Tuesday, July 12, 2011


Records of war and death
Go back thousand of years
Man has never been at peace
He can never have peace
Without a revolution of the mind
First of all he needs
To lay down religion
Or at least think about it differently
Religion has cause more wars
Than all the madmen of the world
Your God or my God
Who is the best God
Who created the best God
Jehovah, Buddha, Christ, Allah
Is the God who wants
A foreskin really better
Than one who wants a clitoris
Better than a Monkey God
Or the Elephant God, Gnash
Or God hanging on a cross
Insanity fighting with insanity

Lay down religion for world peace
Let good sense prevail
Lay down prejudices
Lay down greed
Lay down love of power
Lay down the class system
Lay down politics
None of the systems have work
Not the right, not the left
Not dictators, Not Kings
Not Lenin, Hitler or Napoleon
We need a revolution of the mind
A revaluation of history
How many thousands of years
Must this go on
Before man wakes up, smartens up
And comes up with something new
Something never before tried
Lay down weapons
Lay down war planes
Lay down rockets, drones and bombs
Wake up world
Nothing was ever solved
By tearing down, destroying
Look at ancient Greece and Rome
Killing a race, a tribe, a nationality
Is not even possible
It was insanity of superiority
We are too many, too mixed
But starvation can kill millions
Murder and war has never worked
It will never work
Lay down your war planes
Lay down your love of oil, diamonds and gold
Lay down your strategies
Get off your adrenaline high

Only those who build, plant food
House and feed the people
Have peace in mind

We have computers
We can reach the world
We can have transparency
We can have honesty
We can have something new
We can have a world working together
We can use our minds
We can reason about how to
Actually achieve PEACE ON EARTH
Revolution of thought
A Revolution of the mind
…Linda King 7/11/11

Thursday, April 28, 2011


Days are disappearing into
The deep fog of San Francisco
Disappearing days of wondering
Wondering if the Middle East
Can free it’s self from a dictator
Firing upon his own people with
Guns, grenades and mortars
Wondering if America can
Climb out of it’s credit hole
It’s unemployment, it’s
Homeless people on the streets
Wondering if Japan can
Clean up it’s earthquake disaster
It’s radiation and bury it’s dead
Wondering about the tornadoes
It's death and destruction
And the floods and fires
Wondering if cities and states
All over America can
Balance their budgets
And bring jobs back to America
Wondering when my son can get hired
Wondering when gas prices will go down
Wondering if there will be enough money
To make it through the month
Wondering if there is anything
One person can say or do
That will make a difference
Is it me, or is the whole world
Experiencing the same
Change shoved into our lives
Without relief from day to day
Leaving us all reeling with wonder

Leaving one to welcome the fog
With it’s clouds of white softness
To smother things into unreality
And soften the harsh realities of life
With it’s hard edges…coming to fast
..Linda King 4/25/11

Monday, April 18, 2011


I spent the week end with my cousin in Petaluma, pictured with her dog. A couple of years ago, we went on a trip up the Oregon coast with this little dog, Butler. He has since died and I thought she would appreciate this picture of them together and the one I took of him alone. We left him tied while we went to eat and he was not happy. She loved this dog and I have never been able to send her a picture by e-mail. I mess it up every time. I'll try this.
It was just beautiful up north, but I didn't have my camera. All of the rolling hill are a emerald green with cows and sheep grazing. They do have happy cows up Petaluma way.
For our walk we went to the Cheese and Egg Festival and got many tasty bits of this and that. The next day we went to Sebastopol to the Flea Market and on the way hit on a great Estate Sale. We both found treasures, that we might never use. The drive up and and back was great with blossoms, green and spring flowers everywhere.
The baby lambs were nice too. On my way home the sky was filled with every kind of cloud you can think of...all in one sky, and as I neared S.F. the fog slipped over the hill and bled down the other side...beautiful. The bridge in fog is unreal too.

