Jim Donahue,”I think it’s sad that all over the world there are boxes of people’s writing. Their deepest creativity is stored in basements, often lost.”
Jim was a guitarist and song writer. We talked about art creativity, culture.
Andy Warhol said everyone deserved 20 minutes of fame.
These last decades the electronic age has given us all an outlet for expression and share. My Space devolved to Facebook. Business and commercial interest, financial and power addictions and status seekers moved to Linked in, the arty set chose wordpress. Traditionalists chose blogger. I like origins. There was even a word for it, ‘blogging’. Then there were all the spinoffs. Dating sites even had their fiction writers. Porn hub even had journalists. It’s a profusion of self expression epitomized by the selfie. You tube for the moving images. All of it reflecting a desire to be and to be seen.
I have just read a delightful book of a childhood friend. Tannis Laidlaw is an author of mysteries. Yesterday I spoke to a trans personal psychologist who said he was writing a book.
“I’m writing a book too.” I said.
I have dozen or more blog books in the cupboard. I availed myself of ‘blog2print’ and kept a record in paper and on digital. As well I really am writing two books. They’re early complete but I need to re write and organize them to some ‘audience’. I am a woman who lies naked on a beach hoping to be found by a knight in shining armour. There is that wonderful dream of ‘being found’. Hollywood humour.
I loved ‘travels with charley’ by Steinbeck and imagined paying my way in my camper writing as I travelled around America. I liked black like me too so I imagine driving about the country au femme, anonymous, a cross dressing writer. There’s nothing more passé. It’s what we all do. Wear a persona, adopt an attitude, play a part. All of life is a stage. In old age we can explore those parts of ourself the world had no need of when we were young. My doctor friends in retirement are doing variations on the themes of travel, art, and some gardening, others making caves and mound burial sites. It’s a shame that old age pension wasn’t more considering all the investment and work we put into this. Instead the government as always robbed the workers and gave the money we made to the slackers and criminal. If we’d had our pension money to invest in our own investment portfolios we’d have considerably more wealth but the fixed nature of the pension did force savings by us workers. The indolent though are rewarded by this corrupt and evil government lead by a perverted ignorant sock doll. It’s all so ludicrous. Now I work because I can and I’m apparently good at it. I’m a consultant. I wouldn’t mind if I could just pick up and move to Arizona or Alaska. Wander there over time and spend the mornings video conferencing. I envy my really private colleagues, the psychologists who thinking ahead selected rich clients and served them so they were outside the public pay systems.
I would just work from my garage and travel. I wanted to do that on boat. There wasn’t the internet connectivity. I’m using satellite wifi and in the US there’s a satelittle coverage for RV’s in motion. My is a stationary satellite coverage. My brother did his investment and trading bicycling and using the wifi at Macdonald’s cafe’s. I would like to do work 4 hours a day , maybe 20 hours a week. I’m still doing 40 hours. I like the 4 day week. I like working in the morning. I like being useful. I like prescribing and recommending medication . I like consultation and diagnosis. I like motivational interviewing and insight psychotherapy. I’d like to do analysis again. I liked teaching. I’ve been accredited for this medical legal interviewing. Yet I like the present situation. I go into clinics a half day a week, keeping physical contact and they manage administration. I give a percentage of my income to the group. There’s a Canadian internet virtual psychiatry company I spoke with. I never got to the dollars and cents in discussion. I want to pay off my mortgage though it’s not much and I have savings which certainly manage maintenance even with the terribly tiny pension. I did find sailing that after the first few months the cost per month was only a thousand dollars for two. The grossest mismanagement of the economy by the criminal traitor spend thrift, the budget will balance itself, sock boy, has resulted in us losing our credit rating as a country and inflation. My money in the bank loses value even as it gains interest. There’s a major cost to maintain a place in the city. Vancouver is the most expensive city in the North America. What we found sailing was that any ‘new’ place was it’s own entertainment. I find when I travel I like to go for walks. I’m going for walks now. But if I was parked in Squamish I’d like the walks as much as I do here. But the cost of being parked in Vancouver is $40 a night whereas in Squamish it’s $10 a night and I’m equipped to park many days at a time in wilderness. I just have to reduce my storage locker.
