Molested by a priest, thrown out of a Brownie meeting

.
(Thanks to Father Horne-y I was a seven-year-old sexual predator.)

I got thrown out of a Brownie meeting when I was seven years old. 

The year was 1954 so most people had not yet made the connection between a child acting out sexually and the likelihood that child has been sexually molested.  In the early 1950s  wisecracks about oral sex and sodomy by a seven-year-old evoked shock, then certainty that the child was inherently evil, born bad, and for the sake of the rest of the children the little pervert had to be removed.

At seven I was so innocent, likely just repeating what I learned in a blur of sessions in my young life that involved my parents, my sister, and a Roman Catholic priest in town.

With horror on her face, the Brownie leader jumped up, grabbed me from the table, where I sat with other little girls cutting with kid-scissors, and held me away from her as she whisked me out the door and slammed it shut, leaving me to wait outside on the porch for the special Thanksgiving Brownie meeting to end and my mother to come get me. 

Geographic Triggers

Recently I went to the park in the little town in Illinois where this all took place.  The building is known as “the log cabin,” built in 1952 according to the plaque outside the door, and it's still the town meeting place for Brownies and Girl Scouts, just four blocks from the Catholic church where Father Horne-y aroused me at age five, turning me into that preschool aged sexual predator in a Brownie meeting. 

Somewhere in the two-lane roads and illicit activities of this small town outside Chicago in the 1950s, this little girl, me, had learned about inserting objects into genital areas.  Then I repeated what I learned thinking I’d make the other girls laugh, while doing a construction paper crafts project with future Girl Scouts. 

Whatever I said must have been innocent and without malice.  

I was only seven years old.  

Still I was whisked away and shunned.  In fact the family moved to California to start a new life shortly after my incident with the Brownies.  I often wonder how much the whole affair with Father Horne-y and my mom, and rumors starting to spread around the town, tied in with my dad’s decision to move the family from Bartlett Illinois to Los Angeles in 1955. 

Being thrown out of Brownies was a horrible experience for a child to have and it implanted in me a sense that there was something wrong with me, I was to be detested, the badness in me was innate and just part of me, so there was nothing I could do to change it.  To this day there is an oh-poor-me look in my eyes even when I'm happy. 

Of course in 2012 or even in the 1990s, if a seven-year-old shows knowledge of perverse sex acts, alarms go off in the minds of every adult in hearing distance.  In 2012 we don't realize how different the world was before 1960 when Phil Donahue style TV shows and Freudian psychology started to have an impact on the population. 

In 1954 no one talked about sex. 

It was just not brought up. 

So I went through childhood displaying blatant signs of having been a molested child, with no intervention.

These days I live not too far away from Bartlett where all this took place.  Molestation by a Catholic priest and apparent photographing of me and my sister in sexual situations when we were preschool aged, all took place in this snoozing small town about an hour outside Chicago. 

I know about the criminal activity from comparing notes with my older sister, with whom I am totally estranged, because of the horrible effect these incidents as children had on our lives, the compulsions we shared, the humiliations we experienced together, in our twenties and thirties.  My sister and I got together again a few years back as mature adults, long enough to compare notes and realize what the priest did to both of us. 

But too late to repair the damages. 

Geographic Triggers

I'm here in 2012 living in a town near Bartlett trying to experience geographic triggers.  I figure if I'm in the area, I’ll get an inkling of memory from a smell, or the way light comes through the trees at a certain time of the year.  It's difficult because it's been more than sixty years since most the incidents happened and the world has just changed SOOOO much since the early 1950s.  

Not sure how much geographic triggering I’ll experience while I'm here. 

I write about this today just because it says so much about the effect sexual molestation has on a person’s life from the time it happens as a child to the time they're in their sixties like me today, trying to piece my life together.  That sad dejection of the girl thrown out of the Brownie meeting is still in my eyes to this day. 

And God knows what kind of a person I could have become without the molestation in there affecting my behavior. 

And yes, this is me continuing the exploration I started in July of 2008.  It took me this long to make it back to Bartlett.  But I'm here now.
.

I Can Finally Stand the Silence, even relish in it

.
(This post needs one more edit)

In 1995 I was diagnosed with PTSD for forty years.  They said I’d been traumatized as a child and reacting to it since I was five to seven years old, or forty years, which at University of California San Francisco Medical Center is called Prolonged Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

It may sound like a crazy San Francisco thing, until you hear my story.  For me, finding out I’d had PTSD for 40 years, was a blessed explanation for things that had plagued me all my life.  By age 45, I was as shocked by my own behavior as everyone else had been all my life once they got to know me.  At 45 I was alone in a small Northern California town where I knew almost nobody, with a five year old child, trying to figure out how my life had gone so wrong and landed me there. 

Trying to figure out how I could have made all the stupid mistakes I’d made that led me to end up this broke desperate bloated unhealthy weepy female in her forties with NOTHING to show for my life but a child I needed to support. 

So for me the diagnosis made perfect sense.

PTSD since age five explained everything. 