The other house, I drive by every weekday taking the kids to school. The clouds were so beautiful, this day, I stopped and took a picture of the house. This house would have been the entrance house of the Ingleside housing development which was built on the site of the old Ingleside Horse Racing Track, where my daughter has her house, and I thought my daughter, Carissa, didn't like horses. There is a circle of houses that go right around where the track it's self would have been. Carissa likes to run there. She's been a runner since high school and still keeps it up...pretty good.
I've had a hard time getting to my writing since Margie, my sister's death. It still seems unreal. I wish she had made it up here to see all this green after so much rain.

Saturday, March 26, 2011


The photos I am putting up are of my brother-in-law Floyd Ence, his racehorses and dog. He ran racehorses at all the tracks in Utah, Golden Gate, Hollywood Park and Santa Anita. His dog "Whitie" seems to love these horses as much as Floyd did. He seems to be posing for me when I took these pictures. Margie loved the Utah races and went with him often. I went when I was in town to Beaver, Escalante, Panguitch, Cedar City, St George, etc. A Ence horse was often the winner. Floyd didn't Gamble, but I did and won some easy money because we knew his horses were a cut above most in Utah. Many of these photo are of the Mares who were having the colts. He had one little colt he saved in the correl from the wolves or something he was pretty beat up. All of his horse seem to love him and came to him to be petted any time he was in the fields at his Mountain Meadow Ranch. Just down from the ranch was where the Mountain Meadow Massacre took place. One of his friend died on the fence there shot by his own gun as he climbed he fence. It was a little spooky up there. I seems to hear moans and groans on the wind.

Thursday, March 24, 2011


My sister, the nurse practitioner, died last night. It was unexpected. She had a another repair on her foot, the fourth surgery to relieve pain. They don't know if it was a stroke, a heart attack or a blood clot. I have been talking to everybody today, but I still can't rest. I clicked on her name, Marg, like I always do. I read her her last blog...maybe there was a clue? Then I posted a comment on her Blog site even though she is gone. We sister have been so close. They have always called us five peas in a pod...among other things. Over the years we have had such fun together.

Hi, Marg... I guess you are over there with LaRae now. At least one person is happy. You know,I am going to miss you so much. I could always come to your place and feel welcome, through all of your years. You and Pole could be so funny together. And there were those time when we all stayed with you at your Escalante house. I was your bartender at Star Hall and we put together some great dancing parties. You and Pole were always the best dancers. I, also, had great times with you visiting the cabin at The Meadows and with Floyd too. He loved that cabin. It should have been left how it was..well, maybe, just cleaned up the singles outside. The cabin had so many memories for him and his brother...and you too, as you drove back and forth up there for him so many years. You have been good to all our family, and all his family. I'm sorry I didn't call you again yesterday, but I was giving you a day. You nursed Floyd over and above the call of any wife or nurses duty.
You seemed more like the old Margie, after Floyd had gone to a care home. You probably over-did, after he left, getting the house cleaned, painted,and the carpet changed. You never did know how to be messy or say, "No," to a medical doctor.
I like our middle of the night talks. You were the only one I could call in the middle of he night. You were always awake when I called...the pain you said.
I know, now, that the dream about that Gangster, Joe Burns, was for you. He came and "stole" you away. When that black Gangster car drove way and I saw it going up the road toward Leeds, where Joe used to live (Or going to Boulder.)..I thought, that looks more like a Hearst than a gangster car. Joe knew that you always loved him.
Well, Goodbye, for while...say "Hello," to Mom, Daddy, Ray and all the rest of the family. We are going to miss you. What is Buddy,(the dog) going to do without you?
He is going to be so sad. I remember that great a big White Russian hound, that killed his own deer to eat, He loved you, too. No one would ever hurt you with him around. I'm glad I did your sculpture.
Your kids are Griffins. They might never stop crying.
Lov you, Sis....Linda, (the baby)
Love you.

