BOOK THREE – The Opera: We Were Mothers Once, and Young Chapter Twenty – Six An Opera in Three Acts – But with Five Parts Acts One and Two: Parts One, Two and Three – Their Overture
BOOK THREE – The Opera: We Were Mothers Once, and Young
Chapter Twenty – Six
An Opera in Three Acts
– But with Five Parts
Acts One and Two:
Parts One, Two and Three – Their Overture
“My life has been stolen from
me. I am living a life I have no wish to
live. How did this happen?”
--- Adeline Virginia Stephen
(Woolf) as portrayed by Nicole Kidman in the 2002 film, “The Hours”
It’s not even a dark and stormy night nor more than 14 years
since, but I still cannot remember all of my lines. Again this remembering and forgetting thing
here. The Show might be on all right,
but I cannot remember for you Mirzah, for you Zane nor for you Jesse, all of
the history that are the lines of the script of The First Trial.
Good thing I guess it is then that I have every mother –
fucking, flashback one of those lines in the three, red cardstock – bound
manuscripts, each about 1,200 pages in length.
That is, those three would be its trial transcripts. And these three exist at all because, well, I
own them at all because … because there was an appeal. There was a formalized, to – the – State’s –
appellate – courts appeal.
Most folks don’t know about a civil court’s, a family
court’s trial transcripts. They do not
know. And the reason that most folks don’t
know is simple and, actually, quite fortunate.
Fortunately, most folks never,
never end up going to trial or even find themselves in litigation inside a
courtroom at all – over anything, let alone, over theft perpetrated by a
perverted thug upon a burgled and brutalized band of souls, over several soul
murders. They do not. Some, even sometimes more than half of,
contractual marriages end; but they do not end litigious, let alone, litigable,
that is, in litigation and actually in,
inside, a court. At trial.
But when there is an
appeal from a civil trial judge’s decision, which truly is far more
important to all of the parties and players than the trial or its documents
are, why then, that is when the lines
appear. Those in hard copy. Copy that is actual words, witnesses’ words;
a manuscript materializes. The lines of an
opera’s script! Then and only then. Never at the actual time of the trial nor
after the matter is decided and put to rest without appeal are there actual
sheets of words which were said at trial for anyone to, well, … to read! Even though all of the words are, to you, to
any of you, free, public and obtainable information – or … allegedly accessible to you anyhow.
There is an exception to this – an exception to when there is
no appeal, but only one of which I am aware:
when specific court officers, that is for example, the trial court judge
or either party’s attorney, want a page or so for himself or herself to read or
to study after the day’s or the entire trial’s proceedings are concluded. If the initial request for proceedings’
transcripts is not that of the trial judge but is, instead, at the behest of
either party’s attorney, then the trial judge has to approve the lawyer’s
request, however; pages don’t just appear because either the petitioner or the
respondent or their respective attorneys want them to. And then, only that short piece of the
proceedings is ever transcribed into hard copy and then, only that short piece
is ever given over to the particular judge or attorney and not over to anyone else.
When these very particular court officials are through with these pieces
then, those few hard – copy sheets may not even be kept; for all I know they are
shredded or just tossed in toto.
Not women and not mothers but a man is by far, far and away
the person to use his will to choose,
that is, to make a decision. The
human being. Not the DEhuman being. The largest number of district civil court
case adjudicators are male; check with any
of the 50 states’ civil courts on this one fact alone! And I am not even explaining about justice in
other countries here. So a man almost
always decides; he judges the civil
court cases of marriage dissolution and then, of course, the subsequent custody
of that dissolved union’s children. Far,
far and away. Even in
Why the distinct procedure of handling my district civil court case’s words – and, of course, yours too
– is so enormous and so significant and is
one, certainly, about which I during The Opera’s first act, The First Trial,
had no mother – fucking idea, is that a judge does not, does not even have hard – copy pages of
testimony, most of that stuff legally
termed “evidence”, mind you, to study.
At all! To review and to study
and to think back on long and hard or to research back and forth the people and
the dates and the places and the events of all of the involved matters –– or
even to have as just a short, confirming reminder in his brilliant little hand,
ya’ know, that might help him to remember back on not only the facts stated but especially
also on all of the nuances, the hints, the shades, the traces – of the ways the
people in attitude, bearing, comportment and carriage at trial were – or soooo were not –– telling The
Truth! The whole truth and nothing but …
The Truth!
Assuming something big, really, really big, of course, this
pointing out of the utter absence of these hard – copy trial transcripts
does: that he, the judge, for the
express purpose of correctly dispensing out … justice … cares
to remember these things about trial, that is.
It assumes that Your Honor
Himself wants to have totally
straight all of the facts and exclusive tinges to the spoken words of my particular case at time of
trial!
As you can further imagine, there is one more most massive
quandary with this specific authenticity assumption here. And it takes really only the simplest of
understandings this last, most profound problem does: that what was “testimony” spoken at trial,
that what he said and what she said, indeed of course, is fact … This’s what the
judge’s having such hard – copy sheets of trial testimony transcripts – in hand
– to review at all would assume. Ya’
know, the veracity of the things that just somehow manage by way of oath –
taking or affirmation to get said, petitioner and respondent, witness after
witness – and put onto stenographic machine strips – at time of trial for the
judge to then even have in tangible form to be able to review and to study and
to further research. The Truth. Allegedly.
Of course, without sheets of transcripts what just gets said
could still be UNtruths, and that
most certainly does occur; but this occurrence would not be written up, so to
speak. Those falsehoods “testified” to
the thin air wouldn’t necessarily be remembered by a judge by the time of his
writing up a decree, now a law … weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks …
later! Believe me to be sure: a terribly friggin’ loooong, long time …
later!
But then if they were remembered
and then, because of that, they did become
part of “the findings of fact,” “the conclusions of law” and “the
final decree,” why, there’d be no way of easily
going back into the real record –—
those stenographic strips require a decoder and a lot of trouble ––– to find
the lies and the fairy tales and the deceits?
There’d be no way, now would there be?
Whether the lies managed to get incorporated into the decree –
accidentally or … purposefully, why, it’d just be too difficult to ferret them all
out again, wouldn’t it?
And then, afterwards, as regards technicalities and
falsehoods, those outright lies? I am
thinking, “What if things are wrong in the evidence that then get entered into
the decree – and become … law? The lies do get into the mix of things from
whence comes from out of that judge after so much time has passed … the final order? Can the decree then – the law – be
nullified on, tah – dah, ‘a technicality’?
