The Patchwork of Peace
I have found that in this world run a muck by corruption, that even “nice” professionals are only doing their job to get RICH off of decimated parents and their victimized children. I have found that “nice” attorneys sworn to uphold JUSTICE do not know how to write well-formed legal papers and only aid in furthering the stripping away of parental rights, but have no qualms in taking your money for doing so, especially if you are a parent of modest means, or no means at all. They may have Hawaiian vacations and Honeymoons to go on, or they want to go home and walk their dog. They have lives they are building because they made better choices in who they married in this life. May they rest in PEACE while my life continues to fall into pieces as I watch my children grow up under the hands of MY former abuser and rapist. It is not their fault I was silent for too long. I was scared of what my abuser might do if I told the world about what living with him was really like. He was more concerned about what others might think of him, than of getting needed help. He’s perfect. I, of course, am a mess and bat-shit crazy.
He’s a conservative who cannot vote, because he is an alien. I am a liberal who voted for the Anti-Christ because I thought the candidates were both so evil I couldn’t make up my mind. I did a two-for-one vote, which ended up being a three for one, after I was painted as a nasty woman and concluded that “I” must be THE Anti-Christ, since I am not allowed to see, talk to, breathe toward, or give any inkling of communication to my children about how much I love and miss them.
I struggle with feeling contentment, as today my life feels more like purgatory. I just found out that some people who have claimed in the past to operate from a source of love, either stand by and do NOTHING to speak out against travesties taking place right in front of their eyes, or they only want money in exchange for doing what is right.
Contentment is a rare commodity when parental rights are stripped away legally and with society’s general silent approval. I am in a custody case worthy of Homer’s ten-year long epic war between the Greeks and the Trojans. I am Greek. My children’s father is Roman and is from England. He likes to win at all costs. I should know. I have played many a game of chess and Monopoly with that man. What kind of a man feels the need to cheat at Monopoly while playing with his children?
I was just informed this morning that I am allowed a two hour visit with my four youngest children on December 10th, January 21st, and March 4th. I have not been given any time with them since August, after jumping through six months of silent torture, meeting their demands for complete power and control, before the possibility of changing this situation takes place by heading back to court where I am preparing to become further decimated, both financially and emotionally. I also am aware that my children’s father and his attorney are not intending to go back to court, after receiving a threatening letter basically telling me to walk off the face of the earth and disappear. So, rather than communicate like mature adults, my hand is forced to begin the process of going through hell, as I pick up my pen and continuing to write while those in positions of greater power than I continue to make their careers from my family’s demise. Nightmares really can come true. I’m living in one.
I appreciate your prayers for wisdom in this crazy world.
Lorra Lynn Jones, erased parent of eight children all living in Lane County, Oregon.
AKA: Lorrance Herring, poet, comedian and creative writer with two and a half degrees from the University of Oregon. My Masters degree will have to wait while I weather through fifty degrees of shady bullshit.
AKA: DR Ms. Morthan Ukanhandle, former children’s church teacher and homeschooling mother turned nasty woman mamadadaist activist and artist since Trump came into office and my life and trauma level hit the fan. DR stand for “Doomsday Redeemer,” as well as “Physician, heal thyself. I have a box of tissues for your issues. Go buy your own at a local store near you, or wipe your snot on your own sleeve.” I’ll probably actually listen to your problems and then give you some toilet paper that I stole out of a Buck’s bathroom stall.
AKA: THE Wicked Witch of the Entire West. I can prove this claim in court. Witches have dark hair or red hair. My mother had dark hair and believed in superstition, I had Strawberry Blonde hair as a child. In the first grade, my schoolmates teased me about being a witch, and so….mama called the doctor, and the doctor said, “Get her in and we’ll burn off the wart on her chinny-chin-chin.” I’m sure she did this just to prove them all right and to hide the evidence. I now live across the street from Snow White. Legally named by her Yugoslavian grandmother. I have cleaned Snow White’s bathroom for 30 pieces of silver, this time in paper dollars. I had nothing to do with her moving into my neighborhood. Truth is sometimes MUCH stranger than fiction.
