Sunday, December 29, 2013

Sign at bank says ‘all crimes investigated unless done by banks themselves’

FBI will investigate any crime, “Unless done by banks themselves,” read words recently scrawled on the metal Warning sign at the entrance to a bank in my neighborhood. 

Must have been a rough Christmas for the pedestrian who saw this sign on the front entrance of a California high desert bank claiming the FBI investigates all crimes at financial institutions.  He or she had to have hesitated at least a minute, before getting out a pen or marker and scrawling: 

“Unless done by banks themselves” 

You can barely see the hand-written words in the photo I took yesterday above, apparently the bank has been trying to clean them off, but the words remain. 

Because those words are the truth.  The US Justice Department investigates financial crimes, like grandmas hiding money from Medicare, but they do not prosecute crimes of major financial institutions which have broken the economy worldwide. 

So I hope this local bank leaves the sign as it is, to let those of us walking by experience some sense of justice, and maybe even a moment to laugh long enough to stop feeling the holes in our shoes.  Because with the U.S. bailout of mortgage owners instead of home owners and all the blatant financial unfairness that has trickled on us the past twenty years, comedy by defacing an occasional sign on a bank is just about all we have left.   

Posted today by Kay Ebeling, 
Producer of City of Angels Blog
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Wednesday, December 25, 2013

You Won't say Merry Christmas? You are the devil, he hollered as he stalked me down the street.

Okay, I needed to pull myself out of this Christmas funk, the sun was out, my legs didn't hurt as much as usual, a walk around the block would lift my spirits, I thought.

But I did not get half a block away when a guy calls out “Merry Christmas” from across the street and I respond with a wave and as much of a smile as I can muster.

“What's the matter with you,” he says, “you can’t say merry Christmas?”

I don't want to but I answer, “I'm not having a merry Christmas this year.”

At once he becomes menacing and crosses the street, calling out, “You are the devil.”  Then he follows me as I'm hobbling on my cane, shouting “Devil! Devil!” 

He mangles Scripture.  “You’ll find out when you die,” he shouts coming up behind me.  “You will be damned for eternity.”

I turn and say sounding like I'm from Brooklyn, “I'm damned because I don't want to say Merry Christmas?”

He has the eyes of a maniac, dirt on his face from sleeping on the ground, carries a ragged backpack. He says, “If you do not take Jesus as your lord and savior, you are damned for eternity,” and gets closer to me. 

I tried, I really tried to just keep walking as there are homeless mental patients who go to a clinic in this neighborhood and sleep in nearby bushes, and I didn't know what this guy was capable of doing.  So I turned, and took off my sunglasses and he saw the fright mask my face is this morning after all last night’s crying.  I'm ashamed to admit it but I started hollering too, as it had been a very tense Christmas and now it was all going to come out.  In a voice that exploded from deep within, I said, “Hey, Jesus was born in the springtime, you idiot.  This is all a marketing scheme between Popes and merchants that's been going on for two thousand years." 

I walk off.  He keeps shouting just behind me, “You are the Devil.  Devil.  Devil.” He’d shout so loud it drowned out anything I said. 

And he was getting closer.

My voice changes and comes out like The Sea Witch in Little Mermaid.  

“Did Christ tell you to follow a sick old lady down the street hollering and judging? You brainless idiot,” my voice so strong and powerful it propelled him backwards, like I had an internal megaphone.  My sudden transition startled him, and he stopped, looked at me like maybe I really was the devil and scampered off in the other direction while I kept shouting, "Brainless babbling idiot!  Brainless babbling Idiot!"

In years of singing on stages, I never projected like this, where I was so loud my warbling echoed off the walls of the nearby Catholic Church.  I was so enraged my shouts had a guttural, Janis Joplin as an opera soprano quality.

Apparently the fright mask face I'm wearing this morning after last night’s tear fest kept me safe through this encounter.  I probably really did look like the devil now to him.  And after he got out of earshot, I still kept hollering because it gave me a very satisfied feeling.  I was SO LOUD.  Even if he didn't hear me, everyone else in that part of town did.  