Or, is one just, well, ya’ know, … fucked?!”
And then I am further left conjecturing, “Well, now if Dr.
Edinsmaier gets up there in that witness box, sits there on that so – called
stand and states, O my yes, every single day under a big, big show of oath –
taking garbed in his swell – looking and o – so mighty fine, pillared doctor
clothes and states in such livery that this and that and that and this are so
thus and so. ‘Yea, verily, verily, I say
unto you, Your Honor, these five things, blah, blah and yada, yada, yada and so
forth and so on, did, indeed, happen!’ well then, I am thinking, is the judge,
is Mr. Also Pillared Judge Man, going to send out into the community some
unbiased third party official from the Second Judicial Court, like Mrs. Wren,
the judge’s personal assistant who’s always there and keeps herself right
around the judge himself in actual physical presence or like that other guarding,
security guy, George, ya’ know, these two court people who every single day
hear all of the “testimony” words, too, these words which are termed “evidence”,
to bring him back, to bring back to him, the Judge, absolute solid, tangible
materials and people, those from Herry’s neighborhood, his workplaces, my
workplaces, the kids’ school, the childcare providers, alcoholics anonymous
meetings, the piano teachers, the soccer club and Little League gangs, from
Quaker Meeting and so forth and so on? Tangible actual facts that can verify and
prove precisely true those exact five things Dr. Edinsmaier just “testified”
did, in point of actual fact,
happen? Ya’ know, blah, blah and yada, yada, yada … those very five things
Herry just now avowed from out of his mouth?”
Or, is the judge going to do nothing and just believe every
frickin’ thing that Herry tells him?
Because it is so – called sworn – to “evidence”? And, very especially, by “virtue” of the two mother – fucking
facts, of course, that Herry is #1 male and #2 a pillar in the goddamn
community – just like the judge himself is!?!
That is, also a pillar and also in that very same community! And, very especially too, just exactly like the judge certainly
perceives himself in both countenance and demeanor to be in that very same community!?!
Who is going to bring us all back the proof that what Herry
says, under oath, is fact, is … well,
true? So that an accurately informed
decision, a legal decree, can be written.
So that it will then be based upon all matters
and things correct and right!?! And therefore, be itself, … right … as in just, as in justice, ya’ know!?!
Who is going to bring us all back this proof, let alone, in a really,
really timely manner?
So that this now – correct decree is written rightly – even
weeks and weeks and sometimes literally months after the trial concludes –— where
and when the words of it were actually said! That
one right there just stuns me: that
such a thing can happen at all. With
little, little kids growing up and up and up, that such a delayed – ness, such a delayed mess of justice, alleged justice, can happen at all!
I am just blown away by that. Who
is going to provide the probity, this tangible truth to Herry’s testimonial
tattle lickety – split such as is exactly the genre of time frame out of which
soap opera operatives and operations occur?
Lickety – frickin’ split.
Weeks and weeks and weeks often, very, very often, go by before he, Mr. Also Pillared Judge Man,
gets himself freed up enough or just plain mother – fuckingly gets around to
finally writing up the decision, his
decree; and about this I am not at all exaggerating. It is or can be weeks and weeks … moooonths
later, I am saying, and b’gosh
b’golly, why – he has noooo fucking
memory helps! No civil court trial
transcripts to help him the fuck remember what
fucking shit was said and, by
remembering from reading and re – reading about it then so much later, just
exactly how it went down inside the
fucking courtroom months earlier!
Now, you say, “Weeeell, Legion … His Honor the Pillar may’ve
taken notes on those soooo legal – sized, yellow pads of his and with, O yes, …
with that so – gilded, stogie – sized, black Schaeffer ink pen given to him as
a congratulatory gift when he was nominated by his pal, the State’s former
governor, to that very district court judgeship of his. And those notes? Those be his memory helps, right, Legion?”
Of course, to which piece of whim – wham, to which frickin’
whit I upbraid with, “Bunk! Bunkum! Bupkus!
O JYeah, I saw both the pen and the yellow pads all right but, you see,
what I didn’t see was daJudge’s writing anything down on them. Ever.
I never saw him write down a mother – fucking, goddamn thing! Not in any one of the three quite mother –
fucking acts, er, trials, I’m telling ya’!”
And I, of course, state
this – because that is exactly what I witnessed inside his
courtroom. Every single time. Always.
Behind that leather and lemon – lustrous, bronzed brown bench of his, he
His Most High, was most certainly poised to take some, to jot some down. True enough.
Yet then again, His Honor up and wrote down not one thing. Not one
goddamn thing. So how could there’ve
been later a reminding note of any kind from out that fucking fat,
gold – filigreed pen of his?! Ever?!
* *
* *
Not in this fiction in three acts, Dear Readers, and
scarcely ever either in or after the civil trials of others. And here again, most folks do not know
this to be “the findings of fact.” Most
people do not know that from out the backend of the court reporter’s little 22
– key, yet about a $4K contrivance called a stenograph, comes nothing ––
nothing at all extrudes out of it but a two – inch – wide paper strip with tiny
phonetic, code – like letterings of gobbledygook shorthand, the meaning of any
of which jabberwocky is most literally known … only to her, “the Court’s”
reporter. Well, sure, that … of which we
can – materially – see.
But what we cannot see is that
the piles and piles and piles, the heightening mounds of these creased paper
strips actually stack up behind the machine, back and forth and back and forth
and back and forth there, in a little molded tray … and then – materially – that’s
it. That’s all. That is, quite
materially, all she, the reporter,
wrote! Er, typed. None
of the strips in these piles and mounds is ever
retyped up into 8½ x 11 sheet pages ––
transcribed, that is, into a broadly and perhaps universally understood
language of any kind –– except that, first, someone files an
appeal and then someone, usually that same
someone or somebody of her family, friends and supporters, … pays!
O JYeah, there’s the rub again. The money!
None of the recorded strips’ letterings from out the rear of these
stenograph machines is deciphered by a decoder, usually the court reporter
herself or himself. None is dictated
onto blank cassette tapes or, now other more modern audiological devices; and
then none is listened to most likely through earphone headsets nor manually
typed up on computer keyboards that store there on hard drives electronic
documents which, voila, end up being printed off as white sheets of readable
copy paper of the standard office size!
And, therefore, let’s hear another voila: none
end up capable of actually being picked up, held in our hands and read by the
rest of us public folk. And
studied. And understood. And … remembered!