Monday, March 21, 2011


Since Vooman's alter ego has received questions by e-mail from "fans." Ha... I decided to answer the questions here on VOOMAN'S VOICE so I could.. Well...kill two jobs with one finger action. And let other people read, as well. Whose knows who don't know what about me.
"You are such an inspiration." ...(I wish I could inspire myself right now...)
"I am dumbstruck that so little is known about you, your early life in Utah and what made you the genius artist that you are. (I like that, I think it is the first time anyone has used the word "genius" on paper about me. It was in a sentence with "dumb," but "dumb" and "dumbstruck" are two different words. I am very sensitive about the word "dumb."
Lois Munoz is writing a film script to respond to caricatures created in "WOMEN," by the late and great, Charles Bukowski. Doesn't she know this about him? ..."I write 90% of the truth and the other 10% is an improvement on the truth." I am not sure that I can be too helpful as I have made a caricature of myself...here on VOOMAN'S VOICE, maybe long before that. But, one should respond to anyone who calls them genius...art genius..

Dear Lois,
In respond to your questions.

What was your first experience with art?

I came from Boulder, Utah, the most beautiful area in American. It's in the heart of Escalante Staircase National Monuments, where there is over 200 miles of scenic beauty.
My first art experience was with the gang who painted graffiti on the rocks. My older sister, LaRae, also an artist, was the leader of the gang. We painted a huge nude up there on a beautiful, flat, red sand rock canvas. It was a dangerous climb and we painted long, even though we had to hurry before any cars came by and we got caught. Nudes were not honored in Mormon country like they were in Rome. It, later, becane the favorite target practice of the boys, who, I think shot her boobs right off. When we went to repaint, we had to add a Bikini, but it was never as good as the first one. And the sign killed it, LAND OF ENCHANTMENT AND BEAUTIFUL WOMEN.

Who or what inspired you to create art?

After I got married and lived in Hollywood. I used to stroll, with my new baby, by this studio that had a little sculpture head in the window and admire it. I wanted to be an actress, but my husband had made me promise, I would give up that dream. He, later, agreed to let me sign up for a sculpture class. I found out at that class that I could catch a likeness better than anyone in the room. I have since had many, many dreams of sculpturing in past lives. One day while I was watching T. V. I jumped up scream, "Come and look. My sculptures are on T.V. I know I helped do those." It was some site in India. The sculptures ere buried in vines with monkeys all round. Russian, American Indian and Mayan art are, also, buried in my unconsciousness, as well. I must go to Rome before I die. I am thinking of sneaking off the trail to a cave in Boulder and sculpture in sandstone again, before 90.

Where did you study and who were your favorite artist?

I went to Adult School in Burbank, Calif. Milton Nickelson was the teacher. He used to do portrait heads at Universal City for $50 a head. He sculptured people from all over the world.
I took Ceramics at Dixie College at St. George Utah and found out I could not make a round pot...I could not. I told the teacher, "Don't give up on me, I am going to get a year of therapy and try again." He said, "Don't do that, the therapist are sending their patients to us." I, mostly, studied on my own. I am taking my first live sculpture class now, at San Francisco City College.
My favorite artist is, Rodin, even though he didn't treat women all that great..unless he was between their legs, at the moment. I saw The Rodin Sculpture Garden and Museum in Paris, it was great. They did have some of "her" work at his Museum. That was nice of him. See how the "she" is forgotten. Even I can't remember...and can't find her name right now. She got so frustrated, "she" destroyed her work...or most of it. That's why I can't remember. I don't like that. I was even against Saddam sculptures being destroyed....after all he wasn't the artist.

What traumas or acts of beauty fuel your creativity?

I had a breakdown in the 60's, which I wrote a book about called MAD OUIJA......still unpublished. My book about Bukowski,LOVING AND HATING CHARLES BUKOWSKI (the 70's)......still unpublished. On the good side, love is a good motivator. Bukowski and I wrote and created quite well together. He was always doing oil stick or chalk drawings for his books, while I sculptured. Of course, he wrote like a madman, so the writing was there too. He was the beginning of me doing portraits of writers and poets. I've sold about over a dozen of Bulowski's head in bronze. I suppose some of those fights we had, created some poetry.

Was your environment where and how you grew up, conducive to you becoming an artist?