***

Then since I realized what caused the crazy behavior, I stopped it, and turned into a completely different person.  Completely.  I stopped being the mania driven whore whose life was a nonstop response to something I was not going to slow down long enough to look at.  I slowed down and stopped, then looked at it, then all of a sudden I was able to remain in a comfortable position on a couch. 

At least now sometimes I can hold still. 

***

Today (November 2011) living in a weird space. 

I can’t tell anyone what I'm writing about.  I don't want to go into the whole thing, explanations, referring people to bishop accountability to prove indeed there have been six thousand pedophile priests found in the USA alone, that's priests with allegations against them legal enough that their names can be published by a corporate nonprofit.  

I'm writing this thing, trying to finish it by 2015. 

NOTES for upcoming stories:

1.  Joys of doing your own medical care in the insurance free so no health care at all world I live in.  First, become a vegan.

2.  Call Troy Gray in Colorado and ask about this note I found from 2008:

"Troy says he may have DVD or at least transcript of testimony before Colorado state legislature that included a 92 year old lady who came forward for the first time that day to say she was a pedophile priest victim. 

"And there was also a local politician guy who stood up and came out as a survivor in the middle of that hearing."

************

FROM A FILE CALLED

JOURNALING FINALLY JOURNALING

Still November 2011, 

Now that I've been abandoned in West Virginia, I am dying of loneliness. 

I have to find a way to get out of this town.  

How did I ever end up in Berkeley Springs, West Virginia? 

A guy from the pedophile priest movement dropped me off here in March, and I was supposed to be picked up in April by another guy in the “pedophile priest survivor movement” but he never showed up, and  the woman from the "survivor movement" who invited me turned out to  not have any room for me, so I got stranded in this town known as "the country's first spa." 

So I rented an apartment and made the best of it.

Now West Virginia has served its purpose. And a good purpose it's been. 

I've learned to live with myself, and I can even turn the TV and radio and everything off sometimes and just sit in the quiet.  The previous decades before coming here, in fact pretty much since the damn recovered memory came in around 1994, I was not able to tolerate silence for more than a few seconds.  The horrible thoughts would pour in. 

Those uncontrollable images have finally stopped.

I should not say “damned recovered memory” but blessed recovered memory. 

Without it I’d never have understood why my behavior was so bad.  At least now I get to live the life of a little old lady as a different person than the slut I was from about age 12 or puberty on.    

Meanwhile I keep trying to use the space station fantasy to counteract the isolation.  I pretend, this is what life is like in the future when individual humans can be astronauts living in space long periods of time in isolated settlements. 

To my isolation I have the added element of not being the same person I used to be twenty years ago.  So I don't even really know myself. 

I get to live with this new person.  I also get to live with knowing all the screw-ups in my life that shocked me as well as just about every person I encountered, all that behavior, the shameful way I lived, can all be explained away with the fact I had PTSD for forty years. 

I could have been successful, in fact, sometimes I almost was successful, but I always sabotaged it. 

If only I’d been able to keep my job at NASA back in the 1980s and become what I could have become. 

Instead I have this cheap furnished room and I earn just a little over the poverty line in income, so since I'm so rich, I get no help from the government with anything.  Plus what few friends I do have are all as poor as I am and able to live on government grants for which I somehow never qualify.  So I have to watch them get free medical care, subsidized rent, and food stamps, while I self medicate in a high-priced slum living on rice the last two weeks each month. 

****

But food and medicine are not the main basic human need that for me is never met.  It's been more than 24 years since I felt arms around me.  Even now thinking of it, my eyes glaze, I exhale.  I have an inkling of what it would be like to feel love.  I know a couple of the men I was with early on, in my early twenties, late teens, would have been wonderful life partners. 

Imagine if I’d married Tim Young, who was my high school passion.  Instead I threw him off my front porch when he came back to see me in my senior year, me age 17(?), just beginning to discover the power I had over men, and the rage I’d feel for them after. 

I was so mean to him as I threw Tim Young out of my life.  

Then I repeated that pattern all the way through adulthood.  Fuck men then throw them out in as mean a way as possible.

**************

Joy of life without access to health care in the USA.

This is the second one of these pussy globules that's formed under my skin and grown into a pulsing, mucous filled white head 20 times the size of a pimple.  They appear underneath my arm, in the armpit.  

The first time it happened was when Lizzie and I lived in a homeless shelter in 2004. I must have picked something up there....

***********************

November 21, 2011, I am dying of loneliness. 

I'm actually kind of liking this lifestyle I landed in, where I'm on my own alone almost all the time.  I mean, I just had a phone conversation and emailed a couple people, so I'm not totally cut off. 

Just living on a space station in the Appalachians.  

Where Finally I Can Stand Silence.

For the first time in years I'm able to sit in silence and just enjoy it.  Finally.  FINALLY.  Finally the chatter has slowed down to a stop in my head.  I can actually turn the TV off before I go to bed and lie down in a different room, close the door even, and go to sleep. 

I still take a handful of Benadryl at night to get to sleep but I'm getting better. 

In fact it's become like an exercise or an experiment. 

Turn off all the media, turn off the TV and don't immediately turn on the radio, just listen to the silence.