Ya’ know, if there is one thing males do not remember (in contrast to females’
experiences with not remembering), it is, for certain, whatever they will themselves to specifically wanting not to remember! Cognizant, active passive aggression along
with arrogance and entitlement Dr. Phil counsels us that this fuck is in people,
the vast percentage of them male –– even he admits. The arrogance and the entitlement I lump under the one befitting
characterization termed narcissism –– also long, long such a male deal.
Like remembering to bring home the bread that his wife, looking
out for herself and her children’s upcoming supper, phones him up and asks him
to do. And, consequentially, he agrees
to do! He says that he will!
He says that he will … literally … bring home the
bread!
But the wife, considering the fact that she herself knows he
‘just’ seems to ‘forget’ a whole heckuva lot, she is looking out for him and
his ways, too, by remembering to wait
to call him about the bread until the late, late afternoon, just moments before
he leaves his microscope and his pathology laboratory so that surely he’ll have
just a wee, short time of it after receiving her request until remembering then
to stop for and pick up the loaf between his medical office desk and her
home. The store is on his way home, not hers. She remembered to call. She remembered to wait to call. She waited
and waited. And stiiiill, she remembered. Still remembered near the end of her day,
near the end of his day … to call him.
The steaming – hot spaghetti with such a fine, aromatic sauce
made ever more special by her adding those extra chopped onions and extra bell
pepper chunks and extra fresh mushrooms is served. And yet, still
yet again, there is she finds, not one toasted garlic bread slice that she
had so remembered to specifically plan for – anywhere in sight to be
purveyed.
She didn’t quite know
what to call it – either his not remembering again or how she feels about
it. Now, however we do know; and the ‘it’ of his violence has a
name: narcissistic passive
aggression. The guy is … aggressive and,
therefore, violent. Again. She knew from the time she was a little,
little girl – about six or seven years old – just how against her this type of
act made her feel. As did he also then know, that is, how it would make her feel before he did it to her … that is, the wake of whatever would be the action of his self – centered
aggression. So too, he knew about the garlic bread deal. The guy is violent. And has so messed with her and her home. Again.
“Whoops, no! No. No.
Noooo! Uh – uh.” I am no longer
dazed nor perplexed; the actual act of writing this fucker down has just now –
here – snapped me out of that. These
books and pages, these bloody, redder ones, not the Sheriff of Nottingham’s
royal – like blue ones but these scarlet three are from after the act, the Second Act that was, indeed, The Second Trial, that Act’s appeal, an appeal that is
itself, however, the third part in the order and mix of acts and parts to the
entire Opera, that is, Part Three inside Act Two! And those azure ones I just mentioned? Those particular, five similar but cobalt –
colored, cardstock – bound ones, those aren’t from Trial One either; they’re
from the appeal after Act Three, er, that would be Trial Three, the Third Trial
but itself Part Four! There was no appeal filed nor occurring after
Trial One, the First Act. Only the
trial. That was it for the operatic Act
One. And Part Five? Well, then that would be the appeal after the Third Trial or Part Four within
Act Three. And so I do not have the lines, then do I, from Act
One – since there was no appeal of it these pages of trial transcript, er,
lines of testimony, they don’t even exist!?
Verstehen?
Hmmm, Om’gosh, for a moment there, I was getting utterly
confused: the nine, plain, cardboard
boxes’ worth, their quite literal weightiness when hauling them out and around,
the books, the pages, the lines, some of the dates, the hours and the hours and
the hours, the mother – fuckingly incessant hours. But not about the people – not about the
characters, the participants, the smuggish thug – thieves, the several Acts’
players, the actors and the actresses, the takers, the several others of the
Whole Show who soul – murdered and stole from me and from my babes all
of our time with each other and – unbelievably – who took from
all four of us their utter childhoods: all
of our lives. All three
Truemaier Boys’ entire adolescences, all of their middle school experiences times
three, all of every single high school year times three and,
for one of them at least, the murder of all of brilliant Mirzah’s complete memory
before
he was 11 years old.
And for what this theft and this
murder? Why?! Why was this –– ever –– A Good Thing to Do?! Why was this, for adults and for adult
behavior, nearly all of them adults through all of the Show’s three acts and
five total parts, that is, through each of the three distinct district court
trials and each of the two appeals after the second two trials, for
all of these adults who knew then … why were these holocaustic
acts of theirs, these thefts and these soul murders –– ever –– The Right Thing to Do? And, I so stagger to think, “Why?! Why was any of this … just? Justice?!”
Most certainly I do. I do. I
do soooo remember the feelings, my
feelings, for this happening, for this which is the wake and the mess of
their collective will – that which
came out from all of these people – these villains – who knowingly and who
willfully did this. To me the
DEhuman. And to the DEhuman’s three babies.
About these feelings?
Not a mother – fucking thing about these feelings of mine is
confusing. Not one.
* *
* *
White knuckles gripping the steering wheel. Jesse, always so sweet – sounding when his
little boy voice would come across and over the beige Shitbox Dodge’s front
seat bench to me when he was just four, five, six, seven years old. But, now, he was 14, an adolescent. Whom, along with neither one of his brothers
Zane or Mirzah, I had not seen nor talked to in almost 18 months’ time.
Stunning me Jesse’s voice is at his present day age of 14
with nearly its same sweetness. Jesse is
telling me softly from another backseat in another “United State,” one so alien
to me, that Herry, through Herry’s lawyer Mr. Shindy Scheisser, had contacted a
Los Angeles or New York City made – for – TV film outfit of producers in their
very high – dollar desires – in Dr. Herod
Edinsmaier’s wake, again – of making me out (Zane, the next day at a
different and teensy – weensy park’s picnic shelter, filled in a few of the
blanks in Jesse’s chronicle) to be his movie’s actual murderer. I was to become the manslaying slaughterer in
this endeavor, these several men’s money – making television film scheme of
three acts with five parts! “The
contract, I saw it, Mama, it has many, many pages, and it’s for $100,000 plus 5
percent. What do they mean, ‘plus 5
percent’, Mom?” He, at 14, knew already what $100,000 meant; about
that part of the mother – fucking ‘contract’ he did not have to ask me.
Folie à deux is a psychiatry term in, of course,
French. Herry knows French. Well, he used to. Perhaps now he in his middle age doesn’t
remember all of it that he used to love to show off. Folie à deux literally means double insanity,
and not quite so literally Noah Webster states it to be a condition in which
two closely associated people who are both mentally ill share the same
delusional beliefs.