I’ve given up scuba diving so no longer have that. If I was travelling I’d leave behind all the paraphernalia of hunting. I dreamed of travelling in my camper with my trailer around BC to the Yukon and even Alaska for 3 months or so and hunting on the return. I’d tow my ATV and a freezer. I’d then have a year of moose and gladly work another year in clinic. It comes down to my needing to take 3 months vacation rather than even consider moving or changing my life. I could manage staying in touch for that time. I know Madigan would like that time and I’d do it but partly I muddle along doing what I’m doing now and enjoying because I can and Laura whose company I so enjoy is still desperately working. Her boss is working like I am and we’re all uncertain of the future given the utter incompetence and corruption of the federal government that we don’t want to stop saving in case there is war or famine. I’m well equipped but only have to pay the mortgage and that could be solved by selling this place for a smaller place.
I imagine three trips in North America , an au femme tour with sight seeing and camp fires. I imagine my camper with the Vespa just enjoying being feminine and free. See my anima as liberated. I see the animus as a life of fighting for the underdog, defending women and children , facing evil full on, being falsely accused and fighting through, and now when in the old days I’d be rewarded with peace for a life of service, the young are taking all the money and easy times and wanting the old to euthanize while calling us all manner of names taking as entitled all we fought and gave for them. I’d no fun being an old white man. Meanwhile I imagine getting breast from Thailand and wearing mumus and summer clothes travelling about the Us. I’ve always wanted to do the RV tour. Mom and Dad loved it , they did the north. But I’d like to do the circle, the south and the east, visit civil war sights and enjoy the local cuisine and art. I love travel writing. I love photography. I might well enjoy it au drab. I wonder if au femme is a reaction to the tyranny of authoritarianism and corruption. I don’t want to fight the feral cannibals anymore. I always imagine Madigan along as a chaperone. I love churches and meetings and imagine I’d have to leave him to guard the camper as he gets older and is less of risk of theft. I don’t know about that. I am always afraid of leaving him for fear he’ll be stolen or hurt.
I wish to be a monk. That’s certainly an alternative.
I have an au drab dream of going north in the camper and fishing and hunting and writing. I did this once before and worked in the Yukon and loved it but by then she was gone trying to fuck my married boss, drugs taking their toll, the relationship strained, she’d tried to kill us both too many times. I couldn’t trust her and she was so loud to be with. I hoped to rally to blow a spark the whole time, but the emptiness alone was palpable and all she wanted to do was live in her mausoleum. The loneliness of living with her depression, untreated addiction, her anger and passive aggression and the constant betrayals, the lies and broken promises, I was never so despairing than the loudness of attitude that comes with being alone together. I learned to be sensitive for work but the screaming neediness of the walls of anger and resentment and unforgiving arrogance. I had moments of joy. I remember good times but not a sense of them together but rather of my own happiness , my joy in looking at mountains, my joy in hunting, the fun in being with other men, the pleasure in helping a friend, while she was trying to fuck him and breaking things like she always did with my friendships, she’d broken all her own and left them fallow so she could pillage through my life knowing one day she could return and feast on the friends she had before. Living with a borderline, soul sucker, she had moments. But in the end I felt like I had to be a constant clown for the princess.
I imagine doing this trip with Laura and Madigan. sometimes. But then I worry. Women prefer Paris. I’ve taken women camping and hiking and sailing and motorcycling and they’ve always kind of treated it like they were doing me a favour coming along. Then I take them to a 5 star hotel and a restaurant meal and she beam more than when they’re tenting in the wilderness or canoeing int he wild. It’s like they are doing me a favour coming outdoors with me. I owe them whereas the good men, the lawyers and drug dealers and city businessmen buy them houses and put them in gilded cages and that’s what a real man does. I remember she wanted me to be happy in the house. All they ever wanted was the house. I gave women three houses. I devoted twenty years of my life to serving their dreams of ‘houses’ and they only wanted bigger houses or better houses. I laughed when I saw the joke that the women were divorcing the two richest men in the world so what could I hope for. I certainly failed in marriage. Twenty years of marriage and thirty years of long relationships and more than half my income and work devoted to sharing and all we hear is men are bad and a constant litany of condemnation.