Finally I can do that, at least for a little while.

Finally the shit doesn't boil up from the bottom and immediately take over the conversation in my head. 

Finally. 

NOTE:  I'm not saying I heard voices, just that the rage has been forming sentences and paragraphs in my head for years now, and I’d stop everything and write them down, or run them in my head until I could.  That's the chatter that's finally coming to a stop.

More to come

-By Kay Ebeling, 
Producer of City of Angels Blog 
since January 2007.

.

Art is from Resonance Network 

http://resonancenetwork.wordpress.com/tag/berlin/

Berlin

.

That was Me, I thought, as I watched My Week with Marilyn

.

As I watched the movie My Week With Marilyn, at one scene my mouth dropped open and I said, “That was me.” It’s where Marilyn realizes she’s destroyed her personal and professional life and is having an emotional breakdown  leaning against a wall crying.

That was me in a bathroom of a Houston oil company office building downtown in 1981. One month earlier, I had been a NASA Public Affairs Officer, working in the LBJ Space Center newsroom. I was even training to do Mission Commentary for Spacelab One. Now instead I was out of a job with a need to pay rent, so I’d gone to work as a temp in a downtown oil company. One afternoon, realizing my sexual compulsion had ruined so much in my life, I deconstructed, and spent hours in the ladies room acting exactly like Marilyn in the scene from the 2011 movie that struck me so hard, I had to capture a screen shot.

The summer that Marilyn Monroe’s body was found in her Beverly Hills apartment, I was only 13 years old, yet when I heard the news, it registered with me so intensely, I walked up the beach that day in a daze, crying.

I was only 13 years old, how did I even know who and what Marilyn Monroe was? But I did, I felt an affinity with her. Even before I reached puberty, I recognized in Marilyn Monroe the same damaged thing I knew was inside myself, it was coming from her eyes.

“Norma Jeane's later behavior (i.e. hypersexuality, sleep disturbances, substance abuse, disturbed interpersonal relationships), was a manifestation of the effects of childhood sexual abuse” (per Wikipedia’s entry on Marilyn Monroe.)

Back in the little studio apartment where I lived with my sister, I made Trish wake up. “I just heard something horrible on the news,” I said, “Marilyn Monroe is dead.”

“What are you doing? Why did you wake me up to tell me that?” she answered, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Trish did not get it. I thought she would get it.

Because my sister and I had this weird connection that had something to do with sex, and we realized later in life was probably because we were both molested in the same way by Father Thomas Barry Horne in Bartlett in the 1950s.  In 1962 somehow I just knew Marilyn Monroe had the same weird thing, so Trish should be just as anguished at Marilyn’s death as I was.

But she wasn’t.

Patricia is the only other person I know of, so far, that was molested by Father Thomas Barry Horne of Bartlett Illinois, both of us as preschoolers. Patricia is the sister with whom my whole life I shared this weird sameness, yet the two of us were very different from every other person on Earth.

We knew we shared something that made us sexually unusual, we just really didn't know what why or how.

For instance, Patricia held onto her virginity with confirmed passion all the way until she was age twenty-one.

Me, by age twenty-one, I’d had sex with more than a hundred men and had quit counting.

***************
Summer 1962 was yet another summer I was sent to stay with my sister, who, I learned later in life, had been molested as a child by the same priest who got to me at age five. That summer I realized whatever made my sister and me the same, also made us very different. And For some reason my dad sent me to stay with my sister Patricia every summer, until I graduated high school, when I was sent to live with her where she had moved in Europe. 

Why did my dad send me to spend every summer with Patricia?

******************

That 1962 summer morning, somewhere along the carnival area near the Balboa pier, I heard the news, that Marilyn Monroe had been found dead, and it struck me, stunned me. In almost a daze I stumbled up the beachfront sidewalk back to our little apartment out on the peninsula near The Wedge. 

The incidents with Father Horne when we were pre-school aged children lived in the tension between my sister and me our entire lives.

*******************

Credit for photo of the Monroe statue that was recently removed from downtown Chicago J. Seward Johnson's "Forever Marilyn" statue used to sit at Pioneer Court, July 25, 2011, in Chicago. (Raymond Boyd/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images)

Watch the screenshot of the scene from My Week with Marilyn here http://cityofangels15.blogspot.com/2012/04/marilyn-and-me.html

*****

Posted by Kay Ebeling, trying to solve mysteries
*
Photo is Father Horne standing outside his church in Bartlett, mid-1950s.
,

Starry Eyed for Krishna, In Pursuit of the Priest

.
After starting City of Angels Blog, I learned that “prolonged PTSD with re-traumatization" is not unusual in stories of pedophile priests and their victims. This is my story.

From Behind a Nearby Tree Emerged Krishna...

I don't remember what brought me into the backyard of the Integral Yoga Institute ashram in Burbank, California, that day. Did I do something subconsciously to seduce the man called Krishna, or was it just a coincidence we both ended up in the hidden gazebo? Did he seduce me? That part of the memory is gone. It was spring 1970 and I’d moved in around eight weeks earlier to the IYI “ashram,” a quasi commune in a Hollywood Hills mansion. Yoga classes in the living room were free to residents, we held evening sessions of chanting and prayer. While living in the Burbank Ashram I was so full of reverence I took Sanskrit classes so I could one day read ancient texts. I was learning a new way to pray, in pursuit of a new religion.

