Voices Of Our Sisters

Voices of Our Sisters

We Are Only Who We Are, What We Are

We Have Never Asked For More

  Than What Any Of You Would Ask

And still, We Rest Alone

Where Is The Justice?

Where Are Our Rights?

We Once Danced With Laughter

Wrapped In Colour Supported By Flame

Now There Is Only Darkness

Now There Is Only Cold

Why Don’t They Cry For Us

Why Have We Been Forgotten?

This Is Not What Should Have Been

We Had So Much To Say, So Much To Do

Why Was This Taken From Us

Why Does No One Care?

Why Have We Been Forsaken?

We Cannot Rest

Always Walking

Always Running

A Never Ending Journey To An Unknown Place

Searching For Light

Searching For Warmth

Crying For Justice

Until Then…

We Shall Just Keep Walking

Hundreds of  indigenous women have been murdered or gone missing across Canada since 1980 and remain, to this day, unsolved or open cases that the authorities have neglected to investigate.  In 2016 CBS launched an investigation of 34 of those cases, where police claim there has been no foul play. (for full details visit the CBC link below) Please- lend your voice to this cause by getting involved and forcing authorities and governments to stop treating these missing and murdered women as an invisible statistic.

http://www.cbc.ca/missingandmurdered/

https://nwac.ca/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/Fact_Sheet_Missing_and_Murdered_Aboriginal_Women_and_Girls

missing_women_vigil-fred_chartrandthe_canadian_press_file_photo

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September 28, 2016 · 1:20 am

Friendship-I call Bullshit

My father once said that I do not have a selfish bone in my body, so perhaps I need a transplant to get a few in. I have always put others before myself. I have always done what others wanted to do, or worked to make others happy. I always heeded to another person’s schedule, sometimes even rearranging my own to make it fit so that I can spend time with them. I have always tried to be the comic relief for those that are stressed and the sensitive ear to those who’s hearts are bleeding, but no longer. No one is there to cheer me up, or pull me out of the pit of despair.

I am not a selfish person, but I am about to be. I lasted almost 6 years being 7th priority to my boyfriend, after his son, his mother, hockey, golf, his job and his ex wife. I find that I am even further down the list with the people that I call friends. I spent a lot of this day realizing, as I spent another weekend alone, that I am always the one to call and suggest a get together. I am always the one who texts first, or is left chasing after the attention of someone else.

In the last year, do you know how many invitations I have received from my friends to get together? And I am not talking about the mass invite to an event that I can’t get to because it is out of the GTA, or for a product party, I’m talking about actual; invitations for me and that other person to get together, see a movie, play some cards, have a good laugh… None. 0. Zip.

Do you know how many invitations I have made to others in the last year or so for the same reason? Dozens upon Dozens. Do you know how many accepted? 0. Zip. Ziltch. The reasons are all the same. Their work schedule is crazy. Their home schedule is crazy. They’re out of town. They’ve got too much going on….and then I see all the lovely updates of them out on the town having dinner, at a party, at a movie or whatever with their ‘other’ friends. All things that I wasn’t even considered for.

I began to realize that my friends didn’t really think about me all became most apparent when my friend married a few years ago. I was the one that got her and her husband together. I had them over to our house multiple times, helped them move and any manner of other things. When they got engaged, we were the last to know. When they got married, she had eight…eight bridesmaids, and I was not one of them. I was not even considered, though I had known her for several long years and considered us close friends, the only thing she asked me to do for her big day was a three minute reading, and that was last minute and mostly, I suspect, out of guilt.

My definition of friend obviously does not coincide with everyone else’s definition. A friend makes the time to get together with you after a month or two has gone by and they have not seen you. They don’t wait until you call or message and then beg off and claim they are too busy. A friend will check in on you now and then, with a call or a text or a message, just to see how you are doing, not wait for you to send a witty text and respond three days later with a simple ‘lol.