So often I just want to be alone. I see such horrors of good men working to pay the courts so that they can raise their children, the only thing women want is the money. They don’t want men, their culture, their language, their individuality. Meanwhile there is outrage about the stealing of the culture of the natives but that was yesterday, today single mothers are stealing the culture of men. Half the children are without fathers and the lie is its because ‘men are not doing their job’. Well that just isn’t true. It takes two and women are blamers and shamers in this scenario. Every ex of a woman is bad yet I see all these great men who could be great fathers if the princess wasn’t so angry and unforgiving.
So I appreciate MGTOW and continue to be with women despite my ex repeated nearly killing me and if I’d not had skills and God I’d be dead today. I survived that marriage and many a man I know has also being beaten by their wives. So many men tell me when I ask why they say tell me, ‘she hits the women less when she has me to hit.’
The industry and the female tribal lies about it being one sided is like living under communism. I can’t believe how little women know about men. It was like when we as interns and residents surveyed the nurses about call and 90% thought we got to go home after a night of call and sleep then. Here we worked in the same hospital as the nurses and they didn’t know we were doing 1 in 3 call and no it was n’t a unionized job and now women don’t know what men do at all. They are utterly ignorant about men because they are so loud.
It’s quiet among men. The heterosexual space is dominated by women. Queens and princesses and men who are drones with the image of leadership with the classic matriarchal male having the appearance of dominance while the real power is with women behind the throne. With men’s groups its easy as adults. I certainly fought my adolescence away having every little shit want to gain status by getting me, the dangerous, quiet one. I was stabbed in adolescence by one of these inferiority complex guys. I have a brass knuckle scar on my eye. As adults we mostly find our place in men’s groups. Like my dad men defer to me, unlike the young Turks who feel they have so much to prove. We old guys just don’t. I’ve walls of awards and trophies and accomplishments but admire most the grandfathers and those who’ve stayed married 50 years. And these old guys like me probably because I’m dangerous. I’ve served jails and asylums and served the queen forever. We look at old guys together and we admire that they can contain the rage and tolerate the abuse. We’ve been tortured together. And still smile.
The gay and lesbian world is busy by comparison. I don’t feel the peace I feel among old heterosexual men, the fathers and the grandfathers caring for the next generation and feeling that they’ve done their time. The LGBT community is still vying for position and so many seem caught in adolescence and still seeking 20 minutes of fame. Not my friends, mind you. I miss seeing my retired gay friends. They’re travelling, fishing, doing home repairs. I’m still working so rarely have time for the visiting of the retirement set. I see the retired lesbians who are friends and they seem happy mostly gardening and doing projects involved with their children still. It’s important to compare apples with apples, I’m one of the older folk now and this older crowd is homogenizing. Laura laughs and says men and women look alike. My transsexual friend told me of the 70 yo who had breast implants with the plastic surgeon who told her that she didn’t much facial work because she already looked like an old lady. The women and men faces become androgynous with age. I’d just like breasts and wear dresses and lipstick and say, don’t ask me to fight your wars, don’t ask me to fix your diesel, don’t ask me to get dirty.I’m effete and if there’s any lifting,a war, or any defending to do, or any masculine job, ask a feminist. Let them carry the load. My female friends who work jack hammers and ride harleys have no time for the huffington post girls on CBC. Real women literally hate these loud demanding complaining feminists more than me. Same with the mothers who have no time for the single girls demands more privileges and condemning men and fathers. I want to retire as a man. I can be a doctor. I can be a dancer , a chef a secretary.
I want to relinquish my male card. My only fear is this won’t last long because the Toxic Masculinity called Communist China and Sharia Iran are just going to invade Trudeau Canada and rape all the Hufington Post girls killing the ugly ones and history will repeat itself. Pollyanna-ism loses. The New World Order is toxic masculinity girls . Naziism and Communism were embraced by girls and the men of the day died in defence. Divide and conquer. Mrs Churchill stood with Churchill and Eva Brawn stood with Hitler. The former lived together and later committed suicide together. No one talks about the utter whack job that was Mao’s wife. She made Imelda look like a stain. Far worse than Kamala. I prefer the Queen Judith and Queen Boudicca of the world not the Hanoi Janes or Benghazi Hillaries. I miss Melania.