Probably even the people in the nearby Catholic Church.

I felt for a moment empowered. Especially since I got him to back off with the sheer volume of my voice.

The Sea Witch Within Me Roared.  Keep reading after this cartoon:
But now I'm back in my room, and inevitably convinced I'm better off just hiding in here.  There’s something about me.  I bring out rage in people that they probably really have for someone else, but somehow I appear in front of them as a convenient repository for all the anger they carry.  It's even happened to me at bus stops, someone will turn on me and suddenly become full of, I don't know, maybe the devil, who knows.  And start hollering at me, out of the blue.  It's happened so many times that I've come to accept it as just something that happens.  It might be because I look and sound upper middle class because I was upper middle class until 1997 when I got robbed of $420K, so now I'm down and out of place in the poor part of town and people hear my voice or see my demeanor which says upper middle class and they get hostile.  I really don't know how to explain it but it's been going on for decades.  I get stopped and hollered at my total strangers, it's part of who I am.  It has a lot to do with why I hide and isolate so much, it avoids these scary encounters.

Well I'm tired of being in that position.  I'm tired of being yelled at.  

The Lord did not send his only begotten son in order to assure high year end retail sales profits.  
One of the sweet ladies here in my senior complex could see how I was shaking this morning and said, “here you need  this.” a little yellow pill, called Klonopin.
I took the tranquilizer and now I'm full of Christmas cheer, may even start calling old friends from way back to wish them … something.  Not merry Christmas.  But all of a sudden I'm full of a synthetic happiness a lot like my neighbors doing the holiday, and it sure does beat the retch I’ve been feeling like for two-three weeks.

Dare I say it? The lord provides.  It also says in Matthew 6, in the Sermon on the Mount,  that you should keep your prayer private and not take to the streets babbling meaningless repeated phrases.  Here are the verses:

Matthew 6

Amplified Bible (AMP)
Take care not to do your good deeds publicly orbefore men, in order to be seen by them; otherwise you will have no reward [[a]reserved for and awaiting you] with and from your Father Who is in heaven.
Thus, whenever you give to the poor, do not blow a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites in the synagogues and in the streets like to do, that they may be [b]recognized and honored and praised by men. Truly I tell you, they have their reward [c]in full already.
But when you give to charity, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,
So that your deeds of charity may be in secret; and your Father Who sees in secret will reward youopenly.
Also when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the corners of the streets, that they may be seen by people. Truly I tell you, they have their reward [d]in full already.
But when you pray, go into your [most] private room, and, closing the door, pray to your Father, Who is in secret; and your Father, Who sees in secret, will reward you in the open.
And when you pray, do not heap up phrases (multiply words, repeating the same ones over and over) as the Gentiles do, for they think they will be heard for their much speaking.
Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask Him.
Pray, therefore, like this: Our Father Who is in heaven, hallowed (kept holy) be Your name.

And so on. A lot of what these fundamentalists are doing is the opposite of what Jesus himself said in the Sermon on the Mount.  But to them I'm a heathen because I don't want to babble on the street repeating meaningless phrases.

I often wonder how we've let the truth about Jesus be so corrupted and outright contradicted in the Christianity of capitalism and Ayn Rand style self sufficiency, the theology that permeates this country and threatens to become our official religion.  By the way, Ayn Rand was an atheist, much more heathen than I ever was.

That these people who mutate Christ’s words to suit their own agendas are able to pull this fraud over on the American people is a source of anger and alarm for me.  Christ was born in the spring in Nazareth, and there were no trees around there, so he was more likely a mason than a carpenter.  He would have had dark skin and he was a Jew.  You can’t tell a fundamentalist any of those facts.  They will shun you.

