Hello Expressionist.

ok expressionist… this piece is a work in progress… SUFFER IN SILENCE. this topic my next writing challenge for the next few month as I piece together my memoir.. I ask that you overlook any grammar or spelling errors as I go through my first live draft along with releasing my somewhat lesser childhood trauma of being an A student all the time (not that I was but I certainly was an over achiever) and proving my intelligence through not making any mistakes. As writers in general our culture looks for ways to make one superior over the other in the world of smarts. I will also be playing around with sequencing under the inspiration of the book “Color of Water” and “The bonesetters daughter” MLK said it best that not every one can be great “smart” but all can serve. I use my life to serve others who are wiggling in the mud to carve out meaning. Join me if you want and write about how you or someone you know “suffers in silence”..TBC

I am standing in the dark of “Suffering in Silence” It came out of a very disturbing interaction that I had with my Aunt, who is in her 80’s. I have been in intensive recovery for anxiety and trauma the last year (and all my life) and I am surprised by how much comes up and out through the body as I release old behaviors and beliefs on the regular. My aunt; however is old school and did not grow up in the pressure cooker of new age brain re conditioning. She grew up in a world where it was not only preferable to suffer in silence but necessary. The thing that amazed me is that the trauma never goes away unless a person actively releases it. Now I knew this to be true for myself but I assumed I was a special case. I compared myself in a way that put me in more need of healing than the average other. I attributed this to not only the abuse I suffered from my childhood but also being open to people’s energy and problems in my fields of work which puts me in very intimate situations with the public.

This experience has opened a window into a, I will call it, philosophical perspective of denial and how suddenly and oppressively shocking events from the past can reap its ugly head at any time, even decade later. I have been facing it this last year in many different ways and none have to do with Covid, Trump or world collapse; though it presses upon me deeply. I have had many severe challenges in my life that I overcame superficially but not buried far within my unconscious memory system until now.

I respect children. Not many people do but I respect children. Hyper active. Hyper manic. Add. ADhbsD. All the labels put on biology and pure natural expression that stops grown ups in their tracks to cover it up and pack it in ice and some… more medication before writing them off as out of control and every man for themselves because, as the saying goes “my child doesn’t act that way”. I’ve also heard the age old “kids are not your friends” and the polar opposite of do not disturb the angry child and let us all put a bubble around them acting out and crying out “why you lookin at me”.

We live in a peculiar time. One where the system is failing and we all know it but have no energy, motivation and resources to change it. Every song on the radio and great poem wails and moans about the disconnect within the fabric of our sophisticated way of life but this does not translate into anything tangible. I first noticed in after college graduation during my first real internship in New York City. I did have a viable internship at a local radio station in the small Connecticut town where my school resided. It was a well known and reputable station but if it wasn’t in the city I wasn’t interested. The internship was at the Fox news station back when it was run by liberals’ and they were fighting with Ted Turner to get the next big 24 hour news station carried on the local cable station. Something that proved to be harder than it sounds since Ted Turner owned CNN, the other brand new 24 hour news station. It was the day of the Timothy McVey trial and all the young producers at the time where hyped up about getting the scoop; though with the new running all day I found it strange that it was thought to be a breaking story. I sat bored watching each assistant busy themselves with perceived anxiety as if they were about to great the president. It seemed odd to me that our show segment which aired at 7pm would be the shocking headliner when every episode before it said basically the same thing. Is this what I really went to school for? It was a foreshadowing of the chaos in which we have seen unfold through the dismantling of our televised stream of meaningful content. Luckily, after many days of crying in the bathroom, I left that job with a longing for more meaning and substance.

My parents are from the aptly named Silent Generation. They are on the cusp of the boomers carrying both the attributes of outspoken youth of the sixties with the remnants of second, maybe third generation immigrants. I say maybe because, as the generational name suggest, their linage is silent as if their life story was meant to be encapsulated like a James Bond movie. My mother is of German origin and my dad is of African descent. I like most mixed raced and brown paper bag ladies and gentlemen was sold the story of Cherokee grandparents and the idolized image of being one of the native free spirits that were guardians of this virgin land. Come to find out that our precious warrior, wigwam and papoos wearing ancestors had nothing to do with the black slaves and most of us cream and coffee colored people wear the mark of the slave master and not the chieftain. Growing up I could not get enough of this story and continuously pressed my dad for detail of the tails his supposed Indian grandmother survived; however, like all wide eyed off spring of slave blood, I was left with bread crumbs to fill in with my own image of how I got my high cheekbones and my sister got her “good hair”. It is, needless to say, a great disappointment to know that the only wars waged in my bloodline where the ones of rape and oppression. In fact the native people, especially the Cherokee, kept as far a distance as they could from the black slaves instead assimilating themselves amongst the white westerners.


He kills me softly in silence and memory

I post his story tainted by a kaleidoscope cord

He kills me softly in songs that are eerily prophetic and equally not mine

I kill him softly as a third revolt for freedom of flight

He kills me softly singing perched by a love greater than the pain which inspires it

I kill him softly with ideas stinging, floating and rushing to discover its temple

We kill softly from a mean heart and open palm to merge our worlds

Of organized chaos

On the radio

An invisible frequency lost on an Album never made

In the underbelly where killing it softly reaches


Our song in the ridges of a cd broken on the ground of change

We kill each other softly

Locked and set freedom

From our songs

On the radio


Life drama is all a lesson, so I am told…..

blessing in disguise unravel in the dark.

