The necessity of standing up about DV

Earlier this week, VoElla published an article by the DV survivor and author, KendraLynn. She touched on a very important fact in that article, the shameful behavior of our system of justice.

In many DV cases, often the victims are at a disadvantage, for the aggressor frequently controls the purse strings. This means that the people who deserve the best support in the middle of their crisis are usually left with whatever assistance programs can provide. Their abusers usually have greater resources, and frequently no compunction about using every trick in the book to attack their victim, while appearing upstanding citizens within the courtroom.

The sad fact is that we need to ensure that the victims of abuse, in general, and DV, in specific, have better support. As it exists now, the abuse victims' ordeal has only begun by pressing charges. After that, they are then dragged into an environment where their story is doubted, sometimes aggressively so. A forum where they have to relive the most painful incidents, and have them dissected by a defense bent on winning at all costs, instead of committed to truth.  A battlefield that a canny abuser will take advantage of, to put on a facade of decency.

In fact, the abuser will often continue the tactic of managing public appearance. Convincing others that they are being totally reasonable, when their aim is the ongoing victimization of the DV accuser/survivor. Appearing to be the victim of the whole thing.

As admirable as the concept of "innocent 'til proven guilty" is, the courtroom ideal does the victim no services.

Added to that is the sad fact that we do not have an effective system of rehabilitation. Recidivism is all-too-frequent. Most abusers of all stripes DO NOT CHANGE THEIR BEHAVIOR. There are exceptions that prove the rule, but the common story is that the abuser returns to society without any real incentive to reform for real.

Correspondingly, the people who need our help most are often marginalized or outright opposed, while the overwhelming trend of re-offense is seen as a necessary truth.

Because rehabilitation is ineffective, the victim is left with little recourse, unless they aggressively advocate for themselves, or are fortunate enough to have another who will make sure to protect them from abusive behaviors.

And Net Neutrality comes into play here, because it is all too easy for an abuser to go online and create an alternate identity to continue their campaign of terror.

Pandora's Box is open, and Hope is very frail. We need to do more. Our families, friends, coworkers, and neighbors need our help.

And it is NOT Someone Else's Problem.

Grief...

A four-year-old child,
unable to understand
the complex motives
that drive a woman
consumed by her demons,
only knowing she left him behind,
taking his siblings
along with her,
leaving him with a father
broken by her desertion,
a man unprepared to be
both father and mother.
A man whose bitter pain
leads to savage words
that make the pain even worse,
making her choice to flee
a judgment of the worthiness
of the child left behind.
The child grew into a man,
his heart stunted
by despite,
by unworth,
by the self-fulfilling prophecy
that all will
abandon him.
The mother seeks to reclaim,
to heal,
to rebuild bridges
burned so long ago,
but he can't trust her...
And, then, in a moment,
she's gone,
and there will never
be a chance to reestablish
what shouldn't have been lost
in the first place,
but might have been recovered
if he tried.

Why Do I Write?

Why do I write? Seems like it should be an easy question, doesn't it?

Except it's not. Writing doesn't pay the bills, and with a two-child family and a disabled wife, that pressure falls on me. It's not like I have a rabid legion of fans who hang upon my every word, whose adulation feeds me a cocaine-esque rush. I have no extraordinary gift with words such as Hemingway, Shakespeare and Byron had. I'm not in love with my own cleverness, writing to dance with words simply to show off how witty I am.

I could tell you of the formative incidents in my life, that made me into the person I am. The abandonment, being a victim of abuse and a misfit, the tragedy of perpetuating the cycle of abuse, the disillusionment and despair of a man who faith failed and virtue became meaningless to. I could speak of the loneliness, the yearning, the misunderstandings.

I could speak of the gifts I've been given in great measure. The sensitivity, the Empathy, the facile intelligence. The insatiable hunger for knowledge, the ability to recall, the ability to perform, to tell stories.

I could tell you all of these things, and they are parts of the why. But the greatest portion of why is very simple. I write because I must.

It is as natural as breathing, and as necessary to me.

Neverlasting...

Check out @fieryverse's Tweet: https://twitter.com/fieryverse/status/562960892707741696?s=09

I have two poems in this collection!