In reality, I was in pursuit of the priest because of being molested by Father Horne when I was preschool aged. But I didn't figure that part out until I was forty-five years old.

Now at 22, on a quiet afternoon in Burbank, I was wandering in the backyard of the ashram, past the landscaped area where we held outdoor events. I walked right up to the gazebo.

From out of a nearby tree emerged Krishna. Yes, his name was really Krishna, newly arrived in California from New York to teach Yoga to movie stars.

He pushed me up against the garden structure, ran his hands all over my body, pushed his penis up against me and within seconds, he ejaculated, exhaled, straightened his clothes and scampered back to the ashram to change into a fresh pair of “whites” so he could continue his work expanding the spiritual consciousness of Southern Californians.

When he ran off, I was left behind stunned, the same person as that five year old girl left behind in the woods after Father Horne molested me and scampered off. Both the priest and the Yogi had to clean themselves off after being with me.

That day in 1970 I stood in the trees leaning against the gazebo, listening to the hum of the freeway below, stunned, then eventually I went back inside the old mansion made now into a commune full of former hippies turned yogis. Over the next few days Krishna was shockingly cold to me, wouldn't look me in the eye, left me out of events. Then other Yogis and yoginis living in the ashram seemed to turn their backs on me, like they somehow knew something had happened.

I was sullied.

I quit Sanskrit class.

Soon I moved out and hitchhiked up Highway 101 on my way to Alaska, and ended up in Dallas, Texas…

************************

At age 45 I was diagnosed as having PTSD since age five with 40 years of re-traumatization, which means after the incidents with Father Thomas Barry Horne at St. Peter Damian Church in Bartlett Illinois when I was five years old, for the rest of my life, over and over again, I put myself in situations that mimicked what happened with the pedophile priest in the trees.

Later, after starting City of Angels Blog in 2007, I found out that “prolonged PTSD with re-traumatization is not all that unusual in the pedophile priest stories.

A pattern for my life started at age five-six and repeated itself for decades. Whenever I joined a group, got a job, started classes, things would go great until I acted out sexually, and I always inevitably acted out sexually. Then doors would slam in my face, and I’d have to move on.

Take the incident with Krishna at the IYI Ashram in Burbank, Spring 1970. I learned about the group while I was recovering, sort of, at my parents’ house. I’d spent the previous summer at a commune outside the Timothy Leary ranch near Laguna Beach, again pursuing a charismatic man in high places with a connection to religion. (Read Pages of Timothy Leary's Book of Psychedelic Prayers) now back in L.A., a friend told me when we met on the street. “People live in this old mansion in the Hollywood Hills, you share a room, go to your job, and at night learn the asanas.”

Within a week after a beginner's Yoga class, I’d moved in.

I think Krishna taught that first Yoga class. When I saw his curly red hair and electric eyes, his bony body in the loose white clothes worn by the Yogis, I was immediately dazzled. But I must have been doing something with my eyes or body language that was completely unconscious. I mean, all the girls in the ashram had crushes on Krishna, and he was reverently ignoring all of them. But then there I was, Dazzle Eyed and putting out pheromones, some extra thing that was pulling him in, so no matter how much I tried to be a serious and studious and bury myself in Sanskrit letters, Krishna came after me.

From the moment I first encountered him, as he was interpreting some obscure reading from the Baghavad Gita with great insight and charisma looking like a red-haired version of Berger in HAIR! the compulsion was set in motion. The incident in the backyard at the gazebo was inevitable, it was just a matter of time. And then I was out the door.

Something sexual inside me bloomed and transported up my spine like a Kundalini snake, and we were going to connect sexually. It was a compulsion that sprouted inside me, I didn't have any control of at that young age. In fact I didn't even realize these impulses were strange and had a sick origin deep inside from sexual things done to me by Father Horne when I was age five in 1953.

It was just something I did, inevitably, once there was that click, I’d find a way to be banging the preacher in the backroom.

I have to stop a minute and describe what I must have looked like, how I must have appeared, to people who met me, like Krishna, a who was really just a nice Jewish boy from Manhattan who had been initiated and named Krishna by Swami Satchidananda, (pictured). The guru from India started Integral Yoga Institute in the late 1960s, after opening the Woodstock festival with a group meditation.

Krishna was not in Hollywood to connect with blondes. He told everyone he was in training to become Brahmacharya, where Yogis renounce all pleasures of the body, including sex.

Krishna had not counted on encountering me.

You have this unkempt curvy girl, probably not wearing a bra as that was a fashion statement in the 1960s that I embraced enthusiastically, so I was jiggling. My eyes must have still had a bit of kaleidoscope going on from a few months earlier when I’d been tripping with Timothy Leary followers in Laguna Canyon.