I rode a Bus, an hour, morning and night to school and we got creative on that bus, so as not to get too bored with songs, talks, debates, discussions, etc. My oldest sister, Geraldine King, went away to school, but was the writer of the family and she wrote volumes. She is now blogging and working on her Autobiography. She has written so many plays and books I can't count them......still unpublished. She is pushing 79. She tried to make all of her sisters into writers. We had a little rag before Bukowski. It was called HALF N' HALF. In fact, I have one of his poem published in one of them. We were five girl and we trained to be cowgirls because my Dad had no cowboys and herd of a 1000 cattle to take care of. I still have a great love of horses. We partied and dance with great energy, too.
My nephew, Raymond Shurtz, is a playwright, song writer and poet in Phoenix. He has had great theater events with, one act plays, written by many writers including me, his mother Gerry, Brenda Edward, Gus Edwards and many more. Gerry has had original plays performed in Phoenix and Utah. He has had close to 25 original plays done. My mother was also a writer. THE KINGS OF BOULDER, being one of them, mostly self published. My sister Ann writes history and will have a book out this summer LET'S DRIVE, stories and maps of Escalante Staircase National Monumnent. My sister, Margie, wrote a book about her husband Floyd Ence of St George, Utah. My niece, Cheryl, put together a book, EARLY WOMEN SETTLERS, of Boulder, for The Hertiage Festival. I am going there this summer to...well,... build fence. My hometown is becoming a hide out for artist, writer. organic gardeners, musicians, and mountain pot growers,etc.
I managed to get two poems in REVOLUTIONARY POETS BRIGADE, San Francisco. I probably the laziest of the sister...spoiled baby. I did a heads of Jack Hirshman
A.D.Winans, Lawrence Farlinghettim Jack Micheline, Harold Norse and Neeli Chercovski of S.F. I am loving my live nudes the most right now. Oh, Oh, I've got to pick up my Grandkids from school.

98% Trufully yours,


****All or part of my words or soul can be used...or published.
****Write,Dear Vooman, at your own risk.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011


On Friday I went to a party to celebrate Egypt's freedom from it's dictator. Everything is so up in the air in the middle east it might not be the time to celebrate at all, with rumored up to 2000 killed in Libya. I guess each country and people who frees it's self from oppressive rule can be celebrated. The party was held at Dottie Payne's new gallery space that is is in North Beach, about two blocks into Chinatown. About twenty poets read one poem each. We even had a woman poetess from the Middle East reading. There were some excellent poems. I read one poem.


You see it is not about
A political party
It is about survival
A rational way of
Distributing the foods
Of the world
To the most people
So that greed does not
Eat up someone else’s
Fair share of commodities
It is a rational way
Of living together
For the common good
We cannot tolerate
Corporate greed or
Dictators of the world
Profiting off the poor
For their own
Selfish interest
Lining their pockets
With stolen monies
...Yes, they should be
Hunted down
And stripped of their
Power, jailed
Sent into exile
Accounts frozen
Treated as the
Criminals they are
The days of the
Powermongers are over
And their guns
Will rust along side
Their dead bodies
For the meek
Shall inherit the earth
And respect the earth
It’s plants, it’s animal
It’s environment
It’s people
For we the people
Will work side by side
Planting the earth
For the good of all
We will use the earth's
Gas, oil and metals
For the good of all
The animals
Large and small
For the good of all
A necessary reality
Yes, it is about survival
…Linda King - 2/21/11

At the party there was food and wine, a band played and many danced. It was a good night. Dottie was an excellent host. I love her new space where she will be having other events, art shows, etc. I had a great time even though I had been up since early morn and worn out and had to go home and rest. I had been to my Life Sculpture class, (five hours), which takes a lot of energy and then I spent the afternoon in North Beach visiting with other poets at Cafe Trieste, visiting at the Beat Museum with Jerry C. and even danced at The Saloon, before the party. The music was so good it drew me in.
I am still watching CNN to see what is going to happen in Libya and the rest of the middle east. It seems like a very unsettling time. Already the gas is skyrocketing.
I hope Qadhafi will step down without more people being slaughtered. He is an old warlord and crazy as well, so I don't expect it. It's worrisome. One man who worked for him said he had a lot of chemical weapons.
I had a dream where I saw the Statue of Liberty covered with people. It looks like one of those painting that are all people, but you don't know it's people until you look close. As I watched more and more blocks of people popped up slowly covering the Statue of Liberty. I took this to mean that more and more of the people of the world are going to be demanding their liberty. On the ground was a lot of fighting with some evil looking forces, but all the people on the Statue of Liberty were standing way above them, like they were going to be triumphant.