Well now I’ve squished all the puss out of my brain. I’m blessed that Laura is coming for the weekend. Madigan and I so enjoy her company. I’ve got a few little tasks to do but I really like serving her. I barbecue for her and do whatever I can to make her visits enjoyable. We share and I like caring for her. She’s a grandmother. She’s a worker. She’s less selfish than so many women. Her self pity isn’t bottomless. Her silent treatments and mystery mood games aren’t too frequent. I once thought I ‘caused’ the ex wives raging mood swings and attitudes and lack of civilization and inability to work together or focus or stay on task, whatever we’d agreed to, I’d actually get her to write down any plan so I could come back and say ‘no this is your plan and I’ve been working on your plan and this is what you agreed and we’ve been doing this because you said this is what you wanted’. I would then get the rage and a litany of excuses. “I didn’t really mean that….I didn’t really agree….I just said that because you made me’. I’ve lived a life with women who won’t own their own choices and refuse to tell the truth and wouldn’t say “I want you to pay for me to do fuck all…..I want you to be my daddy’. I married children and thought they were adults and they never got past being teens and blamed me. I thought Dylan wrote the greatest breaking up song ‘Don’t think twice’. I was knew a woman ,a child I’m told.”
The story of my life was ‘she’s a young girl and can not leave her mother’. I married to women involved in incestuous emotional relationships with violently insane mothers.
I’m just so glad I stopped drinking and smoking dope. My family didn’t drink or smoke dope,. I married into family of drunks and took my position in the family of addiction. Each person in the untreated family has a ‘role’ to play. I was the ‘rescuer”. I’m so weary or being ‘rescuer’. I’m am so weary of taking care of girls. I don’t mind in my work being an adult. I love to care for people in my work. I used to say to my ex “I can take care of a 100 people and get paid or I can take of your, I can’t do both.” I was seeing a psychiatrist and I did all this self help and always felt and still feel I’m taking emotional baths only to be wth someone who likes their stink and the drama and the hell they create with their immaturity and grandiosity. She refused to get help. When I sent her for drug and alcohol treatment to California she didn’t go to treatment but instead plotted to kill me. She had all these people who believed her drug addicted lies. I just went along and did as I was told. I was fully cooperative with the authorities. The same authorities had let me be raped and covered up the rape and lied and cheated and now they even offered me drugs and alcohol and I stood there aghast refusing to drink and do drugs with them and walking away. It’s surprising I stayed a doctor. I am so thankful for Graeme, Ray, Bernie and Willie and Philip and all these men who were true and didn’t lie and cheat me but were true good caring men, Hippocratic colleagues, and I felt sorry to leave her. I couldn’t help her any more. Funny I liked that she had her own drug dealers as friends when I met her and that she’d always liked to party and we could have such fun together away from her mother …it was so sad to see all the notes her mother had left with her, the disgusting perverted sayings and the demonic curses and how insane her mother was…..I’d never seen or heard anything like her except in locked wards and she hated her family. I wish I was a better person. I wish I’d somehow been closer to god then. I’d return to church and prayer and meditation.
This is June. June was the Month. It was an anniversary of horror. She would keep me up all night with her raving. I’d need to sleep to go to work and she’d not let me sleep. I left and took hotel rooms repeatedly to get some sleep but she wasn’t showing up for work. She’d sleep in and do drugs and not care. She lived in a world of lies and alibis. I was paying all the bills and she was secretly moving all the money into secret accounts and had the horrible little weasel of a lawyer borrowing money in my name and I was paying everything . What didn’t go to her drugs and was taken. The friend of the man who raped me and wanted me silenced and said I shouldn’t give up drinking and smoking dope was good and my own psychiatrist who lied at the time saying I didn’t spend two years talking to him about being raped by the man who turned out to be his friend. Bisexuals and homosexuals I met when I was smoking dope and drinking and they were doing dope and drinking stuck together. Thank god the women who were doctors knew her addiction and lies and vouched for me. I was so thankful for the women back then who told the truth about her rage and addiction and lies and depressions and how I was simply long suffering and a good guy.