I know this sounds like a rape victim blaming herself, but truth is, I did something unconsciously, I moved my body, dressed, held myself in a way that made the male target of my compulsions pretty much helpless to stop me. A lot of this acting out, the flirting, was done unconsciously.

And if a man I encountered had a connection to God or the sky? Forget about it, I’d be so all over him, he’d have no defense against me.

In the case of “Krishna” I must have been relentless, so he felt he had no choice but to give up his “brahmacharya” vows for a quick romp in the woods with me.

***********

Thing is, I was still only 22 years old, so I was not even aware that I was doing something different from what other girls were doing in regards to sex.

In fact, the only other person I know who was compulsive in the same way as I was with sex was my sister, Patricia, who was also aroused at preschool age by Father Horne.

This is going to be a long story, to be written out over next three years here at City of Angels Blog 15 (2015)

A quality of the PTSD that drove my life for forty years was speed. That's why Faster Than the Speed of Life is the title of this writing project.

If you always go real-real fast, you never have to stop and see what you have just done.

***************

I had a kind of sleazy slutty aura after the way I’d been carrying on pretty much from puberty until a few years back, in fact, I may still have it. It's not easy being in your mid-sixties, as I am today, and just now realizing the long term effects of that one series of events that took place when I was five, where a Catholic priest brazenly put his fingers in my pubic area then watched with amusement as I responded to his touch. For decades after that I believed that St. Michael the Archangel himself had come to me in the woods and aroused me as a child.

I believed my sexual aggression had been put in me by God himself, having sex with lots of men was what I was on this planet to do.

It was one of the sexual fantasies Father Horne taught me in First Communion Class.

This is going to be a long story.

***********

Today in my sixties, writing my story is the only recompense I have for a life of destroyed careers and personal rejection. I know, after the story of the pedophile priest epidemic came out last 15 years, that I'm just one out of a hundred thousand victims of pedophile priests in the United States today. We've only begun to find out all the damages these priests and their bishops who aided and abetted them caused.

Look at how much damage I must done myself as a result of just one of these holy men’s crimes. (And there are more than six thousand pedophile priests identified from last sixty years or so in the bishop accountability database.)

I was a sexual predator, pretty much from age six on, when I’d take kids aside to show them what Father Horne had showed me.

On New Year’s Day 1969 I made a resolution to have sex with 69 men that year and somewhere in May passed that number and lost count. I performed in the new porn films that were casting all over the city (never really had sex on camera, we did simulated sex in those first films in the mid 1960s. Then they came up with the X rating and people started really doing it on film. I freaked when they started really doing it, I mean, I was a good Catholic girl deep down inside). So I’d been in the middle of the sex industry as it was coming to life in and around Hollywood and carried whatever residual grease that put into my aura. I was only 22 years old, so even though I battled the same Polish plumpness I battle today, the battle was happening on a smaller tighter perkier body. I was raised in Southern California, a natural blond. Then add the sexual automaton qualities. You have this unkempt curvy girl, probably not wearing a bra as that was a fashion statement I embraced enthusiastically in that era as well, so bouncy. With eyes that may have still had a bit of kaleidoscope going on from those months tripping with Timothy Leary, I’d look up and snag into contact with the most available and willing male present as soon as I entered a room.

In that state I moved into Integral Yoga Institute, just above the Hollywood Freeway at the Barham exit.

So from age five with neighborhood kids until age 40 when I forced myself on my daughter’s father, I was a sexual predator. I wreaked havoc on people’s lives and it was all a result of being mishandled by a priest when I was five years old and there are about a hundred thousand victims of pedophile priests in the USA today, all of us acting out in aberrant ways as a result of the crimes.

If only one tenth of the victims turned into predators like me, imagine the damage we've done.

I didn't even connect my sexual weirdness with what happened with the priest until I became a single mother at age 40, so had to clean up my lifestyle. I got sober, and stopped having sex with anyone at all for fear of releasing that monster in front of my daughter.

When Lizzie turned five years old, the age I was at the time of the abuse, thanks to a perfect storm of events, I reconciled the crime of the priest with the sexual insanity of my life.

Now it's long past the statute of limitations in Illinois for child sex crimes, so there’s no chance of getting even a small settlement from the church to make up for the damages to my life. The Catholic Church only compensates its victims when forced to by law and in Illinois the Church owns the law.

Today as an old lady, the only asset I have is my story.

So here I write.

*****************

In the end, the only other woman I knew who was sexually compulsive in the same way as me was my sister, who was also molested at preschool age by Father Horne.

Father Horny.

Apparently both of us went through life re-traumatizing ourselves, which means we put ourselves repeatedly in the same situation as we’d been in with the priest. Being sexualized by a priest at age five- six caused me to go through life in a kind of trance, much like post hypnotic suggestion, so when a combination of circumstances presented themselves, I’d Snap, then go into automatic response and become a sexual predator.

I was a sexual predator from age six to forty-six, I forced men to do things with me that they really didn't want to do. I have to live with that for the rest of my life.

It was like Father Horne’s black robed presence was always on my back, enveloping me.