The Lord did not send his only begotten son in order to assure high year end retail sales profits.  I don't think there is any Christ left in Christmas anymore at all, so actually I am probably a more devout Christian than most fundies, I just don’t go to church, as who can find a church that has not been corrupted by the babblers anymore?  I'm trying to live by what Christ said, not because he was the son of God but because his message could save the world, if people really practiced it. 

So I'm a heathen in the eyes of my mouth-foaming fundamentalist U.S. version of Taliban neighbors. 

The error they make is that because I don't think Jesus would even like what Christmas has become in the United States, that I must not even be Christian, when actually it is because I believe so fervently in what Christ said that I choose not to participate .  I think Jesus would think Christmas in America is an aberration and if he came to Earth today, he’d go into Walmart and throw out the merchants who are selling flashing lighted nativity scenes the same way he went into the temples in Jerusalem to throw out the money changers.

The Sermon on the Mount coincides with my belief, not the practices of street corner preachers hollering about hell and damnation based on the only book they ever read, the Bible, and then only the NIV translation.  Whoever says I'm not Christian has not been paying attention.  I just don't want to take part in the aberration that has become Christian fundamentalism and what that's done to Christmas.  I heard last week that in Sarah Palin’s book about the War on Christmas she actually says the commercialization of Christmas is wonderful because it introduces more people to Jesus.  Yes, it introduces them to the Jesus who came to Earth to increase yearend retail sales profits.

People who holler at you for not saying Merry Christmas are at least hypocrites, and could even be the new American Taliban. 

I think one way to get them off my case is to claim to be Jewish, although then they’d be trying to save my soul.  Another way to get them off my case would be to claim I'm a Muslim but then they’d stand their ground and shoot me. 

As Jesus said to do in the Sermon on the Mount, I keep my prayer private.  I know I'm not a heathen, I know I live my life in a godly way and stay as much as possible in a constant state of prayer.  I just don't boast about it, as it says right in Matthew Six, in the Sermon on the Mount, “Keep your prayer private, don't be boastful.” 

In fact, I think my private reverence is why I've been protected during this whole pedophile priest thing.  It's why the motto at City of Angels Blog is “The City of Angels Is Everywhere.” 

Because I bet God does not like the pedophile priests and he helps clergy abuse survivors as we uncover the crimes of Catholic Church Hierarchy. I know advocates such as John Brown in Australia approach this whole thing as atheists, but I say, even the spirits of the wind and sky, the pagan gods, all of them are angry at the Catholic pedophile priests.  If anything, I've had a long and lasting private relationship with God through this whole ordeal of discovering these crimes and writing about them, in fact going back to the days Father Horne was diddling me when I was five years old, I believe I've had a personal angel or two helping me.  Because once that priest got to me the way he did, God knew I’d get in trouble later as a result. So he dispatched angels down to protect me.  That's how I got away from the guys who kidnapped me in 1966 in Paris and were going to sell me to the white slave trade.  That's how I lived through the gang bang by nine drunk Indians on Mount Shasta in 1970 who left me for dead, but I lived.  That's how I came back to life after the attempted murder on me at age six, right around the time of the Catholic priest raping me, when I would not stop babbling.

After that encounter this morning, I wanted to go back out looking for that madmen who had stalked me.  I wanted to tell him how wrong he was about me, that I pray all the time.  I wanted to remind him that in Hebrews it says that judgment is the work of the Lord, not us. I wanted to tell him I believe in private prayer as it says to do in Matthew 6.

But instead I took the benzodiazapen pill that my dear neighbor gave me and, now I'm all bliss and about to go through my phone contacts and start calling old friends to wish them.. happy … something,  