What a nightmare. I went from the frying pan to the fire looking for a place where my dog and I would be safe because I couldn’t trust her not to kill me because I wouldn’t get her more drugs and I thought she’d hurt my dog. I stayed with the growers I knew in the country not knowing they too were now into coke. It seemed in that last year all these people her and my friends got into coke. The same had happened when that boat of dealers came into Mexico and the ‘scene’ changed. We’d been hanging out smoking a joint and drinking a curveza and suddenly all this coke came into the community. She liked it. I hated coke. Tried it in California and it just made me impotent and horny and having a coke jaw that made me look like a monster and scared eeryone away. Now the old hippy guys I knew turned out like her to be into coke. I loved my other female doctor friends who hated coke and had left them men who had got into coke. Here I was like these women. I left. The coke addicts stole my money and like her they’d become feral. I was smoking dope and drinking beer and then stopped . I phoned a Christian and asked if he’d come get me and my stuff. I came with his car, didn’t have van, they guys took my stuff. My friend said they did that. Invited people to stay and then took their stuff for coke. I was a ‘mark’. Mark was the name. I had all these red light’s I didn’t pay attention too.
And left.
My dog and I went to a trailer . I talked to Graham and Willie and they still didn’t know that their drunken, drug addicted perverted deceitful colleagues were who I was wanting to stay away from. I had gone into carpentry when I was expelled from school. I got back into carpentry now making tables and chairs for the trailer I was renting. I’d been loaned it but would pay as soon as I had month, a month later, maybe two, and then I got the insurance I’d paid for for years, a special disability insurance. I tried to get welfare and the dark skinned woman screamed at me in the office ‘you’re a doctor, you can’t apply for welfare!!!!” Shouting in front of everyone. I was thankful that the friends in church fed me. I was hungry like I’d been another time in my life , that first time I’d smoked dope and those I was with stole all I had. I met Bernie and we talked about the bad times in my life and the worst ones certainly had been when I smoked dope and drank. Not always but the people I had then , lower companions in high places.’
I was asked what I wanted. “All I want is for her to stop drinking and doing drugs and go to AA”. The College of Physicians and Surgeons Psychiatrist said ‘Women don’t go to AA.” I never spoke to this flake politician psychiatrist again but loved Bernie in AA and Willie in church and would spend the last years of his life, going to AA with the former head of psychiatry of UBC. I really liked him sober.
I felt sorry for my ex. That was the time when all women were told to leave relationships and that the men were to blame. Same as the days when all the women had hysterectomies until the famous study in Manitoba showed the greatest risk for hysterectomy was proximity of a surgeon. I had been married to two women who drank and did drugs and I’d had enough of that world. I was going to be clean andd sober and live with those who didn’t drink and do drugs and avoid people who lied and cheated. I’d done my time. It wasn’t the world of my family and it hadn’t worked out for me. Women who drink and do drugs are emotionally unstable and they simply won’t take responsibility for their actions. They don’t do this very well under any circumstances since blameing me in all the rage today. Maybe generations back blameing women was the rage. In my life time it’s blaming men. Marxist Identity politics , men are bad, women are good. Men oppress women. I had an Assistant Head of the College of Physicians and Surgeons say with manifest psychosis. “Women don’t lie about sex.” The trouble with being a psychiatrist is you really see when people in authority and power are truly psychotic.
I was happy to be clean and sober and no longer worried about what she’d do stoned. I didn’t worry about the safety of my dog. We got by. I loved being back in church. Before my marriages I was president of the almagamated baptist youth, I studied theology, my family were Christians and my mother was devout. I married women who weren’t religious. I loved black bra girls and when I fucked I felt that I had to make it right , make this women who I now loved, holy, by marrying her. I think the women would have been glad to keep fucking. I don’t know if they needed to be married. I think at least one was shocked by the proposal but it was what we did. Fuck and marry and be respectable and the state makes a lot of money. They weren’t at all religious, maybe spiritual but mostly party girls who were great in bed and we had fun. I assumed we’d marry and have children only to find that one didn’t want children and didn’t plan to have children and didn’t want her figure ruined and the other didn’t want to stop drugs and had didn’t want to be anything but the child princess and my job was husband wife and daddy.
Now I know ‘marriage is an institution for family’. Not a fuck fest. Marriage is an institution for community. Not a fuck mobile. I married women who wanted me to get them houses so they could play house and be respectable and have stuff but they didn’t want children. They were career girls. I know women who want children, family and Communty today. They want to be mothers. My wives didn’t .They wanted careers and they wanted to be the princess. And I was the daddy and I didn’t get any kids or family or community just paid the bills.