Since I started writing City of Angels Blog I've met grown survivors, who still live in this kind of sexual dysfunction, even as old as in their fifties, driven by similar compulsions. And I've met other survivors who have marrried and raised families and are not like me at all.

There are too many survivors to make any genuine blanket statements about us, I can only write about myself for now.

***************

When I was reading case files from pedophile priest cases in 2007-8 in L.A., I noticed phrases that came up in brief after brief, written by dozens of different plaintiff attorneys. Words that came up often to describe damages caused by pedophile priests were “sexual dysfunction” “confusion about sexual identity” “inability to be intimate” and “promiscuity” in the 510 lawsuits that settled for $660 million in 2007, the L.A. Clergy Cases.

I was only five to six years old when Father Horne was handling me. Details of what happened have intermingled in my mind today with things that I know are imaginary, and some things that I'm not sure if they are imaginary or not. If I hadn’t had the memory confirmed by a sister in 1994, who volunteered that she also was molested by Father Horne six years earlier than me, I don't know if I’d know anything happened, with this much certainty.

I'm still not sure exactly what did happen. I hope someday to figure it out.

******************

In a way I'm grateful that the way Father Horne touched me at age five excited me and made me overly enthusiastic about sex, because at least I thought I was enjoying myself during 40 years of sexual dysfunction. Today I look at all the altar boys who grew up and committed suicide, or I look at survivors of pedophile priests I've met who are so badly damaged they can barely communicate, or so addicted to alcohol and drugs they barely function, and I realize that in a sick way I'm fortunate.

Like Little Annie Fannie with angel wings, I began my pursuit of the priest at age five-six, and it kicked into overdrive when I became a teenager.

The compulsion took me to to NASA in Houston where I got a high profile job in Public Affairs, and ended up having to leave in scandal, in fact, the reason I worked so hard to get that job was so I could pursue astronauts, you know, dynamic men with a connection to the sky, as well as to the Timothy Leary ranch inland from Laguna in 1969, to a Yoga ashrams in Hollywood and Dallas, My compulsion took me to Austin where I begged a Mormon family to let me be one of the sister wives because their connection of sex to God turned me on so much.

When the pedophile priest story broke, I slowly realized there were thousands, nee hundreds of thousands, of other people who shared the experience of being crime victims of pervert Roman Catholic clergy, and I joined a “survivor movement.”
Then I started City of Angels Blog.

*****
More to Come of this story here at City of Angels 15 “Faster Than the Speed of Life” a novel to be published online between now and 2015.

Next Entry: Why would a 13 year old girl go into profound mourning at the death of Marilyn Monroe?

-By Kay Ebeling
.

Marilyn and Me

.
This clip illustrates this story



From the film "My Week with Marily" 2011

Psychedelic Prayers by Timothy Leary 1966, Scanned pages, look inside

.
Below, from Timothy Leary, pages of "Psychedelic Prayers," the 1966 book are scanned as an addendum to "Faster than the Speed of Life," a manuscript to be published here at CofA 15 by the end of 2015.

Being sexualized by a Catholic priest when I was five years old, I lived with compulsions of a confused connection between religion and sex. In 1969 those pursuits took me to a loosely structured commune in the hills inland from Laguna Beach. The Leary ranch was back in those hills and Tim Leary was de facto leader of thousands of hippies flocking to Laguna at that time. I've carried this "Book of Psychedelic Prayers" from 1966 with me all these years, and so scanned a few pages here, to illustrate the story, "Faster than the Speed of Life" in development here.














From childhood I pursued religion with a passion that after puberty became integrally tied in with sex, so I'd pursue men in high places connected with religion, all as a result of being molested by a priest when I was five.

So at 21 I was in Laguna Beach, pursuing a guru, the man who pioneered use of LSD25 as a means to expand the mind. Timothy Leary combined Himalayan prayers with the psychedelic experience caused by LSD, and as a teenager, I read the book whose pages are scanned in below, then took an acid trip on a beachside cliff, meditating and chanting Om.

So when I found out in 1969 that he was living nearby, I packed up my apartment in L.A. and showed up at the gateway to a commune that led to his ranch in Riverside County, by way of Laguna Canyon, with a pill gadget on a chain around my neck holding birth control pills.

I was in pursuit of the priest, pursuit of Tim Leary, pursuit of some cosmic orgasmic experience I knew was out there just didn't quite know how to grasp.
.
"Psychedelic Prayers" and other Leary books are available new and used online through different booksellers. This post is a "look inside" to give background on the story that will be published online here at City of Angels 15 by Kay Ebeling, over the next three years.
.

Faster than the Speed of Life?

Sixty Years of PTSD

More Pics: Homeless in my Neighborhood

.

More of the People in my Neighborhood

I do not want to point my camera at their faces...

In L.A. they shit on the sidewalks, and I don't blame them

.
In L.A. there is a new trend, homeless people just pull down their pants and defecate in front of people, right in the middle of the sidewalk. I've seen it myself, and almost everyone I know in town has a story to tell of having seen it themselves, it's "what's happening" in L.A. today. We are watching mankind sink, a new lower breed of human is evolving, they live on the streets in L.A., adapting with insanity to the insane life that's been dealt them.