Happy christmahonzaquanzica

-By Kay Ebeling

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Friday, December 13, 2013

I have to remember I'm a visitor to this planet, here mainly to observe. Every winter I watch these humans in their Christmas rituals and, to be honest, I get jealous. It looks so warm and cozy, those family hearths and whatever. I have to remind myself, “This is something they do, not me,” so I can sit back and enjoy the scene from my platform here in the High Desert, taking notes, always taking notes. I have to admit though, a turkey dinner with trimmings would entertain these senses I have while in this human body better than my daily fare of rice and vegetables, which seems to be the only Earth food my stomach will tolerate. Oh well, hope to get back to my home planet soon, wherever it is, and compare notes with the other journalist travelers as to what they found while visiting their solar systems. Meanwhile, I ride around and around, waiting for January 1 when all this disruption stops and we return to normal schedules. Oh Mother Ship, when are you coming to get me?
Posted just now on Facebook, where you can find me here
Kay Ebeling

Monday, December 2, 2013

The Walking Dead line up for food in Lancaster CA

When I stepped out my front gate Saturday, I heard slippers scraping along the sidewalk, first from my right, then from another person on my left, then all around me, men walking the mental patient walk, all heading in the same direction. Psychiatric medicine makes a person walk in a shuffle, somehow makes their feet not quite come off the ground. So I realized I was surrounded by mental patients, all walking by me with that slip slip slip sound, their eyes staring straight ahead. With their disheveled faces and clothes, I'm thinking I'm living in a real life Walking Dead!  And somehow they don't see me!

A whole population of homeless people sleep in the bushes and alleys in the town I moved to last June. Now they were converging on the public library where, I learned, on the last Saturday each month a truck pulls up and hands out sack lunches.

The men shuffled up and formed a line, sort of, around the “Ministry” truck, pushing and shoving to get ahead, but pushing very meekly.

I leaned against a wall and watched as these humans then stepped to the side to open their sacks and find a piece of fried chicken and a few extras. You didn't see joy and gratitude on their faces, you saw resignation. They were so hungry, one piece of chicken and a portion of pudding was not really going to fill much of the dent in their stomachs. A man who tried to get a second bag for his pregnant companion was told to wait until everyone who was hungry had gotten fed.

“We only got 150 this month, usually we have 250, so you'll have to wait and see first that everyone gets at least one bag,” repeated the minister, sounding a little too stressed to be what I would call prayerful, but at the same time, the men kept shuffling back in line for seconds anyway.

Several children ran up ahead of their mothers, but when they opened the sacks, they too had a look of disappointment. And I can understand. I mean, they've been hungry for hours, they finally get the bag of food they've been waiting for, and it's really not very much. They're grateful, they say thank you, they participate in whatever prayer the minister and the females helping him request of them, and they eat the piece of chicken with relish. But it's so not enough, so not enough.

The Christians call out to me, “Do you want a bag of food?” I say, no thank you, I don't need any help, not this month anyway.
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Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Fixing Fox News Lies, one plumber at a time

Yesterday a plumber in my kitchen actually said to me, "Obama has just given Iran the freedom to build a nuclear bomb." The Freaking Plumber! I got him to stop long enough to say, "Well since this deal comes after a Year of secret negotiations, I don't think anyone knows the details yet." That shut him up, 
But it really P's me off that the Misinformation Machine reaches Everyone so easily, thus UNDERMINING American security. Once again, I believe Fox Limbaugh et al are paid and run by anti-American groups and the FoxFriends are so Dumb they don't even know it, just repeat what the bosses tell them to say and cause Millions of Americans to believe the opposite of the truth. Meanwhile Obama is solving one international problem after another and the Boehner Bimbos still can't figure out the Obamacare website.

From Facebook today 
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Kay Ebeling
4 minutes ago


Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Being a crime victim actually gave me tools for life.

I'm a sex crime victim, and I survived the incidents by enduring. I tightened my lips and even though the enduring lasted a long time, I lived through it. 
Now decades later when I get in a situation that's intolerable, I seem to get through it better than my friends. Because I endure. I know it's going to end eventually so I stick it out and go through it and in the end, I survive, as always.  So being a crime victim actually gave me tools for life.

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Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Telling a Republican they're no longer a Republican because they are now poor.

I have a new friend who needs to learn that because she is now poor, it does not make sense for her to be a Republican anymore.  I'm finding ways to break it to her gently. 