In the same manner then as with any individual and non –
thinking person in regard to all religions and to her or his ‘worshipping’
therein –– delusive, that is –– this
definition fits the minds and hearts and thinkings and doings of Ms. Fannie
Issicran McLive in her role as the Sheriff of Nottingham with Dr. Herod
Edinsmaier, the Kingdom’s King. Or,
Herry the King with Mr. Shindy Scheisser.
Or, Shindy the Noisy Puppet with Fannie who in The Opera is remembered
for her double role. In addition to hers
as that of the Sheriff who, like the noise – making jointed figurine, also giddily
responds to the money and treasure involved and so most willingly implements
inside the Kingdom the King’s dicta, Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive is also just
the Next One in the King’s Stash –– the King’s Stash of Fuckable, Male –
Identified Females.
Or, Herry the King and Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor the High
Aggrandizier. The role of Judge Seizor
is distinguished in Act Three: Parts
Four and Five from that of Judge Harley Butcher only in the denotation that Judge Butcher in Trial Number Three becomes Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor and
takes on there for himself then the designation of Judge Harley Butcher the
High Courtier. Judge Butcher, through
some clarification that is Act
Three: Part Four merely champions and parrots
back the minds and hearts and thinkings and doings that is the wake of the folie à deux between Herry and Judge Sol Wacotler
Seizor. Throughout all Three Acts of
these separate or conjoined machinations of the High Aggrandizier and the High
Courtier, let it not first be forgotten that both Judges Sol Wacotler Seizor
and Harley Butcher were lawyers before they became judges so that both are,
therefore, after becoming judges … still
puppets. Still puppets among the Pillars
of the Community known as … the Kingdom.
“Hmmm, except the fit of the definition of the folie à deux
condition has to exclude the minds and the thinkings of these folks,” I
reason. You see, the deal is that these
five fellows, all owning – true it is – such the tiny minds that they clearly
do possess, are … well, neither mentally ill nor delusional. All five of these players are as sane as ––
and manifesting the same lucidity of mind as, say –– Adolf Hitler or Saddam
Hussein or as that most classic of male – identified females, Mehitable, who
could have written the literal and seminal text on such of her ilk.
This sanity of theirs is not to be mistaken for what is
just, for what is justice, for what is protection, for what is “in the best
interests,” for what is going to be a Good Act, a Good Action decreed and then
enacted and implemented. Mistaken for
what is the wake of clear –
thinking. Clear – thinking –– in the
sense of what The Right Thing to do is, what a Righteous Ancestor in Training
would do –– is the opposite of these
characters’ intent, their minds and their thinkings. And, therefore, justice and protective best
interests the oppressed opposite of its wake.
My feelings are not confusing. I am a mother fucked, yes, and, therefore
very often said, especially by these five of rather royal repute – or so they
would have you and each other to behold them as royalty – of The Opera’s characters even now, even
right now today, to soooo confuse
things. But my feelings about the Show,
about this one, about The Opera? True it is: I know what they are. Straight up.
“Findings of Fact” I do not confuse: Most of the stuff and all of its people, The
Opera’s cast of characters
i)
The children.
Always and only the same ones, of course, throughout all Acts, all
Trials. The secular things so not physically in the singular courtroom
and whom I alone chose to grow: Zane, Jesse
and Mirzah. The things not in the room who are my babies. I
alone chose. I alone chose. I
alone chose to grow these
couple of cells – times three ! ! !
– into … people .
ii)
The judge, daMan, daJudge, both for Trials One and
Two. There was only the one. That
is, daMan was the same one. Whatever is up with that shit?! The saaaame
one! “O,” I know, “This is supposed to
be smack in line with the appearance that … “justice” is blind. Not just anyone can figure it out, “my case”
being the “it”. No, no, no – only those
who are the lawyers before they were the judges and then only those lawyers who
are “neutral”, who “take” the law and do with it what its words codified and certified
and down onto official paper dictate that the State of
iii)
Testifiers. O JYeah. The witnesses. Witnesses the Verbal Evidences would be their
collective title. Some the same, some
new ones for Trial Two, that is, Act Two:
Part Two. And it doesn’t matter
whether for or against the petitioner or for or against the respondent. Theirs in The Opera will be of the role to
provide “evidence” – what the State legislates as that because it is something
called “sworn testimony” and then from which daMan uses it since it, the “evidence”,
must (mustn’t it?) be “the findings of fact,” to implement his decisions. To implement, daJudge does, by way of that
“evidence” first becoming mixed into something known as “the conclusions of
law” before daMan’s finally stating it, “the decree”, for all to read and to
know. Ya’ know, the final judgment. Theirs, the witnesses’ spoken words at
time of trial, will be that which is pulled back from out of the thin air into
which it is first uttered, first attested to, and then onto a court reporter’s
stenographic strip and either, once said, not ever seen as English word
utterances again or they, the words, will be seen – also as “evidence” – as
those inside the blood – hued and bloodied binders of Act Two: Part Three, that is, the visible words within
the appeal after Trial Two.
iv)
More evidence. O
JYeah. Not everything that the State
codifies as “evidence” is the spoken word, of course. Passels of it, quite tangible material,
occupy several of those nine cardboard boxes that are the equally palpable wake of the entire Show. Ya’ know, like my Rolodex with its individual inventory – of – Legion assignment,
Mr. Larry Brouhaha’s therapeutic joke, the one this is which is ‘officially’
now marked as Exhibit 9 and as equally ‘officially’ now dated as 11 May
1989. These material materials, no
matter how private and personal, will … well, will no longer be that, ya’ know, private and personal. Never
ever again. Not even the
respondent’s medical records nor counseling documents nor tapes made of the
telephone conversations that are the advice and wisdom of Grace the Confidant,
Grace Portia the True Friend or with Margaret Sagely, Margaret the Other Mother
– if there are any – ya’ know, that sort of thing. These evidences appear in and within and deep
into the body and the core of The Opera at all because of another State –
codified civil court trial thing called Discovery and Interrogatories! A massive mess this legal procedure – that
were he, the man of pillared medical community status and conscience, never to
have ‘visited her home,’ could not have been left there by him then. If the twat had just settled out of court and
before trial, why, this mess, this mucking, fucking dirt, Herry – Daddee wouldn’t
have gotten a hold of – in order to be able to then piss it up, over, onto and
all around her. He wouldn’t have been
able then to make this next mess of his; he simply wouldn’t have needed
to. With this material “evidence” of
hers – through Discovery and Interrogatories … But she wouldn’t, would she, the
stupid – ass heifer wouldn’t right off let him take from her the growths from out her very own belly so she knew
what the consequences of the wake of
taking on his wrath would surely be, didn’t the cunty wench? The shrewy harpy knew what the mess was she
was forcing him to wrench from her.