What else are they supposed to do when they have to move their bowels? We have a society with humans living without a human's most basic need, shelter. Yet developers continue to build luxury apartments. In L.A., they build "million dollar down payment condos" at the same addresses where people sleep on the ground outside. We don't even provide public restrooms for the homeless, so they can at least defecate in decency.

So in L.A. the homeless now shit on the sidewalk in front of all of us, and I don't blame them.

What does it say about this time, this culture, that we let conditions get this bad? I feel like I'm living in a futuristic sci fi movie, only it's real, all too real.

(This post started as a comment by Kay E at: Crimes Against Homeless Increasing, Compassion Not So Much at Change Dot Org Homelessness Blog.)

***********
One Million Children in U.S. Public Schools are Homeless
So, let's get rid of public schools, say extreme Republicans today...

You find humans now in strangest places

.
A 37 year old homeless man is in hospital in critical condition after he was tipped from a West End dumpster into the back of a garbage truck.
The man was rescued from the back of a Waste Control Serviuces truck Thursday in a lane in the 1500-block Robson Street after a woman heard him crying for help, say Vancouver police. (Read more )

Progress

.
Calif. Senate OKs homeless civil rights protection
San Jose Mercury News - ‎Aug 23, 2010‎

SACRAMENTO, Calif.—Attacks on the homeless could violate California's civil rights law under a bill approved by the state Senate.
The bill passed Monday would let the state's estimated 157,000 homeless sue for higher damages if they are targeted for assault because they are transient.
Democratic state Sen. Leland Yee of San Francisco called the bill a civil rights issue.
The bill, AB2706, designates the homeless as a protected class, but stops short of declaring attacks on the homeless as hate crimes.
It passed on a 21-12 vote, without debate. It now returns to the Assembly for final action

*********

13.6 percent increase in homelessness since 2007

D.C.: At least four city shelters have been closed since 2004 with just one having been replaced. There has been a 13.6 percent increase in homelessness since 2007 in spite of the creation of the Permanent Supportive Housing program. There has been a drastic reduction in the amount of affordable housing citywide. Housing isn't any closer to being a realized human right than it was five years ago. And, from what I can see, most of those who were working on making housing a human right in D.C. have put such efforts on the back burner.

Documenting these strange times in photos

The hardship of living on the street.

I've seen man above all over my part of town for years, aging rapidly.

Below: How one homeless man makes it through a day in East Hollywood, August 2010






.


Just more of life in East Hollywood, walking distance from Beverly Hills


Imagine what Paramount Studios, right around the corner, could do, or CBS, or all the film companies in this town,
But instead people live close to the bottom, in my neighborhood, walking distance from studios producing for national networks.
Actually in photo at left the man looks more cleaned up than usual. He is the same man you see waiting for a bus in photo below, about one week later...


.
The City of Angels Is Everywhere

Documenting These Strange Times Continued

.
(In construction for week of August 15)

VIDEO below: People live in drain pipes, miles of them provide improvised housing for former casino workers, travelers. A CBS Crew goes to the Underground Las Vegas:



Moving L.A. Times Series
Gives Glimpse of Life on Skid Row
A program in L.A. houses a handful of chronic homeless, i.e., mentally ill crack addicts, as the homeless population, already in five-figure numbers in L.A., grows yearly. Our county finally provides a home for 50 people who had been on the street for decades. As reported in the L.A. Times:

Part 1
Whatever it takes
Aug. 1, 2010
Identifying and finding the hard-core homeless, then cajoling them to accept housing, proves a daunting challenge.
More »

Part 2
The Baddest of them all
Aug. 3, 2010
Mental illness, addiction and the ingrained survival habits learned on the street can make it hard to keep the homeless housed.
More »

Part 3
From penthouse to gutter
Aug. 5, 2010
Even for a former high-flying businessman whose sharp decline had led to skid row, the housing project is no panacea.
More »

Part 4
No tidy endings
Aug. 7, 2010
The project succeeds with most, and many clients say it's saved their lives. But for others, old patterns are hard to shake.

********
They Paved Paradise to Put up a Parking Lot, Hawaii 2010 Style

Homeless families in Honolulu turned "paradise" into a hostile reminder of the bleak poverty our economy is creating. So in Hawaii, as everywhere on this planet run by greed, the attitude is "Send them back where they came from."

In Honolulu in story below they paved over a homeless camp to create a suddenly much needed parking lot. And of course, no new location ever suggested for the homeless families. In this story townspeople criticize homeless families for raising their children that way:

Officials To Move Kakaako Homeless
KITV Honolulu - ‎Aug 13, 2010‎
On Monday Aug. 16, work crews will begin grading and paving several empty lots where many homeless campsites have sprung up. ...

****************
The World wakes up and realizes floods have wiped out the lives of thousands in Pakistan:

UN chief: Never seen anything like Pakistan floods
The Associated Press - Chris Brummitt
ISLAMABAD, Pakistan — UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon said Sunday he has never seen anything like the flood disaster in Pakistan after surveying the ...