With the exception of my sister, who is also insanely busy with work and family and life, and my best friend who is in another province so we cannot see each other, I have seen only two of my friends, once in the past twelve months, and as always, I had to go to them and our time together consisted of a quick meal then they had to go again because they are busy, busy, busy.

Even my extended family wished nothing to do with me, the last few times I was home. I advised I was coming and with the exception of my Aunt, no one asked me to come for a visit or said they wanted to see me, but when my sisters or cousins go home, everyone makes the effort to get together with them. And people wonder why I have low self esteem? This is why. Actions speak louder than words, and the actions are that I am not wanted or welcomed.

When I deleted my face book account over three weeks ago, only a few asked for my contact information, and so far none of them have actually contacted me. Friendship is a two way street, and I am tired of being the only hitch hiker on a One Way going the wrong way.

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March 18, 2016 · 9:51 am

SNOWMAGEDDON

 

It’s snowing. Not just any snow, but the kind of snow I love…big fluffy flakes, gently falling to create a pristine blanket against the ground. There is nothing so peaceful and serene as walking in this kind of weather.
When it snows, ain’t it thrillin’? Blow your nose it’s a chillin’. We’ll frolic and play the Eskimo way…walkin’ in a winter wonder laaaannnnnnnnddd!
Ouch. Oh yeah….one other thing I forgot to mention about this type of snow…it’s slippery as hell! Okay…gimmie a moment. Nothing broken. Check. All limbs attached. Check. Buttocks re-calibrated from sudden impact. Check. Okay- we’re good. Where was I?
Ah yes…snow.

It’s always interesting how people react to inclement weather. There are some people that unless it is clear and sunny, are all bundled up like they are living in the Antarctic instead of Canada. Others, what some would call- Pure Canadian’s eh- are walking around, no gloves, hat or umbrella, just a hoodie or an open jacket without a care that the rain or snow is falling upon them.

Drivers who are already suspect on the road, become candidate’s for Canada’s Worst Drivers, either driving in bad weather as if they were trying to outrun it, ignoring the carnage of pile up’s they leave behind, or they are crawling along at 10 km an hour, afraid more than a couple of snowflakes might actually collapse there Smart car.

As for me I am somewhere in between, I wear my winter coat in the winter and my summer jacket in the summer…and when I am back home in Newfoundland, I switch them out on a daily basis regardless of season and always carry a sweater or a poncho. I don’t drive, so feel reasonably secure (most of the time) on the buses during bad weather days. It’s not fun standing out in the elements waiting for a bus during a storm, especially when the bus you were waiting for doesn’t show and then the next one isn’t for 30-40 minutes, but I still prefer it to risking my life trying to drive in it with unsuspecting road terrorists ready to cause chaos.

And what kid doesn’t love snow days! They get to stay home from school, and build forts and have snowball fights and go sledding and happily exhaust themselves with fun. I was never one of these kids of course, I disliked the cold and couldn’t throw a snowball to save my life, so I was usually the one that ended up battered by them, or face down in a snowdrift, but nowadays, I rather like snow.

At the office, however, snow takes on an entirely different meaning. Snow means looking out the windows every twenty minutes and checking the weather forecast online. Will it snow? When will it snow? How much will it snow? They’re predicting the storm of the century! Can we go home early? What are the roads like? I don’t have snow tires, how will I drive? And on and on and on. OMG it’s Snomegedon! Twenty to Thirty centimeters!? Outrageous! We’ve never had that much snow! The world is ending!

We’ve never had that much snow? We’re in Canada! We’ve had ten times that much snow. But, a funny thing happens in Canada every year, and not many Canadian’s are aware of it. The moment Spring steps forth, people forget about snow and complain about drizzle and rain. Then summer seeps its way around the corner, and it’s too hot. Autumn falls upon on us (sorry- couldn’t resist), and for the most part, people seem to be content as we get warm days, cool days, sunny days and rainy days. Everything everyone has been complaining out for the last two seasons, suddenly is just dandy.