After all, she is over eight
years of age, isn’t she? He knows the
pussy knew. Petitioner knows respondent
knew. However, and a huge ‘however’
here, … it wouldn’t have mattered had the whore known or not known. Daaaah.
The wrenching business is man’s business, Bitch.
v)
And almost lastly, the Parties. Us. We
are the stars of The Opera, of course.
For the most part and, in my case, for a little while at first anyhow I
star. Then? … Then I soooo do not. I shall be the soprano, and you already knew
that. And Herry will be the tenor. That’s a big fucking shame: I utterly love
all of the tenors whom I’ve ever fucking heard sing. Wouldn’t ya’ know it? Well, to reconsider though, that makes literally an awful lot of sense as a
matter of fact. All of those bad boys I
so burned after both first in pursuit of them and then, after, in the ashes of
their wakes, the messes that they left me with – once they’d visited themselves
upon me and mine! Hmmm. Alongside us, the fleshy parties, alongside
Legion True and Herod Edinsmaier, of course, sit and sometimes stand the Band
of Big Boys, our employees. They are really ‘the parties’ in another flesh and in The Opera, that is,
are not themselves at all. So Mr. Jazzy
Jinx is Dr. Legion True and Mr.
Shindy Scheisser is Dr. Herod
Edinsmaier; and whatever is sung, said, done, acted out or occurs by them is done in my name or in Herry’s. Carefully it shall be noted right off here,
however, that two flesh – and – blood bodies does not equal two voices
necessarily and, in the case of the thing in the room that is me, two bodies
either means Jinx’s voice (except when I am actually testifying) or … well,
none at all: no voice. There is, in said band of identity bandits
here, furthermore, a very distinct – appearing female. And one more male – identified and very
nondescript person who is also female but just sort of out there – waiting and
waiting and waiting and waiting – waiting on daMan as per usual – in the house wings somewhere almost all of the
time. Both of these women, Ms. Carlotta
Klutz and Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive (pronounced ‘MacKehlvee or MclIIIIIvv,
either way, just choose one) have memorized Mehitable’s chapter on How to Maintain … if a male – identified
female. Once one of these women ascends
the ladder of luxury, a rare event when the stats (… AmTaham’s numbers there!)
are made truly known, in this instance, Carlotta as one who rose up in the areas
of both legal influence and affluence, there has to be a way figured out and
already set in place for these females then to securely stay up at its top, not?
That would be Ms. Klutz’s ‘specialty’ –– more so even than family law: making sure that she stays at the top –– no matter that she has so conveniently filed
away and forgotten on just who – the – hell’s feminist bootstraps she has managed
to crawl the fuck up to the ladder’s top!
The other of these two women, Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive, clawed her way
to the top when she found her 01 July 1989 high – school class reunion talons
dug into the lofty level of luxury literally right there on the lap of
Herry. That was a ladder not at all too
high to climb as allya’all know Herry’s height, and thus right where his crotch
would be located, a ladder with its rules on maintenance of said top level that
Ms. Fannie devoured inside Mehitable’s subchapter entitled The Next One in the Stash.
Ms. Fannie’s was a mounting implement used in gold – digging and one
that actually projected itself downward.
Her ladder’s trajectory took
off downward such as into or inside a deep, abyssal mine – the likes of which
she believed could be found down into and inside Herry’s pants somewhere, its
pockets, that is, or … otherwise. We do
not even see Ms. McLive until Act Two; in it she sings herself from the wings
as loudly and as proudly as someone so plain as she can possibly spout starting
then within The Opera’s Part Two there.
vi)
Finally, we have the characters known as … The
Jury. “Ooops, am I confusing things
again?” I warble, then further trill, “O
O O noooo, no, no. Just testing you I
am. Mocking you? I am moooocking you? Never.
Never. I? I do not do ‘mocking’, no, not me, not me
Legion. And it isn’t me who does ‘snide’
either. That? That
would be the petitioner, the appellee … the appalling appellee. So when I tell you most seriously, it is
exactly that: ‘most seriously.’ So please, please, please, listen up
here: There is no jury! Uh –
uh. That’s riiii - iiight. None.
Zip. Zilch. Zero.
‘Member the ‘findings of fact’ that I did not confuse were ‘all of the people’? Well, since there is no official jury then, this is where You the Audience of
Readers have almost an equal starring role I say! Nearly equal.
Nearly equal. You the Audience of Readers will be … tah –
dah … This Opera’s Jury,” my overturing arietta concludes.
* *
* *
The Opera opened with background; it was, of course, called
the Overture. Some of it evidentiary and
material, tangible since it consisted of paper documents required and submitted
to “The Court,” an office – working, secretarying fembot critter –– who actually prepared it properly with official
stampings and bindings and foldings and file codings before its landing in
daMan’s inbox at some point before
the opening scene that was Part One, that part being the entirety of Trial One,
therefore all of Act One. In The Opera
we never see any such of these femdroids who really are the various machinations of “The Court.” Not one – save for Ms. Wren, daJudge’s
personal aide, who never left his side except to summon or to direct or to
delegate per daMan but who,
nevertheless, accomplished all with amazing gracefulness and especially
noiseless panache, rather an oxymoron, that last, regarding the characteristics
of Ms. Wren. Which is why in the cast
listing she wasn’t mentioned as a member.
Her role was merely as that of an extension of daJudge’s right arm
reaching out from behind his beautiful bench; and, therefore, hers did not, of course, on its own merit warrant a
listing separate from his in the cast roster.
One such document of Herry’s, now officially called “evidence,”
was the counterpart to mine: that essay
answer which Mr. Jazzy Jinx had nearly first off asked me to chronicle about my
life and submit to him. Herry also wrote
an autobiographical statement at Mr. Shindy Scheisser’s behest which on 13
February 1989, became part of “the case record” too, of course, the Trial One
case record filed – coded as #9215 – 8801; and it was called the “Affidavit of
Petitioner.” In its earliest beginning
words as in all such subsequently properly entered court documents of the Good
and Wonderful Doctor’s, we read thusly, “I, Herod Edinsmaier, being first duly
sworn upon oath do depose and state that I am …” and so forth and so on.