I like the gay community because even though there’s parents there’s a theatre adolescence quality to it. I miss the theatre world. I started in theatre and at university got this ‘calling’ to medicine. It really was numinous. I want to be a play wright and live in the world the theatre , I was studying arts only to have this path open and who would have guessed I was gifted in science was a natural for chemistry…I wondered later if my ability to see virtual formulas in the and 3 d chemical molecules just reading formulas was a left over from LSD. Did my brain change when I dropped acid that time or was it always dormant. It certainly has been a gift. I don’t have it with physics. Biochemistry was like breathing to me. Clinical medicine was equally easy. Constantly I made diagnosis that everyone missed As a GP I cured all these disease. It was like Lazarus. But it was like one dimensional chess.I d loved surgery like carpentry but there was a deluge of surgeons at the time and my friends who were the best couldn’t get OR time. I had learned how corrupt the hospital beurocracy was , the government corruption was so overt, the money for a baby incubator had been stolen by the administrator at the hospital for a new desk and office furniture for the administrator. I never met anyone lower than the administrator at the mental hospital . When they made the big stink about residential schools I knew it was all propganda and lawyer make work because the y went after the priests and teachers but no one touched the administrators. The administrators in the institutions I worked were the lowest cads. I actually asked one ‘how did you get this job’. I ‘ m friends with the premier he told me. Then it studied the Communists and Fascists and learned how gangs worked. ‘Loyalty’ all you needed whereas meritocracy was a wholly different things.. .I love when the prime minister said ‘I don’t need you to agree with me when I’m right. I need you to agree with me when I ‘m wrong’
I did community medicine and was blessed to work with Jack Hildes and Fish. Truly great men but I was attracted to psychoanalysis and didcn’t know then that it was a tool and narcissists could use it as well as good men so I was dominated by a narcissist analyst who said I could be his or I could be Hildes but he didn’t want me to be shared with Jack and I was having enough trouble when with my wife become depressed when her mother was trying to kill her husband and they were dealing with all the drama of that alcoholic household and I was living alone with a wife who was never present emotionally at least. I was told I was supposed to man up and bear the burden of women.
It’s June.
I stopped drinking wine and smoking marijuana even though the psychiatrist I’d seen before I saw the addition medicine doctor and Christian psychiatrist and addition psychiatrist all thought I would do best clean and sober, the other psychiatrists didn’t think I had that much of a problem given I was dealing with a cocaine addicted wife who had a long history of abuse dealing with a psychotic mother where all the men in the family were suicidal or addicted to heroin.
I wanted to leave. I wanted to get a job as a carpenter or go back to general practice. I loved Dr. Lam. When I chose medicine for no really good reason since carpentry and theatre and writing and real drama not the insane drama of the government and hospital world and institutions like marriage were worse than fiction, well. I’d liked medicine. I still had the calling. Dr. Lam and all the doctors I were meeting weren’t like the plotting scheming drunken doctors I worked with. This whole world of doctors I met sober and not smoking pot were like the Jack Hildes and Fish doctors I knew and the doctors who’d taught me in medical school and my mentors in psychiatry who didn’t do drugs or were sexual perverts preying on students. I kept meeting all these incredible doctors like Ray and Bernie and the CMDA crowd and Hank. Hank was the godsend, my true angel. He told me in Toronto he needed someone to help him find a Tilley hat and I went with him looking for one. I miss Hank. A Baton Rouge Psychiatrist and former Flight Surgeon he convinced me to give psychiatry another goal, told me all the tales of the drunken administrators and the big money in drugs and smoke and alcohol and didn’t get upset or jaded by the evil in the world, was Anglican and a Christian doctor but in AA and lived the ideal off ‘live and let live’. He and Art became my friends. Art was another Psychiatrist who was a true mensch with the most beautiful wife Carole. I just kept making friends of people like the men I’d known before my marriage, friends like the Quaker medical student I met in Oxford and stayed in her rooms, good men like Dr. Carl Ridd who taught me Literalture of the Bible. Willie and his family were the most amazing collection of salt of the earth Christians who’d known my grandfather who was totally against alcohol.