My new friend here at the senior complex said she was having trouble sleeping, so I offered to give her one of my Valerian.  A laugh slipped out of her chest and she said, oh those aren't strong enough for me.  Then she gave a 15 second litany of pharmaceuticals she takes, and that's just at night, to help her sleep.  Soon she let out another laugh, “Valerian aren't strong enough,” she said, “they do nothing for me.” 

Me, I take one Benedryl and get knocked out as soon as it hits.  I thought these were massively potent pills I was getting through Amazon, but my neighbor explains, because she is on so many prescription drugs, she can take Valerian and Benedryl and not even feel their effects. 

She said one of the drugs she takes “is for restless leg syndrome.”

I started to continue the conversation with, “I don't trust pharmaceutical companies,” but I'm pretty sure my new friend is a Republican.  For that reason I also didn't say “or any drug introduced since Ronald Reagan was President.” Instead I say:

“I don't trust any drugs that were introduced since the 1980s.”  

My friend starts to agree then stops herself.  

I continue, “Since deregulation, they've been getting away with too much.” 

My friend hesitates more, not sure how what I said conflates with what she's believed all these years. 

My new seventy-something friend doesn't realize the only reason she's Republican is because her husband was successful.  He's now dead and his long illness depleted their funds.  So she's not really Republican anymore, she's just voting that way out of habit.  I don't want to force this new truth in her face by starting political arguments, but I feel a need to help her as over the coming years the fact of her new income status makes itself more obvious in her life.  

I remember in about 2002 when it first happened to Lizzie and me. When we were living in our car on the streets of Hollywood those months, I realized, People aren't poor because they want to be poor.  And once you're poor, you're there and there’s not a whole lot of ways out.

I said to my new friend, “If I take too much Benedryl, I get restless leg syndrome,” and hoped that later she makes the connection that one of her prescription drugs is probably causing the symptom they're treating with another prescription drug, when she thinks about it. And that big pharma has put profits above her health in the "free market" she and her husband cheered all those years.  And a lot of things in her life today would get better if more people would just vote Democrat. 

My friend was married for 27 years to a man who was “in real estate” and they traveled between their two houses on different US coasts.  Now she lives in this lower rent senior complex and even though she drives and dresses better than anyone else here, she tells me she feels like she’s poor too, and I understand because from her frame of reference she is. 

Oh, and anti-depressants for pain

My friend is also taking an anti-depressant and every time she says the name of the drug to me, she adds, “For pain, I take it for pain.”  I've been down that road before, where corporate doctors prescribe anti-depressants pills as pain medication. 

Apparently a few decades back, when psychiatrists gave depressed people anti-depressants, the patients reported that they not only got happier, but in some cases their physical pain went away. 

Pharma execs saw dollar signs.  Now they could sell anti-depressants to emotionally stable people who were in physical pain.

Vastly expanding their customer base. 

Again, this was after Ronald Reagan.

So after a minimal amount of unmonitored testing, big pharma got doctors all over America to prescribe antidepressants to people when they are in physical pain over the last thirty years.   

I saw through this ruse after a few months of taking psychotropic pills for body pain, because I could tell, the pain was not getting any better, but the psychiatric drugs were making me more crazy than I had ever been before, and I've had my periods.  Not having any doctors paying attention to me for last decade or so, there hasn’t been anyone to convince me those drugs work when they don't.  

So I don't take pharmaceuticals and if I feel the need, I can take a Valerian root bought over the counter in tablet form and then lay down for a snooze. 

But maybe for now I'll cut back on the Benedryl.
Meanwhile: Stay Happy . ke

Monday, November 11, 2013

LadyWomen born 1945-60, Gray Tweens, now face poverty in old age

Ladywomen:  Not housewives, not career women, females who came of age too early for Ms Magazine but too late for Ladies Home Journal are today's "Ladywomen" though we could also be called “gray tweens.” Ladywomen grew up thinking we’d be supported by a husband and wound up supporting ourselves, usually in low paying jobs, often raising kids singlehandedly as well, as we Ladywomen were also the first of the “single mom” phenomenon.  