So right off, right there. In the
very, very beginning.
Taking into account now, You the Jury, You the Audience of
Readers, that it is easier to lie to and to deceive in an American court of
civil law –– depending upon who you are
–– than it is to lie to and to deceive your spouse, your boss, your teacher,
your preacher and, some would say, even yourself, one reason for this ease is
that the person, the liar, does not have to
remember the lies. The actual
details of what went out there and when – into the court and the courtroom as
statements! Get them said or get them written
down and properly court – handled and, voila, –– depending upon who you are (this is the crux), –– your
statements become accountable – they
become Truth – because they are now testimony under oath that the State
and its implementer, daJudge, both reckon as evidence. Must be, huh? Not?
If you, one of the parties, happen to be a liar, however ––
and again presuming your pillaredness –– that automatic sway of your carriage
in the community before daMan, that
is, the swagger in which you mimic in countenance and demeanor how daJudge perceives
himself to comport about within that same community of yours, why, you do not even have to remember your
lies. That, the not having to remember at all into the future what it was
you said or wrote or when, that is as
easy as the actual lying part of the action!
If, for example, you look like
daJudge, that is, you are a preacher,
a priest, a doctor, a teacher, a professor, a bank official, another lawyer,
another judge, a cop, a corporation tycoon or even one of its lightweights, a
sports figure or, even better, one of the coaches, a worshiped entertainer or
celeb and, most especially in many instances now for men of community
conscience, have allied yourself with a feminist woman, why then you are
already reflexively, automatically supplied the liar’s credentials and even
that plastic – laminated wallet card that is your free pass into … ‘the case’ record. You do not
have to remember what you say or what you write down or when. Period.
DaJudge sees you as he sees himself – which is to say: he doesn’t really, really – really and Truly – see you at all, Doctor Mister
Wonderful Pillar of the Community, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier!
Nor … does he want
to. Uh – uh.
daJudge would then
most assuredly have to turn that pointy male index finger of his completely around
upon himself or at least look at the right hand’s third, fourth and fifth
fingers that, with his leveling of that first, bony digit at me, are already
directed back at himself. And at what he
could do. And did. As from the
Prophetess’s words of Women’s History Scripture, “They could and they
did.” His Most High, Judge Seizor the
Aggrandizier would, wouldn’t he, then have to
examine himself?! The upcoming ‘justice’
yet to be dispensed to me, Dr. Legion True, the Truemaier Boys’ mama, is
already, by appearances alone … blinded, methinks. By who is and who ain’t. Blind, that is.
Does Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor, looking in actual physical appearance
if not also resembling a helluva lot, with his famed and legendary astuteness
inside that Storm County courtroom at least, how the philandering Benjamin
Franklin is pictorially portrayed in your and my history texts, … does Judge
Sol Wacotler Seizor really want to see into himself and (legally … or
otherwise!) examine what it is he
could – and did – do to Mrs.
Seizor? The first Mrs. Seizor, that
is? The Mrs. Seizor, birthing mother of
daJudge’s four daughters whom, when she was seen drinking in public a couple of
times, Spouse Sol Wacotler Seizor had had ‘conveniently’ stashed away into an
insane asylum for crazy, depressed alcoholic women – whilst he simultaneously
spirited away from her her four babies into the love nest which he’d had the
Next One in his Stash making ready for him as soon as daJudge returned home
from that asylum chore and before the start of his latest workday at the
bench!?! A few years back now!?!
Will Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor be happy, then, to examine
blindly as well, along with Mr. Jazzy Jinx and Mr. Shindy Scheisser, Herry’s
world a few years back now, too? Herry
the Doctor. Herry the Good and Wonderful
Doctor. The life that included in it a
toast during “Healer” Herry’s early but already “Doctor” – titled times at a marrying
brother’s seaside bachelor party when Jesse and Zane were barely, but just
barely, out of diapers. And Mirzah
wasn’t. A toast of which I was later
told –– told again as Herry –
Daddee’s version of foreplay upon the carcass that was the Truemaier Boys’ mama
and concurrent with the Good Doctor’s orders to the not – nearly – his – equal, Doctor Legion True, to perform
for him a blow job, one of the copious number in 14½ years of his consorting
with me –– and of which I am sure Herry – Daddee’d love now to teach to his own
adult sons that went something like, “Here’s to the breezes that blow through the
treeses. And lift the girls’ skirts
above their kneeses. Tease us, please
us, spread diseases. Fuck that snatch. Down the hatch.”
Down the hatch? Now
would that be then, of course, the one referring to my and my future fucked
sister – in – law’s fated acts of fellatio, each one of us forced to swallow
copious or puny amounts of semen, or would that be pertaining to “the hatch”
merely as in, “Let’s drink up the wedding champagne, er I mean, the bros’ steins
of brew?”
Think, do You Jury, that the swaying and swaggering Judge
Seizor truly wants to take a long, in – depth, look – see examination into all
of this –– this ‘violence’ … this ‘domestic violence’ –– today as he begins to
adjudicate for this very community – the one in which he is perceived as and in
which he most especially sees himself as a pillar, too – the Iowa District
Court for Storm County’s Case #9215 – 8801?
* *
* *
Herry’s four – part affidavit, his life story the way he
writes it to The Court anyhow, is sectioned off into “A. Personal Background,” “B. Marital History” and “C. Personal Problems.” The shortest –– section C’s “personal
problems” portion –– contains only two paragraphs, the first one a 51 – word boo
– frickin’ hoohah on Herry’s “suffering” from drinking fermentation products a
lot and the last contains five sentences which are all … only about me! Ending that second paragraph supposedly regarding his “personal problems” does with … “Legion’s problems have been longstanding
in nature and …” and … well, the rest
of that later on when I so remember
to discuss how it is … –– Zane recounts to me in Grubtrop, West Virginia’s
little parklet –– … how it is that Legion becomes ‘the Edinsmaier killer’ in
the true – life, made – for – television movie which Herry, through Shyster –
Attorney Scheisser’s contract shenanigans with film producers, ‘directs’! The final fourth affidavit segment, D, is the
longest one: two and a half full legal –
size pages on “the Safety and Well – Being of Children and Moral Climate.” Also it?
