and when I like. Get the picture?
I don’t get why I can deal with that shite and I am so chicken with you. I know - I don’t want you to see my cry. You mean something to me where they don’t mean S.F.A. I care about good people and the good coppers, not the puppets of this police state. They are part of the problem!
I am so into you it is ridiculous and this is such an insane time in my life. The Canadian media has reported some 23 Cabinet Ministers have been busted as paedophilic ‘nonses’. Alarm bells going off folks?(Today I have received a page stating my IP address from the public café I use is blocked to fathers.ca ??? Where I read this info and wanted to re-check my facts?)
I started crowing about them bastards when I cottoned onto the nonse ring in the school system my children were required by Canadian law to attend – Halifax Regional Municipality; HRM, Nova Scotia Canada - as they class their eugenic selves.
Teachers and school board members will come forward to who? Our Chief of Police – Danny Sykes who went to school with my brother? Another nonse? It’s insane. The situation is insane, not me. More alarm bells, Sir Ian Blair?
I wish I didn’t know what I was talking about. I really do. I wish I didn’t meet the man who was molested by ex Premier Buchanan before our ex Prime Minster, the cocaine baron. I wish that nonse wasn’t rewarded from the Canadian tax payers pocket, a Senatorship and a lifetime salary for the egregious crimes he committed against the boys of the Shelburne Boys School of Nova Scotia. Paul Martin, Buchanan, and Regan the Rapist can all go spin!
I wish I had never met so many boys like him, so many girls like him, so many women like him, so many men like him. I wish I didn’t know and I do. It’s killing me inside.
Under ‘normal’ circumstances, I would be such a shy, sensitive girl. I truly would. This ‘abnormal’ life has taught me to come out of myself… which can only be good. I am singing out for my mother; for what she saw and what they did to her. Good people who speak out generally get severely punished in Canada. Everything good I am is because of her. She taught me love so well and it’s been ripping my heart apart to bear witness to such atrocities against children.
It must have killed my mum to see the things that she saw, back in her day. I remember well the stories.
I remember being there to see that old boy, who everyone else treated as just a bit of nothing; couldn’t speak, couldn’t walk, couldn’t feed himself or wipe his own bum. Then, she was an activities director at an old folk’s home where not many cared how the elderly were treated. They were having a sing song of all the old war songs… yes, it was November.
She bent down, held his worn out face in her two hands and sang to him. It’s making me
cry to think about it. Tears started to roll down his face. I will never forget.
I can’t forget Father Bert either, the man who christened my son; a real man cut from the Catholic cloth that was “always in shit with the Bishop” as he put it. He said right is right and wrong is wrong. He said he was a man and wanted to be married. He debated that he would clearly be more effective to his ‘flock’ if he could advise them on such a serious institution as marriage, from an educated, experienced position.
His closing argument was “Half of them are gay and the other half are at it anyway”, in reference to the Catholic Priesthood. He wanted to keep it real.
The next thing I knew, good ‘ol Father Bert was on the telly – on BBC – being used as a sacrificial lamb to defend the freeing of Myra Hinley, him being the man of the God of a second chance. I can’t fault him and I do disagree with him on that one specific issue.
Forgive the paedophile – yes. Knowingly set him free to re-offend – not in a million years please; the children must be protected, first and foremost in our society. I am speaking from life experience, he wasn’t; only from the profound compassion he held for all humanity.
I remember listening to the message – the poor woman who informed me of his death. Oh my good God, I cried – I cried like the day Diana was murdered. I didn’t know why? He was just so young and so good. It felt so wrong.
Last week I was curiously informed that this all took place during a holiday to Ireland. Father Bert fell asleep in front of the telly, probably after a drink or two and a curry or a pizza. The television ‘imploded’ and the resulting ‘gas’ leakage finished him off.
“It was a terrorist attack”, are the precise words I was told. Eh? Huh? Father Bert has been Dr. Kelly’d and beamed up? Do what?
There is gonna be hell to pay Tony, and hell is a long time a blazin’. While I know that Father Bert would forgive you, I’ll say $£%& you, you evil bastards
Maybe now you can understand why my emotions are a bit raw and must be expressed. With you, I have been holding back which is almost impossible. These embers have been glowing for some time now. Life for me right now is very intense. I am always passionate, regardless, just not so intensely focused.
Raw emotion has produced raw determination. Lots of very deep emotions are surfacing. The emotion I feel around you is deeper than I am willing to recognise.
Maybe ‘willing’ is the wrong word.
‘Able’ might be more appropriate.
Maybe a complete re-phrasing is warranted. I am able to recognise that I am starting to feel something rather deep where you are concerned. I am willing to dare to believe in this thing called love. I don’t know if you are willing to dare to believe in me. Time will tell, as always.
P.S. Today my lovely little black kitty had three beautiful black kittens. They are wonderful! And so are you.
All my Love
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