And then, out of n where (not like it comes the same time every year or anything) comes the dreaded Winter. Oh My Heavenly Gods! The cold! It’s so cold! Why is it so cold? Was it this cold last year? Oh wait it’s warm again, why it’s practically summer. It must mean that Global Warming is a real threat. I have the flu, yes me too. Why is everyone sick? Because the weather keeps changing. Why is it doing that? Because we don’t have enough to complain about!

Suddenly the worst happens and a weather forecaster predicts snow. EEEKKK! Snow? Here? In Canada? The world has gone to hell in a hand basket! Stock up on supplies! Get those Winter tires! All schools are closed due to prediction of snow! (YAY! Snow day for the kiddies) Office workers are calling in sick tomorrow due to weather. Some can’t drive on snow. Some can’t see in snow. Some can’t remember what snow looks like! WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!

The snow comes, as a gentle whisper of flakes softly drifting to the ground to create a lovely wintery blanket over the dying grass and hard, dirty sidewalks. As this snow lazily floats to the ground, it has no idea of the carnage that is predicted, for it is just snow and has no understanding of us silly Humans. It dances, and prances, and drifts and sways, until Father Wind decides he’s had enough of all those cars driving over his beautifully individual and unique flakes and all those people stomping across his crisp clean carpet of white. They need a lesson.

A snow squall picks up and no one can see outside the office windows. Car alarms are going off, birds clinging to the building ledges peering in as if to say ‘What is wrong with you people? Let us the Fuck in!’ Trash bags float past, but you can’t tell what it is until it slams against the window and everyone…EVERYONE that is glued to the glass shrieks! They stand there waiting, watching and predicting their own demise by this horrific thing called snow.

Then the wind stops, the snow resumes its graceful cascade to the ground and pandemonium breaks out. Cries of early departure abound, coats are flung on even before the people are out of their seats. Alarms are beeping like a symphony as everyone rushes out to their vehicles in the hopes of getting home before the next phase of the storm hits and they are sucked into the never-ending void of white.

Once on the road all the rushing comes to a complete and sudden stop as each vehicle crawls along the snow laden roads, inching desperately towards their destination where they can lock all the doors close all the curtains turn up the heat, watch Hawaii Five O and forget about the snow, but they won’t be getting home any time soon.

Jack Frost and Old Man Winter have a bet going to see how many accidents there will be, how many pedestrians will wind up with a wet ass as they try to hustle down the sidewalk in four inch heeled boots, tugging at their micro mini’s and shivering in their tights and yoga pants. HAHAHAHAHAHA

I’ll take a piece of that Jack! Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, snow. The moral of the story boys and girls is that snow, while wet and cold and somewhat slippery, it is NOT the end of the world and the only thing that really makes it dangerous, are the people who panic over it.

 

This combo photo shows people falling on the ice and snow along on January 22, 2014 in New York. The northeastern US shivered amid heavy snowfall and far below average temperatures in a storm that grounded thousands of flights and triggered traffic chaos.   AFP PHOTO / TIMOTHY CLARY        (Photo credit should read TIMOTHY CLARY/AFP/Getty Images)

The end.

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March 2, 2016 · 2:18 am

The Wheels On The Bus….

Ahh..It’s Monday

 

Taking the bus in Mississauga is like feeding a mass of starving chickens, while following a laser pointer just ahead of the running of the bulls.

I am very bad at math, but even I know that a line is not created by forming a hexagon around the circumference of a rectangle, or that ten people can fit through a 40-inch door at the same time. As I think this, (To be documented at a later date) I am being pushed, shoved, stepped over, stepped on, nudged and OY! Watch the hands there, ya pervert!

It matters not that I arrived before the three people that just crowed in front of me as if I were invisible as they tap away at their smart phones with thumbs that are moving so fast it creates a mild wind tunnel around the crowd. The only time they look up is to see if the bus is coming, not if someone is in front or behind, not if they are trampling a kid or smooshing a cat, just the bus and the phone- that is all that can fit in their tiny, insect like noggins.