Section D? … By no great stretch:
Dr. Herod Edinsmaier’s ‘funniest’ section.
In the beginning of this particular affidavit, the very
first document or words said or written which Herry ever gave over to The Court
and that I was given through Discovery and Interrogatories a chance to read too,
I missed it. “I was born on … yada, yada
and in yada, yada. My parents are
Juggern Aut and Detanimod Edinsmaier.”
Dr. Herod Edinsmaier himself states that he wasn’t even born … first … to a woman! That he wasn’t even born … first … to his mother! Herry so patriarchally documents down Juggern
Aut, his father … first! Of course! Of course, Herry does that!
“I know, I know.
Okay, I know: throughout all of
recorded history children have not been born first to their mamas. This –– about children ‘owned’ as only men’s
DNA – sanctioned possessions –– … this I know, for chris’sake. But hey!
Give Herry the benefit here,” I banged my left forehead with my left
palm. “He’s allied himself with a feminist
woman – me! – after goddessdamn
all! Herry knows better!” And still. Still
the father, another of daMan –– Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier in this case –– is
positioned, even if just down on paper in addition to his spot at every damned dining table, in the very …
first … place. “How many medical and other advanced degrees
does it take, Doctor Edinsmaier, to
become one savvy enough and swell enough to have written the very, very beginning
of your life down instead as, ‘I was born on … in … , and my parents are Detanimod and Juggern Aut Edinsmaier?!’ How the fuck many, Herry?!”
“How many initial degrees in realization, in awareness, from
your having taken yet another education class, in knowing, Dr. Edinsmaier?
Something you’ve known since
loooong before you were eight years old:
that it was your ma and never, never, ever your pa – from whence cometh,
out of whom were grown, 12 live babies of the human being species
because of those 14 perpetual pregnancies of hers in the short, short span of
the 20 years’ time that Detanimod was so poked and, thus, continuously made over
the course of those two Iowa decades to grow human beings other than herself ––
one after the other after the other fecund time and fecund time and fecund time
again –– ,” I further suspired my shoulders shrugging.
“Well, maybe. Maybe
in Detanimod’s score years of her nearly unbroken state of growing, bearing and
birthing. Maybe only six were human
beings. The other birthed six each were two
haploid cells that Detanimod grew into females and, therefore, DEhuman beings,”
Herry’s affidavit’s second sentence already loudly and androcentrically implied.
And grimly portended then, too, that sentence of Herod’s did
to just exactly whom should belong the next three descending progeny of Juggern
Aut’s, the grand patriarchal poobah’s grandchildren who bore the names of Zane
and Jesse and Mirzah. “They will belong to the first – named on The
Court’s papers, too. And for sure, that
first name will not belong to the DEhuman … … the killer.” Even after the marital separation and in just
his writings alone … what a mess – maker for the allied feminist – me! – Herry continued to be!
“But what’ll I do if I fucking lie toooo well,” Herry
worried. Auspiciously for Herry in Act
One, his employee, Mr. Shindy Scheisser, noisily did remember from behind The Opera’s
opening curtain – did remember to
counsel Herry about the possibility of his lying too well.
“ ‘born to Juggern and Detanimod’ … Again and in my presence
you dare, Herry do you, to exalt your sperm, your manly man’s DNA, over …
me? One wee patriarchal cell times three
is all, and haploid ones at that, Herry!
If you trusted me to choose to
grow and to bear Zane and Jesse and Mirzah, and you trusted me to care for them
and to raise them up thus far, then how come the hell you cannot trust me with
a child now? Three of them to be exact, cuz it sure’s hell was me who’s been doing
the job from fuck #1 with, nearly literally therein inside me deposited haploid
spermatozoa cell #1. Hasn’t it been,
Herry?! Isn’t that the singular Truth,
Herry?!”
“Ooops, now I remember why you cannot trust me, Herry, I’m
the fucking killer, aren’t I?! Shit, I’m
gonna say it here right at the outset, Herry:
I am so glad that Detanimod did not
live. Did not live so that your ma’d
have to see you now, this person you’ve become,
this person she did not raise you
up to be. That you willfully refuse to keep your eyes on the self – discipline horizon
with the
long view in sight. Shit,
Herry, you didn’t –– as a cell biology graduate student nor as a medical
student –– you didn’t give even a flying fuck about birth control! Knowing about it or, shit, with even knowing that
so friggin’ many, many siblings your own father had thoughtlessly and ruthlessly
and carelessly ‘caused’ … using it! Actually
using birth control! Not even once! Only Jesse was the baby birthed from out of a
planned pregnancy! Out of an actual
planned fuck –– one of the Boys! All three of the Truemaier Boys I truly did alone choose to grow; and
two of them, Herry, two of them were
a total shock to me – reckoning how it is I found out that I was pregnant with
Zane and with Mirzah when you, You The
Scientist for just a couple of our romps, … you
were supposed to be in charge of birth – controlling! They are not
yours. And they are mine. All
of them.”
“And now? Now you’re
gonna take them all from me?! I’m the one who’s pissed you off! but soooo without
the supporting backing and the money and, most certainly, without any maleness
and pillaredness to fight you. How
fucking dare you?! How mother – fucking dare you?!”
Mr. Jazzy Jinx had repeatedly counseled me and most
assuredly so, “Overtures like Herry’s are made all the time though,
Legion. Divorcing dads do it an awful
lot. I’ve helped them do it; hell, it
was my job for chris’sake. I have been
in family law practice for over 20 years; and I have to say that I’ve never
even heard of a case where the father was given primary physical care custody
of the kids when he really, really did not want them. Or that.
Ya’ know, … that –– all of
that work … when he really didn’t
want all of the work that certainly goes with being a single parent. Not even one time have I seen that happen,
Legion.”
“Huh? Really?”
“Really. Really and
truly, Legion! Well, all sorts of
suggestions and preludes and … an’ advances are put forth by the father and the
father’s attorney about how much he wants ‘em.
About how much better he’d be as the primary parent and it’d be so much
more ‘in the children’s best interests’ if the one who should get physical
custody is daddy – dearest and not their mother. But he really doesn’t want them. Not from the git – go does he really and
truly want them, Legion. I mean, think
about it. You’re their mother. You know what it takes to raise them up
‘cause you’ve been doing it, right?