I could write a Count of Monte Christo about my June but I rather like Jesus and the Dalai Lama better. I concluded that I could never do unto others as they had done unto me so left the divine retribution to God knowing that God was perfect karma. I’d paid off a lot of past life shit in that one month and now would try to be aware.I love graham saying to me , some people run with the turkeys and some people run with the cheetahs, you’ve been running with the turkeys. I ‘d thought of killing myself before I met him. I was so thankful to know Sam too because he taught me that there were good Jews and Bad Jews, good Christians and Bad Christians, and just as I’d learned from Hank that there were sober psychiatrists and godless drunken and drug addicted and sex addicted psychiatrists. I still have trouble trusting people. I was spent a year going through records to prove that the College lied. I later for that the same person lied with other doctors. That person was picked because they lied. I studied Arendt and Nuremberg to learn about that kind of person. They are in all the worst of organizations. Loyal. Terrified sick people who are loyal to the leader. Eva Brawn sorts. The feminist like Eva Brawn and hate Queen Judith.
It wasn’t easy to stay a psychiatrist. But eventually the leadership which had been dominated by drunks and addicts burned out and really good men took charge. I began to know all these really good psychiatrists who were salt of the earth like my psychiatry mentors who had taught me before taking advantage of me. Good men, good teachers, the kind of psychiatrists I ‘d most been attracted too, people who worked with the most marginal of the world. I no longer was around any psychiatrists who did drugs or alcohol. I loved our meetings of sober pschiatrists, 30 one time, holding hands and saying the Lord’s Prayer. I was so thankful to meet Philip an amazing mensch of a man, a sailor and radical man of God. Not at all politically correct. I’d had Dr. John White for my psychiatrist mentor for 6 months in my residency but had been lead astray by this child psychoanalyst who hated Jack Hildes and had all manner of power issues. Something about psychoanalysis caused a weird narcissism. The analysts in the city competed with size of houses and cars, weird. Here I had dr. John White as a mentor and I didn’t appreciate his under spoken wisdom till much later. He was so wise and so spiritual. I’d see his like in Dr.. James Houston.
George made life so fine. Never have I known a better friend than George. For 20 years I had this sober general practitioner jazz piano playing woman loving, father of sons and daughter baseball fan friend and we’d meet each month and go to concerns and get together for dinners and just laugh and laugh and laugh until the day he died and I felt like I lost a brother like I felt when I lost my mother and father and brother. Now I’ve lost a sister and I’m present. I didn’t run from the pain in alcohol like I did when I lost my friend much younger, I was so thankful for sobriety for the end of life of my father and mother and brother. I could be present.
It was hard being a doctor and not doing drugs and alcohol because the administration had so much drug and alcohol abuse and perversion . I’d been much loved and ‘one of the gang’ when I drank and smoked dope. Only when I stood up for the natives against the drunken abuse of the greed of the authorities took a stand like Jack Hildes had on the side of the abused did I experience the full wrath of government . Now for years I’ve had to deal with the drunken and addicts in government and their edicts and the persecution of good male and female doctors while celebrating the ‘loyal’. Steal a little and they put you in jail, steal alot and they make you king. I ‘ve watched repeatedly the men and women I most admired be attacked by the demonic authorities. They killed God, the leaders of the government and the church in the day. Why should I be surprised.
I was there when they crucified my Lord as the song goes. I was watching and weeping , maybe I didn’t pierce his side but I wasn’t any better than Peter who denied him. I realize what a coward I am. I’m so afraid and so sad. I’m getting older and I look with admiration on my friend John who was persecuted and mauled by the disgusted College …..he was king Lear, ‘more sinned against than sinning’ and the women and men involved will see hell and their children and families face the karma of their despicable evil behaviour. Lies and cruelty. Jezebels and Herods.
I’m afraid of the way seniors are treated by dictators, communists and by this Trudeau sock boy government. A day doesn’t go by when there’s more abuse against the elderly all th while some other group screams ‘me first’. Slackers and posers and malingerers all get fed first while the seniors are offered euthanasia. Kill the old!!!!!@!
Oh well. This too will pass
Thank you God for all your blessings. Time to focus on the positive. It’s June. Another anniversary of the new life. A new accord. Thank you Jesus.
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