Finally, the 109 express arrives, which is the one that only half of us are waiting for. In the distance, there is a flickering of orange and white, and suddenly the Time Warp begins…It’s just a jump to the left, and then a step to the right. With your hand on your hips… and a stomp on the foot, with an elbow to the head, then they turned out the lights, as you’re lying there dead.

You manage to drift back to consciousness in the middle of the Barnyard Shuffle as everyone is scampering to the left, expecting the 107 bus to magically appear behind the 109. Suddenly the 109 pulls away and there is a massive scuttle to get back to the place they just were, five feet away.

Finally, the 107 bus arrives, and the oxygen is sucked out by the sudden vacuum crush of bodies trying to squeeze in through one tiny, bus door. As I am jostled, elbowed, squeezed and OI! Again with the hands! I finally make my way inside the bus, to see a bored, bleary eyed driver too disinterested to even meet the gaze of the cattle he is taking in. More jostling and inappropriate touching and I am stuck in the middle of a standing room only mid-town express.

Mmmmm…the smell of BO and armpit in the morning, nothing quite like it. My eyes are watering from a ‘man’s man’ who is too masculine to wear deodorant, and a woman who decided to bathe in a perfume that smells overwhelmingly like a funeral flowers mixed with cat piss.

A student carrying a backpack three times his width on his back keeps turning to talk to his buddy next to him. The backpack, that is obviously crammed with bricks, hits me twice in the head, before I squeeze a tiny hand through the microscopic space between me and everyone else and pinch the shit out of his side.

He yelps, looks down and I glare at him, while pointing to the back pack. He apologizes, and then there is an uncomfortable struggle as he tries to take it off while packed in with the rest of the sardines. Halfway through the route, we’ve shed a few pounds (people) and are actually able to sit down, and then, just as our resting rumps hit the seats, an idiot driver tries to cut off the bus and we are all thrown forward into our closest neighbor as the driver slams on the break. Much horn honking and fist waving ensues, then we are on the road again.

Finally we get to my stop and I pull the wire alerting a stop is signaled. We drive towards my stop, up to my stop, and then past my stop. ‘OY!’ From the depths of a wee person’s tonsils comes a warrior’s cry. “STOP!” The driver flinches, slows, pulls to the curb and I stomp off the bus (along with three other irritated people) and make my way back an extra block from where I needed to be. I turn down the street towards the building that houses my current employer, push through the doors and take the stairs rather than the elevator as I have the extra energy, up five flights and then key into the office.

Hang my coat up, drop my purse at my desk, reach for my lunch to put it in the fridge, and realize it’s still on the counter at home.

Yes…It’s Monday.

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February 23, 2016 · 1:06 am

Small Talk My Ass

I don’t really get this whole ‘Small Talk’ thing. I know people do it all the time. I know it is expected that everyone can do it, and that everyone does do it. Supposedly, it improves your social skills, and that you have to be great at small talk in order to have ‘good’ social skills.

For me, I just don’t get it. I am a writer, so words are important to me and always hold some meaning. With words, you can make someone laugh or smile, you can make them cry, you can hurt them in a way no physical pain ever could. Words are the greatest tool we have, and they are also our greatest weapon. Words, when used properly, can express a new opinion, educate, excite and, when others share your words, they can eventually change the world.

I’ve never been much of a talker. I prefer to speak my mind on paper (Or in this case on a laptop which is then uploaded to a website). Despite my preference, I have tried to learn this ‘small talk’ because friends and family insist that I need it in order to fit in with society and to grow as an adult. Well, at forty-four and 4’9″ I am already an adult and no amount of small talk is going to make me taller, so the growing part is over and done. But, I see where they are coming from.

Now, I have tried to use small talk with friends, co-workers, the odd vagrant or cute guy on the bus, until my eyes roll up in my head and my tongue turns blue, but in all honesty it just makes me even more socially awkward. I can never think of anything interesting to say; did I mention that I like my words to mean something, or at least instil some sort of reaction in the other person?