AKA: THE Morrigan, come back again. Celtic Goddess of maiden, mother, crone. I always show up in a time of politico-religio-socio flux when wars are an impending possibility. My father was from the Celtic, Scandinavian clansof people. We were once upon a time a tribal people of head-hunters. I can educate you about the true origins of football. I was married to a football fanatic who liked to watch boxing and horror movies on a regular basis. Very Roman. Very Romantic. Very passionate in an angry sort of way. I sometimes understate things. I am a Bardass; I am the Morrigan. I am a shape-shifter and have pictures to prove it. People don’t generally want to mix Celtic and Greek bloodlines. They might end up with someone like ME and MY children! Most people forgot about the fourth stage…the QUEEN! If one lives long enough and has been through enough, they get to be crowned Queen! I come from a long blood-line of ROYAL Fucktards! I have been crowned Queen of Heaven, Queen of Hell, and Queen of every little thing! God, himself, told me so. Jesus confirmed it in His words. God save the Queen!
AKA: THE Anti-Christ…not the bad one, deary, the anti-dote one…the Aunty, Ante, Anti-Christ. It’s a trinity. It’s also a progressive disease like Alcoholism, Autism, and Agnosticism. I have a Youtube video that proves I voted for the Anti-Christ this past election, called “The Mad Voter’s Guide to 2016.” Maybe I voted for myself without realizing it. I seemed to have ushered something in!
AKA: THE SHE-Jesus. I am a living sacrifice. I have sacrificed so much in this life to get to where I am today. I am the living dead. I have died so many times I lost count. The summer of 2016 I died yet again, only to be resurrected to live and die another day. Every day I suck air now, is a day of feeling dead without my children’s hearts being healed from the damage their father and I have wrecked on them. I have been targeted for attack and my children have been brainwashed to believe lies. I’m being crucified in court. I’m like a lamb being led to the SLAUGHTER. I will never set foot inside Bob Jones University, listen to that itty-bitty-shitty committee in my head again, or believe “father knows best” all the time EVER AGAIN. I believe evil, Minty Weaslebutt lawyers who engage in character defamation should be disbarred from practicing their craft. Some lawyers are the TRUE witches in my book. But, I am just a creative writer. I did NOT pick out people’s names in my life, not does my story resemble anyone in reality. Everyone in MY reality poops rainbows and pees lemonade.
I was raised to believe that I don’t get to go to Heaven. I was raised to believe Heaven takes place on earth, and is found in our hearts where we can find forgiveness and restoration. I want to be forgiven and restored to my children and their father and their “replacement” mother. I believe MY religious freedoms are being thwarted and that MY pursuit of happiness has been crippled and disabled. I am a crippled and disabled mother who looks good on the outside, even if I like to dress up as a chicken and raise money for those less crippled and disabled than me. Even if I give hugs to strangers on the streets as I pass out socks and educate others about how boot-rot can kill someone within months. The poor will always be with us. I cannot save the world from boot-rot. I cannot even save myself or my children from something more rotten than that.
I cannot save my children from trauma at the hands of those they believe love them. Or should be taught how to determine who loves them and why when one parent is viewed as a hero, it could be a possibility that the other parent is being painted as a villain.
I am riddled with fear for my children. I am riddled by this world and the way it operates. I at least, can still enjoy the freedom of speech in our country. I am thankful I do not live in North Korea where Jesus appears to have changed his name to Jung and was born under a miraculous star in a little cabin in the woods….just like Abraham Lincoln. I am related to Abraham Lincoln by default of being a descendant of Bathsheba Herring. I, too, know how to piece things together in a patchwork quilt.
For that, I am NOT at fault.
A.k.a. Not God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit
or any other claims made by ME or anyone else.
Endorsed by the: I AM WHO I AM Company