Now as I become an old lady, my suspicions are confirmed, women from my generation, born 1945 to 62 or so, are facing poverty in unprecedented numbers, just because of the quirky period of time in which we happened to be born.

When I grew up, women went to college mostly to get what we called an M-R-S degree, as in you went to college to land a good husband and become a Mrs. Girls were not even steered into higher math class until the late 1960s.  

Now Ladywomen as a generation are reaching retirement with a monthly Social Security check that provides no security at all.  

As I look around my senior complex, the women who stayed with their husbands, mostly in their seventies and older, live well now, even though they never really held a job of any note.  Now my generation is beginning to enter the senior housing population.  And in the lower rent senior complexes, we are all broke women.  In no way am I saying women today would have been better off as housewives, but we Ladywomen got caught in the middle. 

It's only females born 1945 to 1961 who fall into this Ladywoman category.  If you were born earlier, you probably ended up in a traditional marriage, and today in retirement you are living on your husband’s pension  If you were born later, you probably were encouraged to plan for college and a career from the start. 

It's just us, members of this lucky demographic born at the tail end of the Baby Boom who are now the Ladywomen.  We get to be the topic demographic in current poverty studies. 

Ladywomen may have been the first to get politicized by Gloria Steinem et al, but unfortunately we did not end up with the same earning capacity that women who are benefiting from the women’s revolution of the 1970s have today. 

I did not even go to college until I was 26 years old in 1975, soon after Ms. Magazine’s first issue came out, as it happens.  In fact I saved that first issue of Ms., and in the early eighties when I was living in Houston, I went to see Steinem speak and had her autograph my copy.  I have carried that magazine with me all these years, wrapped in plastic wrap, in fact it is near me now in a box I brought from Chicago: Volume 1 number 1 of Ms. Magazine autographed by Gloria Steinem herself. 

I’d sell it if it would help me pay next month’s rent. 


Posted by Kay Ebeling, 
producer of City of Angels Blog 
since January 2007

Related article in AlterNet today:  

The way The USA is set up, if you work as a professional from age 22 to 65 or so, you will have a good amount of cash in your Social Security and a comfortable retirement.

But most women in my age range, Ladywomen like me, kind of backed into feminism and career opportunities. 

Also our husbands were free to leave marriages for the first time in western civilization history, and they did.  So a lot of us Ladywomen are now arriving at the age where we have nothing to rely on but Social Security and there is literally almost nothing there. 

We are the Ladywomen and we need to be heard.  


Sunday, October 20, 2013

Self Asylum in the Desert

Mojave Mimosa
I am home bound now, all the time.  Yet my life is full.  

I wake up enthused to continue what I started day before.  Through the internet I have friends all over the globe. Forms of entertainment are almost endless.  I can think of a song and within seconds play several versions of it on YouTube with visuals from anonymous persons all around the planet.  

For one-on-one contact, I have only to spend an hour or so with my neighbors to realize that face-to-face contact is really not the best way for humans to communicate, and I am back online. 

Once a week I hobble three blocks to the Farmers Market.  That one excursion wipes me out for the rest of the week, but it gets me out among other humans, which they say is important.  There is usually live music, so I stop a spell and tap my foot, but rarely speak to anyone. 

My job comes in online, the pay goes quickly to my bank, and to top it off, it turns out I live in old-lady heaven. Across the street from my senior complex are both the post office, where I have to go to overnight my check each month, as well as the public library. So from my room I go online to the library site and order obscure books and videos; then when the library site says they've arrived, I venture across the street and get them. I pull off this excursion, also, without interacting with another human being, by finding the item on the "hold" shelf, then running it through a self checkout machine, never having to smile at a librarian with my rotten teeth and see her grimace at the sight.

