West Coast Review

This post was submitted anonymously.

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I’ve been bullied in school, for several years. Not just by people I knew – some of the bullies recruited others to call me names and act as if I were ridden with some disgusting, contagious disease. There were times when I was hardly able to open up to anyone, as I could not feel safe any longer; everybody could be on their side now.

I was singled out for being a little poorer, a little weirder, a little geekier, a little less pretty, a little more religious. People said I was from Alpha Centauri (which, by the way, is a sun, not a planet). In class people threw more than just words at me – pieces of chestnut, broken ball-point pens, and once, a little rock.

They constantly let me feel I wasn’t worth as much as them, that I didn’t have the right…

Putting on a Show

Dirk pushed the covers aside and reached for his watch, knocking over several empty beer cans and a drained bottle of Jack.

The clamor made him wince and rub his head as a woman’s groan next to him caught his attention.

“Hello, baby. Guess I put on a show last night, eh?” He smiled to himself at the performance he couldn’t remember. His smile faded when the band’s manager rolled over to face him.

“Dirk, as your manager, I suggest you keep practicing. At least you’re not the drummer. You can’t set or keep a rhythm to save your life.”

“I’ve never felt lonely,” Dad once said to me. “Solitude, sure, but not loneliness.”

He probably said this while we lived on the farm, when I was in my 20s. Heck, it could’ve even been earlier, when he gave me that advice about a high school girlfriend. Who knows?

I do know one thing.

The man was as wrong as wrong can be.

A person can have the most connected life—always consumed by “something larger than oneself,” with money, friends, travel, family and career—but never feel lonely?

Oh, no. Not on your life.

My late father, project manager par excellence, was an expert at solitude. When angry, rather than stew about it, he’d just yell. Get it out of his system. Then take off in his boat and go fishing.

I think early in life he quickly learned to deal with upsets by cultivating solitude—something…

I have terrible news to share with the blogosphere today.

Horrible, no good, awful news.

Many of you knew him as Grayson Queen, author and artist extraordinaire.  Perhaps you’ve read one of his novels.  Perhaps you’ve purchased, or at least enjoyed, some of his paintings or sculptures…  Perhaps you knew that he was also Rara‘s husband, Dave.

I don’t have a lot of details, but I can confirm that Dave passed away earlier this week.

Please share this post wide and far.  Please say a prayer for Dave and Rara.  Please send her every ounce of spare energy you can muster.  She needs us.  Dave’s family and friends need us.

And send her mail to show her your love, your RawrLove:

Radhika Jaini WF0124
CIW LA 249 UP
16756 Chino-Corona Road
Corona, CA  92880

You don’t need to know what to say.  You don’t need to say anything…

I’m king of this blood-haunted room,

Grand marshal over the endless parade of junkies, thugs and whores waiting to be immunized against their sad life stories

Cops crawl the streets like flies on shit and fiends need to bang their dope quick, don’t need to get popped holding a dime bag

They need a place to shoot, a sheltered squat with a stash of needles, where other dope fiends can help them hit a closed up vein

So they come here cause it’s close; cause they too sick to make it home or cause they just can’t wait

They come here for a good time

We the best shooting gallery down town,

Boneman, Double D and me run the place and we sell new needles for 2 bucks and bleach if you wanna clean your own

Stupid ass junkies be sharing shit and injecting each other with death,

sharing the lethal hardware of contaminated needles

Dope fiends…

Picture courtesy of: http://globe-views.com/dreams/spring.html

*

Sunbeams touch the cooled down ground

the skies turn blue, I hear the sound

of birds in trees and on the wire

the twitters which I do admire.

*

The plants turn green and so do trees

I see the wasps, flies and the bees

flying, humming to the flowers

spring time does have all these powers.

*

Word awakes and colors spear

nature seems to reappear.

I feel the warmth right on my skin

the circle of life is to begin.

*

Here I see the growing corn

there I see some babies born.

A litter full of baby cats

of dogs or rabbits, even bats.

*

It’s beautiful to look around

plants, animals and things I found.

Spring is great in every style

It makes me sing, and dance and smile.

*****

Copyright Aurora Jean Alexander, April 2015

The following post, submitted by Rae from I Will Not Live in Vain, and is an excerpt from her published memoir.  This is a powerful story, well worth the read, we are honored to share it with you.  It is not a happy story, though, and there are possible triggers around death.  For those who venture on, please welcome Rae to our little community and show her the support we are famous for.

…..

9N was hard work, but that is not why I transferred from the unit. I had started school by this time, and they would not work with me with my schedule. I knew there were several other units that would work with students, so after nine months I started looking at internal listings.

There was a job on 6C in the Childrens Hospital. 6C was also a critical care unit. It was Paediatric Cardiology. I…

Cold Blooded

Albert slapped at his arms to help the blood flow. Where is she?

“Honey? I found one! Can you believe they were sold out everywhere else?”

Albert blew onto his hands. “Awesome! Thank you. I love you. You know that, right?”

Marge smiled as she pulled a dark bottle out of the bag and set it on the table. “I know. That’s why I brought you back. Here, drink this. It’ll help warm you.”

Albert took the bottle and gulped down the warm blood in three swallows. Warmth immediately spread through his body. “Oh God, that feels so good.”