UN calls world to speed up aid for Pak
Hindustan Times
UN secretary general, Ban ki-Moon, has urged the world to speed up aid efforts to Pakistan as the country braces itself for further flooding with the waters ...

Ban seeks speedy aid for flood-hit Pakistan
IBNLive.com
PTI Rezaul H Laskar Islamabad, Aug 15 (PTI) UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon today warned that the humanitarian crisis caused by the devastating floods in ...

The world has been sluggish in helping out with this particular natural disaster
Macleans.ca
A day after Canada pledged an extra $33 million (on top of $2 million last month) for Pakistan flood relief, UN Secretary General Ban Ki-moon made an urgent ...

UN chief speaks of sorrow over of Pakistan flood crisis
BBC News
UN Secretary General Ban Ki-moon has described as "heart-wrenching" the destruction he witnessed on a visit to flood-devastated Pakistan. ...

MORE NEWS:

Minnesota-Missouri-West Virginia
Travelers seeking work end up in tent city - WILLISTON, N.D. - Kneeling next to a green Coleman grill, Minnesota native Kyle Heikkila was busy preparing food in a frying pan as the sun set in a pink sky over Williston's Davidson Park. The tent where he sleeps stood a few feet away.
Heikkila moved to Williston from Grand Rapids, Minn., to find a construction job. He's trying to save up enough money to bring his wife and two children to Williston. "I've been looking for apartments left and right," he said. But ...

Documenting These Strange Times

.
(Will be adding and rearranging stories here as they come up)

Portland, OR, he is steelworker employed in construction until 2007, now homeless in Portland, OR, this video documents a day in his life, credit Oregonian

“Homeless in PDX"

*********
Homeless Woman Run Over in Park

Death of Joann Burton July 27, 2010: After gentrification destroyed the area where homeless used to dwell in Cincinnati, Joann Burton was sleeping in a park. Police car decided to take a shortcut and ran her over where she was catching a few hours rest between two trees. Her death comes "in context of the year's long effort of the quasi-public development group Cincinnati Center City Development Corp, to 'take over the entire Over-the-Rhine neighborhood south of Liberty Street and drive out the suffering and homeless.' Read More And More Photos at Cincinnati Dot Com
**************
ISLAMABAD 5th August 2010. Pakistan’s flood victims seek food and shelter as the worst floods in 80 years continue to wash away villages leaving thousands homeless and dead. United Nations has warned that a shortage of food could threaten the lives of thousands of people who are trapped in the floodwaters in northwestern Pakistan... Read in full at Pattaya Daily News which is also source of photo above.

*****
At last G20, "someone" funded the Black Bloc to rampage through Toronto, uninhibited by a huge private black-hooded security force, who then turned loose with riot gear to beat up on protesters:


Same thing happened in 2007
****************
In Redding CA, a Tent City on Technology Way is coming down. Local agencies will provide "services" and "assistance" for homeless living there, but no one mentions housing.
*****
Santa Barbara As Always Decades More Advanced Than the Rest of Us, now in dealing with Homeless: Santa Barbara Mayor Schneider, Carbajal speak out on homeless report - The Daily Sound: An overwhelming number of the homeless deaths over the last year in Santa Barbara involved individuals who were either ...

MORE COMING

You Might Be Better Off in Bangladesh

.
"If you don't have to see it on your way home to Brentwood, who cares?"- From Part 5



There are higher numbers of homeless families every day now, due to the disappearance of jobs and banks foreclosing on homes. Our national $1.2 trillion budget deficit is a “major obstacle” to funding the National Housing Trust Fund, according to Rep. Barney Frank (D-Mass.), the chairman of the House Financial Services Committee, quoted last week…

MEANWHILE

The new American middle class homeless trek from city to city, where news stories say there may be jobs:

Seeking oil spill work, homeless fill Gulf Coast shelters
from: blog.al.com. The director of the homeless service center 15 Place in downtown Mobile calls them "rainbow chasers" -- unemployed, sometimes unemployable, people who've come to Mobile in hopes of striking oil cleanup gold...

*****
Meanwhile, visit InvisiblePeople.tv "the face and voice of homelessness" for more of the story.

MEANWHILE:

A bank from Bangladesh comes to New York City, the financial capital of the world, to give poverty stricken women an opportunity to show their innovation and entrepreneurship and create thousands of small businesses. "I thought that America led the world in innovation and entrepreneurship, but in this area it seems to be Bangladesh." From OC Daily Pilot july 31, 2010

(Re Grameen Bank, a project for poor women to start up small businesses presented at FreedomFest started in Bangladesh by economist Muhammad Yunus.)

Meanwhile...

I Found the John Lennon Song I've Been Looking for Since 2004, that Defined Our Homelessness:

We were about to live on the street, our money had run out, January 1, 2004. As Lizzie and I pulled away from homeless hotel number 7, the radio station played this song, and it SO described what we were feeling and thinking that morning.

August 1, 2010, I heard the song again finally, it's part of the soundtrack of The U.S. Vs. John Lennon that was on cable yesterday... the film only plays about three bars of the song, little more, but I heard it, and I finally found it!

sigh