Sure, there are the generic comments/questions. “Nice Weather We’re Having” or “How Is Your Day Going?” which is usually followed by the standard, unimaginative replies of “Yes, Fine Weather.” And “Fine, Youuuuuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Snark! Huh, what? Oh, sorry, I fell asleep while typing the MOST BORING RESPONSES IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSAL TIME SPACE CONTINUIUM!!! pant, pant. Breathe* Okay where was I? Oh yes, social monotony. When you look at the words above…no, above that, the paragraph above…don’t get technical! Sheesh. Anyway, the common responses and comments have no meanings. Someone asks how you are and you automatically reply fine or good. There is no thought put into it at all.

Let me e’splain….no, there is too much, let me sum up… INIGO! Get away from my computer!! Go find that six fingered guy. Now, anyone and everyone can use the oh so common phrases during small talk and receive the prerequisite response, sure no prob. However, what if you said something that is not in the Universal Small Talk Handbook? Say… for example, if you were to ask the woman waiting with you at the bus stop if she ever noticed how hard it was to move a body after it was dead?

As there is no standard response, the woman freezes, stares, and then slowly starts to move away. Sometimes she might reach for her phone, perhaps to Google what the proper response would be, or perhaps to contact the police on a possible serial killer- who knows? Now really…How is that kind of response supposed to help me improve my social skills? I suppose if I went to jail, I would certainly develop new skills, but I’m not sure how they would benefit me socially.

Now, everyone once and awhile you might meet that one non-drone, anti generic individual who might actually be able to attest to how heavy a corpse might be. If you are really lucky, they may even offer some good suggestions on disassembling and disbursement to make moving the dead body easier. Unfortunately, those unique and special people are few and far between (or serving life in a maximum security prison) and so after sharing your socially inept and slightly morbid joke, they walk out of your life forever.

So, I ask you, why must we all be judged by the same standard of social maturity when that standard pushes for everyone to be the same, and offers no respect for a person’s individuality? Talk the same, act the same, react the same…BORING! I am not the same as everyone else, I never have been, and while I did try it for many years, I found I don’t really care for it. I’ve always excelled in following the rules. Always tried to be what others people wanted me to be, or behave the way I was expected to behave. Not so much anymore.

I am socially awkward, and I don’t care who knows it. No amount of self- help books, twelve step programs or $500.00 sessions with a psychiatrist is going to change that. If you are shocked, dismayed or amused by the things I say or the way I act, I am totally fine with it, at least it is a reaction. Life is too short to be boring and far too long to be a sheep among sheep.

Please don’t insist that I have to be like everyone else, just because you chose to be. Don’t try and change me into follower when I am someone who likes to carve their own path, and leave it up to you to follow or go your own way. It really doesn’t matter to me what your choice is, because this is my life and my choice. You are responsible for your own.

I’ll tell you my idea of small talk, and I never expect a reply, though it is always nice to get one. I told a man with dreadlocks that his hair looked like snakes, and before he could respond, I said I like snakes. What might have angered him before, made him smile afterwards. I asked a woman in the elevator if she ever wondered if the goblins pulling the cables ever got a break for lunch. She paused, uncertain of course, and gave me a funny look, but as she stepped out, she looked up at the ceiling of the elevator- maybe looking for the little people behind the scenes?

Who knows? Maybe she went home and told a friend or family member about the crazy lady in the elevator. The point is, words mean something, whether you get a response or not, people remember your words when you have something interesting to say…and isn’t that simply amazing?

 

DSC_0301

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October 1, 2015 · 1:39 am

Hell of a Day

A curved boat peeked through the languishing mists and pressed across a blood red sea. A harsh metal taste sullied the air, leaving a putrid after taste in the mouth of the thin man standing at the base of a red rock cliff, awaiting the ancient vessel. Despite the oppressive heat that threatened to suffocate and scorch his very breath as it left his body, the man shivered.