Deconstructing a Haiku

A furry fury
rampaging in the bracken,
a wolverine's lair.

I posted this poem on Friday morning during a flurry of haiku written during my last break of my full-time overnight shift. I thought I would use it here, to illustrate the lightning-in-a-bottle process that is how I write poetry.

With less than two hours until the end of my shift as an overnight stocker, I realized it had been some time since I had written poetry independent of the myriad Twitter prompts I take advantage of, spurring my creativity. So I chose to forego the prompts for the nonce, using the opportunity to write several haiku.

As I wrote, my focus bifurcated, splitting between the words I was writing and
various seeds for poems. These seeds are thoughts, images, phrases, and other fragmentary bits that creep into my writing. One of the most common seeds comes in the form of plays on words - puns, double entendres, homonyms/homophones, paradoxes and oxymorons, and alliteration.

The alliterative phrase of a furry fury stood out to me, so I started thinking about what kind of creature would be considered as such.

Wolverines and badgers are, pound for pound, just about the most vicious mammals in existence. Especially when backed into a corner, when on the defensive.

From there, knowing I was going to write about a furry fury on the defensive, it was a matter of trial-and-error, looking for the correct words to fit the constraints of the classic haiku: Three lines; Seventeen syllables; First and third lines contain five syllables each.

I still needed to give the reason the wolverine was being such a fury. And that reason came, with the thought of its den. After trying a few combinations that didn't fit, I came to the final wording.

All in the matter of five minutes from initial seed to posting the poem on my Twitter timeline. Most of the process taking place subconsciously, or intuitively.

And now you see how I write!

Repost: About the Hypocrisy of Wordplay

Originally Posted to @TorturdCyclone via TwitLonger:

How many times have you heard someone on Twitter excuse a series of explicit, erotic, intimate posts as "just wordplay?"

Too many. Including from my own tweets.

The fact of the matter is that social media is intimate. Sometimes, frighteningly so. There are things I tell here in my Tweets that I would never say to someone in the real world.

So many times, a person denies that they would ever cheat upon their spouse/partner/et al... And then they participate in wordplay. Explicit wordplay. Erotic wordplay. Hyper-romantic wordplay. Wordplay that even causes the readers to have a sexual response...

The most powerful and enticing wordplay is when the participants make it more than two people being clever and agile with their words. The strongest instances have emotional context, sexual context.

They bring release at climax... sometimes including physical release from voluntary or involuntary responses and stimulation.

So what is the difference if a woman seeking a lover's touch, if it is real or virtual? Should there be a distinction?

I argue there should not be.

If I wordplay with a woman the way I want to, she will feel pleasure. All that I can give her. That is my aim.

And how many tweets are there about seducing a woman's mind, and her body following?

Slippery slope here. Think before you play.

What Am I Doing Here?

What am I doing here?

I'm forty-four years old, married for almost 13 years, have two children, and work an average 55 to 60 hours a week, to keep my family fed.

How can I have the time to pursue a writing career? How can I continue my evolution as a Polyamorous man, a Dominant, and maintain relationships over distance?

Many people would be daunted just by the real-world burdens I bear. Since my wife's stroke in 2012, and the subsequent series of car accidents she had as a driver, she is no longer insurable, which makes me the only legal driver in our family. Since 2007, my wife has been on kidney dialysis, which has left me as the breadwinner for the family.

With all my responsibility, how can I look at others, and have relationships that are in addition to that relationship with my wife and children?

My answer is simple. How can I not?

As an Empath. I sense the feelings of those around me, those I contact. Knowing their feelings, it becomes easy to care for the people I connect to, bonding emotionally. In this manner, I discovered the truth that, at least, for me, love is neither singular or exclusive.

I chose to pursue my long-term ambitions as a writer, using Twitter as springboard and inspiration for my poetry. The momentum and confidence gained have led into this year.

Building on sales of poetry for the second Poetry Project by Fray'd Tag Publishing and Neverlasting by Fiery Verse LLC, my plans for 2015 include multiple collections of poetry, a campaign on IndieGogo, and this blog.

I invite all of you along for the ride, dear Readers.

TC