I pretend to be in a victim-witness protection program, and in a way I am, of my own making, so I have to remain an enigma in my own mind.  If I open up to someone, some of the stuff from the last seven years will spill out, and cause a schism so large, I will have to move to a new town again. So I talk to almost no one. 

As long as I don't lose my cane, I can make the trips to the library and market each week.  If I lose my cane, as long as I don't lose my job, I can order another cane from Amazon, or even a Walker, and it, like my groceries and supplies, will show up delivered to my door by a very polite uniformed young man, who will refuse my tip. 

Life could be worse.

-Kay Ebeling

*currently reading Best Exotic Marigold Hotel by Deborah Moggach and it is informing my words.

Monday, September 30, 2013

Ted Cruz and Joe McCarthy: Lookalike Senators

Senators Ted Cruz and Joseph McCarthy look a lot alike.  At left Cruz, at right McCarthy.
At left McCarthy, at right Cruz. 

One was a fascist Senator in the 1950s and one is a fascist today in the Senate. 

Only Cruz did not work his way up, someone bought and paid to put him into position.  

Posted by Kay Ebeling, Blogger. Credit goes to The Rude Pundit on the Stephanie Miller Show this morning for pointing out the resemblance.  

Thursday, September 19, 2013

How to Sabotage a Nation

Pour billions into a lobby that buys politicians, whose laws then eerily Do Not Reflect the people. Pour more billions into a disinformation campaign under the guise of patriotism. Make sure your sound bytes are repeated over and over on radio and “news” programs, until people believe your message that government is the cause of all the problems. Work to “shut down government” at the same time as campaigning to get as many guns into the hands of as many people as possible. Then Sit Back and Watch What Happens.
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Monday, August 19, 2013

Great Time to be Alive

I don't want to spend hours of what's left of my life in stores like Walmart and Food 4 Less. So I do almost all my shopping on line. I'm vegan and there are hundreds of sites that will ship me grains and legumes. Then where I live there is a farmers market 2 blocks away ALL YEAR LONG so I always have fresh fruits and vegetables. Everything else I get from Amazon, where I actually subscribe to toilet paper. Now that the guy who founded Amazon has bought the Washington Post, I can’t wait to see what he does to newspapers, meanwhile, I just came from the pool, now going to work here in my home office. I practically live in a resort hotel. Great time to be alive.

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Monday, July 15, 2013

Lancaster CA Justice for Trayvon Martin Spontaneous Demonstration July 15, 2013

Around 5 PM today the call went out over social media.  By 7 PM about a hundred people showed up in downtown Lancaster to demonstrate and march, calling for Justice for Trayvon Martin.  I could tell something was developing from my apartment nearby and when I heard the name "Trayvon" being shouted, I grabbed my camera and ran out the door to get images.  Here is video, and photos from the event.

"I Am Trayvon" said a group of young men standing on the L.A. County Sheriff's Station sign.


The guys sit on the Sheriff's Station sign saying, "I am Trayvon" and I'm thinking, All crime victims who've seen our perpetrators go free are Trayvon Martin.  I am Trayvon Martin.  
-kay ebeling

They marched from downtown to the corner of Sierra and Lancaster, in front of the L.A. County Sheriff's station.


 Reporters from Antelope Valley Press and an L.A. news service interviewed some of the demonstrators


 They gathered in front of the L.A. County Lancaster Sheriff's Station


As a crime victim myself, who has seen my perpetrators walk free and retain their standing in the community, I feel an affinity with Trayvon Martin and his family. The justice system in the USA is broken, when criminals have more rights than their victims.

Here are some still photos from the event today as well:

I just moved to this town.  I don't know the persons in the downtown march, I just showed up.


I can say from my heart that I think I have more in common with these neighbors than I do with most of the old white folks in my senior complex.

At the end of the event the organizer told me she was concerned that there were so many police.  I said to her, "The world is upside down. They should be on standing here with us."

More to come, always

-Kay Ebeling

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Music is key. 
When you die and join whatever consciousness you join, while you are on your way there, I bet the sound you hear is a lot like Earth music.
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