Sunday, February 20, 2011


I am trying to learn how to up load pictures on my blog and they are all failing to come up. This one finally took, so I guess I will have to write a blog about my trip with Bukowski to a Santa Cruz reading that was for Prisoners in Mexican Jails. He agreed to go along if they would also book me. He need me to make sure he got home again alright. Allen Ginsberg, Jack Micheline and many other famous poets were reading at this event. I think we had been separated, as well, and this was suppose to be a "get back together" event. I remember reading, A Cock, my then semi-famous poem. The Berkley Barb wrote about me.


What is it?
A Cock is nothing
But a cock
Plop, plop, plop
What's that?
There's nothing that important
About going up and down in and out
It can produce a few seeds
That can grow into a million babies
Who wants a million babies?
Who even wants one more?
The most important thing
It does is pee
That's hardly noble
A cock is nothing but a cock
When it's soft it looks like
An overgrown worm creature
When it's hard it looks like
An over healthy mushroom
Why men think it is so important
I'll never know
They want you to look at it
Pet it, kiss it, love it, suck it
Even treat it like it's got a mind
When all on earth it can do
Is go up and down, in and out
Shoot a little juice
Juice that isn't even tasty
Oh, it might have a few proteins
But you couldn't' sell it
Even to a health food store
And they drink everything
And the worst part
If that juice gets inside
It produces something like
The big Daddy it came from
Growing up thinking
The same way
...Mommy, look at my pee, pee
...It's hard, hee, hee, hee
...Even at the age of two

A cock is a cock, nothing more
...I might add, nothing less
..Linda King

I have to give credit of that last line to my friend Dave in Phoenix. He came up with that line. I added it later.

At this reading Bukowski got very, very drunk, insulted one and all including Ginsberg. I just had a new hair cut, and once drunk I don't even think he recognized me. I said aloud, several time, to myself that night as I walked around at the party. I am LINDA KING....not Charles Bukowski's girlfriend. When he fell down, I let someone else pick him up. I tried to enjoyed the drunken show. I turned my back on someone explaining what was happening to Bukowski in the bathroom. At the motel I slept in the chair. Bukowski demons were out that night. They don't make good bedfellows. It was close to the end for us.

Thursday, February 17, 2011


If BANKSTERS stopped stealing our funds
Charging excessive late fees
Charging more interest than
Your house is worth

If LIEYERS told the truth in court
And color didn’t land people in jail
If our HALL OF INJUSTICE weren’t fine factories
With people lined up a half a block long
Arbitrated to pay excessive fees
With no transparency about that money

Also, in the game to raise your rates
With the smallest infraction charged and
Laws making mandatory insurance everywhere

If ORGGAGE companies
Stopped adding compound interest to home loans
And charging outrageous refinance fees
And would, deduct house payments, honestly
From the beginning of the loan
If our lawmakers would put a cap on interest

If HELPYOURSELFCARE didn’t do unneeded tests
Inflating the bills for Medicare or Medicaid
Transferring your savings to their coffers
Until most ill people’s have nothing left
If drug company and hospitals didn’t overcharge

If THE SHOCKMARKET stopped inside trading
And pocketing your saving by phony IRA’s
Which are a gamble, as sure as the Rolette wheel
Many people having no say about their own money

Then maybe, just maybe, the common man
Could make it on even a minimum wage
With a small house to live in and saving in tact
And the American dream could come back
With Construction happening and jobs available

Forget about recouping anything from the COUPERATIONS
Capitalism has them in a strangle hold
They’re going to make money
No matter what country they have to do it in
USA people be damned. Only the devil may care.
…Linda King - 2/15/2011