The boat slid to a stop at the very tip of the ledge and a gnarled, mummified hand beckoned him aboard. Jasper Keening swallowed, hard, stepped over the side and into the craft. For reasons he could not explain he did not look at the tall, cloaked ferryman, fearing his fate would be sealed if he so much as cast eyes upon a creature who could sail such seas.

As they pulled deeper into the mists, the sounds of the red water lapped eagerly at the boat, slapped and clawed against it. The crimson sea concealed thousands of unspeakable obstacles that pounded and ground against the wood beneath Jasper’s feet. hard enough that he had to cling to the thin wooden plank upon which he was seated; lest he be thrown overboard.

He would not put his hands over the edge of the boat. He did not wish to see, to feel or know what or who was impeding their progress. Then, the wailing began, horrific, gut-churning cries of suffering, of fear, of death and he started to shake.

A hand reached up to Jasper through the waves, then a head peeked through; eyes gouged from their sockets, skin puckered with boils and a scalp smoldering. It was as if they were being boiled. Boiled alive in a sea of blood.

At last they were on the other side, and he left the boat post haste, eager to be away from the maddening cries, the endless sounds of torment. The ferryman pointed one long bony finger, indicated an ancient stone stairway and so up Jasper climbed, to the throne room of his host.

The figure towered above him and settled against a throne made of rotting corpses. She was at once terrifyingly hideous and profoundly beautiful.

“A…are you a daughter of Satan?”

She laughed and it was a horrifying sound, comparable to a tremendous thunder storm, mixed with a million shrieking crows, and a hundred thousand screams of agony. “I am no daughter.”

“His…bride?”

“Not for many times…” She smiled and leaned closer to him, her breath pungent and sweet, deathly and alive. “I am the Mother. I am Beelzebub. Lucifer. Demogorgon. Mantus, I am all of one. I am the Keeper of the Gates.”

Jasper’s eyes widened. “But…He is called the Prince of Darkness.”

“Must a Prince have not a Queen who birthed him.” Again her wicked smile sent shivers through Jasper. “Was it not Eve who led your Adam astray? Was it not Helen who men went to war for?”

“Wars for many reasons. For freedom and to…to protect ourselves from enslavement and…”

“It is not for debate you are here, young Jasper.” She rose and cacophony of cries rose to a fevered pitch. Instead of feet there were claws, enormous black claws that scratched against stone steps, slick with blood, that screeched like a million nails drawn across a chalkboard as she descended.

“T…then why am I here?”

“Because you are dead. And your soul is mine.”

Jasper heard himself scream, just before her powerful jaws enveloped him.

 

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Filed under Tales for the Twisted

Mother’s Day

mom

 

I thought I caught your scent today

As I walked among the trees

Was it the smell of budding flowers

Trying hard to tease?

But then I heard your laughter

And I turned in such a whirl

To find a pretty lady playing with her little girl.

And so I did continue, along my chosen path

And missed you with all that’s in me

As I thought of the talks we’ll never have

I wish you were still with us

but it’s not for me to say

Now’s the time I seem most to dread

It will soon be Mother’s Day

rose

The mornings come so early

And it won’t do to lay about

I can almost hear your scolding

Get up, you lazy thing, get out!

So with heavy heart I start my day

Going where I don’t want to be

Feeling so utterly wretched

and trying not to let anyone see

Among the towers of cement and glass

I trudge along my way

When a gentle breeze caresses me

And It’s suddenly a brighter day

I’ve caught your scent again, you see

and I know it’s no budding rose

I can feel you’re right here with me

So I’ve forgotten my earlier woes

I tell you of all that has happened

Of all my fears and of doubts

You listen so very patiently

and your love for me shines throughout

You tell me not to be so sad

For you are never far away

But that I will always have you with me

For each and Every Mother’s Day.

 

TMD

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May 8, 2014 · 1:13 am