Stillness reveals the answer, so I am told…

A quick fix to a lifelong revelation…

What is the lesson is the personal quest, so I am told…

There is no end to knowledge revealed..

Suffering is an illusion, so I am told..

The truth will make you stronger if it doesn’t kill you.

2020 lessons are the victory in itself, so I am told…

life goes on and back to business as usual…

Endings are a part of life, so I am told…

Nothing is permanent even monuments of steel.

Let go and let god, so I am told..

For they know not what they do and who they do it to.

Go within and be light, so I am told..

it is all that holds ground during the storms of fire.


Hello Expressionist,

I have been doing a deep deep dive into mental illness, trauma and abuse. It is a topic that has no bottom and therefore our culture separates it all into one lump sum of “Crazy alert”. Up until this last year I had a narrow view of “Mental” suffering that I thought was a solid understanding. Rude Awakening and necessary rumble if one is a person who seeks a natural ability to move about the cabin.

Can I believe that my intrinsic value lies beyond the money I fail to make or my identification to the monetary world. The environment surrounding me measured the apple not far from the tree steeling petty items for my dad to eat before he starves to death. A heavy burden to carry into the work desperation to prove that I fell further from all kinds of jealousy projected onto my doings.

I forgot how to be and dropped my boundaries to keep my ego in survival protection to stay afloat. Opening me up to a pigeon hole which separated my longing and cattle call to keen eye to see global pain bodies that I am grateful to disassociate myself from with other misfits covered in shame. Hypervigilance to keep the arousal at bay so that I do not sink into my same pattern to fawn, fight and apologize my way out of this pressure to think it correctly. Stuck in the thought of dreams warning me in ways that take to long to interpret.

I freeze in the moment hoping my flaws don’t take me over and layer a build up of mental stress in which my therapist wants to drug away to save the time to research my song. Double swords that extend a lifeline with fire at the end of his rope wrangle right hand man’s. The man has become the woman and the wound was created in the womb during the turbulent sensory awareness of the circumstance that drama placed in my DNA to unravel. Not at the seems, watching auntie sew up my school pants and patching up memories that linked us together until things got twisted and mental health became a dirty word to a secret denial that the tribe can attach loyalty to.

I dare point it out. The continuum of sanity that present a line in which every person on earth can cross at any time during news event that hit home. Misery loves company when noone listens to reason. Who turned out ok with a little discipline and a firm hand. A closed heart is no measure to a turn up with their hair done and sneakers all laced up. A photo is worth a thousand words posted on my social media to make up for a 80’s style run in the woods. When i was a kid parents neglected the children in noble ways and sticks and stone placed in the corner for a real time out. Glory days of do as i say and we will give you something to commit yourself to a life of stifled back tears.

Anger is for men and mom’s. If a justification does not exist to show me that your black berry is not updated to 6G then you have no legs to stand up for yourself with. Mad mommy stretched thin with the order of the house calculating every coupon that stretches the new brain to convert to bitcoin. A crypto laid out in check marks of benchmarks despite the dinner party silence and quarrels. My tradition of gatherings suppress this with jello shots and a guitar medley that we can all almost sing to. A superstar must refrain unless a perfect pitch reflects the upbringing we must honor they ten commandments to demonstrate to the youngins splashing way too loud in the pool


I am not an evolved Woman

An evolved woman walks through the world with grace and poise

I barrel through the room with my foot in my mouth

An evolved woman hides her sorrow and releases it to the quiet moon

I scream and yell and cry into my pillow

An evolved woman turns the other cheek when faced with Injustice

I rage, rail and complain to all who holds compassion for me

I am not an Evolved woman

An evolved woman finds her solace on the yoga matt chanting mantras of higher love

I forced myself to the silent space in between intrusive thinking

I am not an Evolved woman

An evolved woman has no shame, guilt or fears and yield a mighty power of being adored

I push myself to write my power through the haze of insecurity and pressure to be valid

I am not an Evolved woman

An evolved woman laughs off the family push pull and box around her ‘negative’ flow with Free love and blessings

I affirm my blessings at a nearby path to sanity and purpose above my human ego

I am not an evolved woman

An evolved woman is the center of attention as her smile attracts no hate and only holy acceptance to do no wrong

but never Right

Left Brain

I smile to hide the hard road of achieving a dream just out of touch but lives in my protected imagination

An Evolved woman is the goal to beat and emulate as a role model for all girly composure

I am not an evolved woman

my goat is to beat the undertoe of energy caught in the vortex surrounding the shadows of; Evolved woman

who I am not

I am involved woman

Involved in digging into all my layers of: what not suppose to be

I am an involved woman

Involved in understanding what makes us tick and what ticks us off

I am an involved woman

Involved in this solitary journey that has left me with no family, no friends and no love

but i bare within


I am an involved woman

Involved in showing myself a better way past blaming myself for not measuring up to be

An Evolved Woman