Saturday, February 12, 2011


When I divorced in 1970
I couldn’t get a credit card
Even though I had money
In the bank from an inheritance
Everything had been
In my husband’s name
Finally one called First Card
Took a chance on me
Then came the years
Where every bank
Wanted everyone to have
Their credit cards
And we all paid off one card
To get another with cheaper interest
At least for 6 months
You could buy a house
If you had a down payment
The banks were already
Earning enough interest
But got more and more greedy
They didn’t want just interest
They wanted compound interest
added up by the day,...the minute?
Always taking their cut first
They didn’t want customers
They wanted slaves to the bank
Possibly lifetime slaves
7% become 10%
The 15% even up to 25%
Until you were paying
More in interest on the house
or credit card than money borrowed
or the price of the house
And getting even more greedy
Banks, along with the mortgage companies
Began approving house
For people they knew
Couldn't pay the payment
Let alone the escalating payment
Due in two or three years
And then, there was the $5000 refinancing
And the buy-downs and paperwork
That was half and inch thick
The normal man didn’t try to understand
He just signed, and signed and signed
What did he care he had nothing anyway
So how could he loose anything?
The Bank and the Mortgage Company
And the Insurance companies
Were all schemed to make money together
Flood, fire, earthquake, disaster
Insurance made mandatory
Of course, they paid Lobbyist
After all, aren’t we all
Working on the American Dream?
Then comes the time you walked away
From a house you have been
Paying on for twenty years
But never owned
Well a$30,000 home
Change to $59.000
And $59.000 to $83,000
And $83,000 to $135,000
It could have been $280,000
It was appraised for that
Mortgage approved, bank stamped
Now, we are all into GREED
Just like the banks…why not?
Just like our politicians, our courts
Like health care, unions, corporations
Doctors, dentist, drug companies
You name it…Capitalism
Running amok to any country
Who will take lower wages
And accept lower taxes
It’s the America way

And like the banks
I,too, wanted my share
I am getting old
My Social Security check tiny
So when the collectors call
Telling me what I owe
The house, now, in foreclosure
And my flood insurance in the rear
House insurance tacked on to the loan
Double/triple, plus, late fees over late fees
That can never be stopped
Everything is compounded
What can I say
I’ve been deregulated
Money has lost it’s value
They wouldn’t talk to me
Now I won’t talk to them

When trapped, being kindly, I say
“My dear, if I were to pay
All of those bills, late charges
And insurances you are asking me to,
You, darling, would be out of a job
Employment is, sorely, needed
In America right now. Thank you.”
And I hang up

THIS from a woman
Was never late until 2007
…Linda King 2/2011

Sunday, January 30, 2011


Psychic insight and dreams is something everyone has. It is just that some people believe in it a lot more than others do and some, like me, have been doing it a lot longer. I started recording my dreams and seeing if they were important way back when I was thirty. So I have fifty years on some people. I have to come respect the truth of my dreams much more than what I see on T.V. I gave my grand kids empty note books for Xmas to record their dreams. One of them says to me, "Grandma, I don't dream." I told her. "You dream, you just don't remember them."
I took psychic development classes for years at a Spiritualist church and finally developed, got over my fears and gave messages to people. The hardest thing to learn was to believe, yourself, the message and not lets others distract you by their disbelief.
There was an old psychic there who always started her message with, "I have a message for you from the other side of life..." She had this squeaky voice and I would go home and say that line in exactly her tone...making everyone laugh. I love a good laugh line and wanted to steal it, but I didn't. Nobody laughed when she said it. I couldn't help thinking...she's psychic, she'll know I am making fun.
I'll tell you a few of the messages, that I call hits before I get to current messages.
#1 (This was to a man I had never seen before.) Sir, I'm sorry, but all I seem to be getting for you is alligators. I know this is Phoenix and the desert and their are no alligators around here...but. that it."
He said, "Well that is good enough for me because I'm here from Florida and I know who that message is from. It is from my brother-in-law who passed away recently. His backyard backed up to the swamp and his favorite thing was going down and watching the alligators. He even built a bench down there."
#2 This is not all of this message, but I told another woman I saw a set of department store legs that are set up to display hose or shoes, etc. She told me that her friend has died recently who was paralyzed and had told her before she died that the first thing she was going to do after she died was get a set of legs.
#3 Another young man in his messaged I gave him a old hay rake and a man who had something to do with honey, maybe beekeeper. He shook his head and looked at me like I was out of mind.
I said, "Well, I am not it taking back, it might mean something later." After the reading he came up to me and said, "I suddenly realized the messages was from Mr. Honeycutt. He lived next door when I was young and I loved that old man and went over to see him everyday. Between our places was this old hay rack that I passed by to get there.
I call these kind of messages hits. I guess being a gambler I looked upon it like the horse races. You couldn't win every time...but I also found out the psychic wouldn't work to pick winners. I doubt that's what it was devised for. Even though, I have been given winners in dreams like a horse, Red, that paid over $80 to win.
I have numerous dreams every night, my family are sick to death of them, but they just keep right on coming. I have expanded to dream about the world. My crystal ball changes into a word map and I, sometimes, get a birds eye few of what is going to happen like a huge waves or islands where a volcano is erupting. I dreamed of a Pyramid a couple of weeks ago and I kept looking for something to happen in Egypt. And here it is..still happening.
I dreamed numerous times of earthquakes and destruction before Haiti. So when I start to dream about something bad happening, I get a little nervous.
When some one is going to die in the family, I see my Dad riding in with a saddled horse to take someone back with him.
I have animal symbols for everyone, so when they come into my dreams I know who they are. My daughter, a Pig, (she has a collection of pigs.)
I announced my daughter was coming home early from the Peace Corp because I dream a pig got on the plane. She did.
My son, a cross, (he's a church going man.)
My youngest son has been, a Griffie, (as he has his head in the cloud a lot.) He's been changing to something else. It's dangerous during changes.
A friend who died, a Bear, (he had a dog named Bear.)
My sisters a Swan...etc. etc. See how it goes. The amazing thing about dreams and psychic insight is that they get it through to you with such a sparsity of words. One image can convey so much.
Like a telephone Pole...coming at me from the sky. I said, Pole a dozen its before I knew it was from the brother-in-law, Pole,of course, from the other side of life..ha. I called his daughter to see what was going on. There had a birth in her husbands family, but I told her her dad was looking after her. Her husband was still out of town, when a cougar stash his kill, a deer, almost at her back door. He did it on her dad's birthday. This in my home town of Boulder, Utah. If a cougar comes to me, I will know who it is. Or maybe that will be my niece's animal sign. Tony the Tiger, (his nickname from school) is, naturally, a tiger.
Rather than deceased or dead, I have been calling them the undead...

I am tell you this because I am planning on adding a little dream box and messages to my Vooman's Voice. Like the one I had last night of a flash flood coming down a freeway. I jumped out of my car and climb a wall and headed for high ground. The guy behind passed driving to fast, right into it,cursing me as he went by. This was a warning, they will tell me later when and where.(Maybe) In the dream, I thought, I would be dead if I hadn't had advance warning. Some of the freeways in Phoenix look like canals. My undead sister ,LaRae, warned me about my driving only a couple of days before I drove into head-on traffic. I remembered the dream and knew...threw it in reverse and I backed up on a dime. (Whew!)
***warning, all reader much bear with my bad grammar, misspelled words, so S's, etc. etc. My computer doesn't speak yet and tell me what I have done wrong.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Thursday, January 20, 2011

This photo was taken on my senior trip at Knott's Berry Farm. I was always half way in love with Tony Reynolds, but he always had another girlfriend. I think I fell in love at first sight at the school playground at the old elementry school in Escalante when I was about six years old. That old brick two story school that should never been torn down. It was historic. Aunt Nethalla helped get half of the historic building in Escalante bulldozed. She was cleaning up the town. I have always loved old buildings. I think Dell LeFevere and Janel Spencer look pretty good in the photo too.

The photo was taken when my dad, Clyde King, was driving cattle probably to King Bench or to the Circle Cliffs. Much of the country looks like this in what we Boulder people called Down Below. I don't now how it got that name. Maybe the cowboys went through a little hell herding cattle in those rugged canyons and mesas.
Another rancher, Truman Lyman, had to get their cattle out of one of those canyon one winter during heavy snow. He said, "We only took the Lyman cattle, we left the King cattle and they all died." Since he later became a churchman, I felt like he felt a little guilt for leaving those cattle. Those trail were very dangerous and the cattle wild and unperdictable.
I drove cattle up the trail to King Bench and also drove them off the same trail. On old cow was so thristy and hungry, she ran out on the edge of the cliff to get a mouth full of grass and the edge broke off and she fell into the canyon, called The Gultch and died.
Daddy broke a leg on that same trail when his horse fell. My mom, Irene and I went down to pick him up. The men who had come to help went ahead of us. I ask how they got him out of there. He said, "After we put on a splint, we carried him off, four men...one on each corner of a blanket down the trail. Once down, we walked with four horses with him in the middle tied to each saddle with a lasso. We moved slowly up the canyon. It was not an easy ride for a man with a broken leg and horses walking in the dark." I remember we waited and waited a waited until they arrive about three in the morning. We load him in the back of the Power Wagon for another bumpy ride home...where they switch cars again to take him the 100 miles to the hospital where they could set the leg and put a cast on.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Since I’ve missed my group therapy in Phoenix. I thought I might have a little Blog Therapy at least once a week. Anyone who has a problem can join and try to get their problem discussed. I think the most healing thing about group therapy is that you realize in group that you are not in this alone. There a lot of other people with problems as big or bigger than the ones you have. Somehow that makes you feel better.
I know there are probably a million or more people out there who have my problem and they just go get a facelift instead of face it. IT'S THE PROBLEM OF GETTING OLD. The face lift doesn’t help their skin or their elbows or their knees. I used to never notice the old, hobbling around, moan and groaning, but now I see them all the time. I wonder how come someone is limping or why someone else can’t get up from their chair.
I should have known I was trying to avoid old age when I took up with that man 20 years younger. That did me no good…especially when he didn’t want to walk in a room with me. Well, men do it all the time, it is still not acceptable in women …COUGAR TOWN or not.
I’m seventy and I still haven’t lost the desire to make love to a man that I adore and I still miss that one man and it has been over 2 years now. He kept me laughing, on my toes and looking good, but I did need this job in S.F. I didn’t think it was fair to him to be with someone as old as I am. And there was a small problem of him running out of money. He says he hasn’t found anyone else, but I wonder. I’ve had a couple of married men want to give me a sliver of their pie, but I don’t want that. There might have been a time I was willing, but not now.
Men my age, if they have money, are looking for women at least 40 years young. If they are broke, they are like me…looking depressed and not even on the prowl. That leaves the illegal men and we mostly don’t speak the same language. For the most part, their women are in Mexico, South America or China. They might have a job…I had one man come and open his wallet right in front of me …actually showed me he had money. Of course a man who really had money would never do anything like that.
I am just throwing this problem out to the world. THE PROBLEM OF GETTING OLD. Maybe someone has found a way to deal with this problem. I see happy older people out there. I think they are the ones who have mates. I see some laughing, joking...probably been drinking. I sometimes think…would I want to undress this falling apart body… in front of someone new, and I look good for my age. I wouldn’t even go see Cher. trying to look 20 year younger than she is. I don’t like that look. I want the happy, laughing contented look …satisfied like maybe she just got a little that morning. Help Anyone? Therapy Anyone?
I have a little exta problem and that’s having been Charles Bukowski’s girlfriend years ago. Writer or poets who admire him think…she would never go with me after him. True he was a damn good writer…but he’s dead. Other who have seen him think….Charles Burkowski’s, that man’s, ..not his discards. Wait a minute… it me who left him. …If she would go with a man that ugly there must be something wrong with her. And if they have read Bukowski…forget it. They’ve read about me.
The illegals don’t know who in the hell he is or can‘t read…thank God. I could go out a look in a bar or a dance place…but hell…I’m shot for today.