Well, right? Well he does,
too. Herry knows. He knows that you have and he knows what it
takes. And he doesn’t want to start at that after being right there all this
time jus’ watching you do it. Ya’ know, seeing what the Sam Hill it took
for you to do it. And for bloody well
damn sure, he does not want to do it
the hell alone! But – and a huge, huge
‘but’ here – : what he really doesn’t
want, even more than that, is to be found out.
It’s simple. Image really. Daddy just doesn’t want to look like that to the
kids. Like he doesn’t want them. So he works it! Works it and works it. Before trial and at trial. Believe me, Legion, I have. I’ve worked it. For the fathers. I have seen this over and over and over. This one?
Yours, Legion? Herry’s just
working this one, too. Hmmm, by the way,
let me check with Amanda, my account specialist. Are you up – to – date here on your billings
with us?”
And so it came to pass, armed with such advice and
protection in my back pocket soooo well – paid for from out of my pocketbook,
that just before proceeding into trial I went first to visit a woman by the
name of Ms. Carrie Canard. Those in the
know of family law will recognize all manner of the letters behind such a
person’s name; I only ever knew her as “the custody evaluator,” the one whom
The Court, daMan, had designated be the specific one assigned to me, to Herry
and to Mirzah, Zane and Jesse. There,
and shielded with fatherly Jinx’s ‘so – wise’ male touch and counsel, why, I
told her … The Truth!
Silly, silly me. Silly,
silly fucked me.
AmTaham had sat at the
No children, no spouse.
Never a child, never a spouse.
And I tell her the mother – fucking Truth do I?!
How friggin’ stupid am I?!
Screaming clues from so many crucial life – experience angles of her
friggin’ evaluating and counseling “industry” she is at me here,
and what do I do?! I totally fail to
pick up on the significance and the importance to me of any of the 70 percent or more of
them, that is, the ones which are these nonverbal and personal history roars of
hers. I trust this mother – fucking
stranger with the Truth, with my Truth, I do?!
Protection I should have had! Protection I soooo did not have! Protection soooo not taught to me by Mehitable True. Not given me by my very own mother!
In looking back, never in nostalgia nor in reminiscences of
happiness nor with remembrance smiles of course, I would have to say that i) except
for the loss of my children and ii) except for the entire and utter loss of all
of my US Constitutionally protected parental rights to them and iii) except for
the sudden death loss of Daddy and iv) except for the Monday, 07 December 1992
decree after Trial Three (Act Three, Part Four) wherein it is ‘Court’ – ordered
(truly, of course, ‘Judge Butcher the High Courtier’ – ordered) that The Good
Doctor, my now ex – husband, be actually, in
America, charged with designing and signing off on ‘a program of mental
therapy’ on me and v) except for the 25 September 1990 Ames Tribune headlining, front page
article and what its dastardly and deadly repercussions were to my veterinary
medical career and, subsequently, to my overall livelihood and survival and vi)
except for Mehitable and who the fuck she is to me, … I would have to say that
this person, Ms. Carrie Canard of such no – account description and her
betrayal of me and mine, that is, vii) that her betrayal of my trusting her
with the Truth, is the not – so –
singular event of sorrow and grief in all of this holocaust.
I went I think a total of three times. I had to drive to
“Frumpy and mousy yet neatly arrayed” and just exactly ripe
for Herry’s picking Ms. Cherry Canard soooo was! O JYeah, “It’s spring but not quite the
cherry – picking month of June and her name isn’t Cherry, it’s Carrie! you say?”
“JYeah, but then you don’t know Herry. Yet.
All there is to know,” I am thinking.
Dr. Edinsmaier had sessions, too, with Ms. Canard, ones similar in
length to mine. This person was going to
decide and then make a written recommendation to daMan, to daJudge, about just
exactly whom she, from all of her extensive education and life experiences (NOT!),
knew would make my Zane’s, my
Mirzah’s and my Jesse’s finest physical caretaker … Yes, I say, she was going
to do this. And did. And this is precisely where she
became exactly ripe enough for Herry’s picking, yanking, jerking … snatch
– ing. Right up to and
including her flustered, stammering manner up there in the witness chair of Act
One as one of The Opera’s beginning witness – testifier characters!
If there is one event at which Herry is a master and can
soooo work it, work it, work it as Mr. Jinx had insinuated, too, it is Dr.
Herod Edinsmaier’s working the frump – and – mouse circuit. In first – class fashion.
I soughed, “No, that is entirely true: I was not present at his and her sessions
together, not physically myself at any one of them. I was more than present, however, in 14 years
of being the invisible thing in the room, the one without even so much as an
introduction, let alone a first name, but who was, nonetheless, the Good and
Wonderful Doctor’s wife or alleged intimate partner – when Herry Edinsmaier
literally dumped on his mother – fucking charm in a one – on – one with another
woman. Truly a two – on – one, but, ‘hey
Legion, shut the fuck up here.’ Those
conversations which were really the both of us with her but at which I was not
at all seen and knew very well to quite stay so. Or, hear about it later – … later inside the
master bedroom behind its closed doors. Its
doors closed all right … but the two of us undressed and those drapes of its
windows soooo wide, wide open.” – exhibitionistically –
Brilliant, beautiful, even just merely attractive
women? These people were to Herry as
AmTaham. And threatened the rest of the
bejesus out of him to the point that, with all of his insecurities, Herry
willfully and gladly sought out much uglier females for camaraderie and
fellowship and, most especially, for emotional intimacy because he knew that,
if for only the time being, that unquenched and needy desire of his for
attention would be somewhat abated and sated.
I actually did not mind remaining mute because, for the most part, it
was quite funny to watch. Except for
those machinations of his with so fat and so frumpy and so fawning Mehitable,
very, very amusing his little maneuvers at flirting with others were to
me. All talk and very little walk with
Herry as far as these highly male – identified females were concerned, the ones
of Jimmy Soul’s lyrics, “If ya’ wanna be happy for the rest of your life, never
make a pretty woman your wife. So for my
personal point of view, get an ugly girl to marry you.” And since I was neither a frump nor a mouse
and, instead, threateningly very intelligent and rather comely to gaze upon,
then my Mrs. Doctor Wonderful image of myself was merely reinforced because of Herry’s expending individual
focus on such cackling and coddling biddies.
One at a time, though. Never did Herry
exude ‘competence’ at these coy and enticing endeavors of his in a group – like
setting as was so with all of those not – so – foxy soccer moms in a collective
together at their six – and seven – year – olds’ practice field sideline!
Indeed, come to think of it:
Herry was jealous of me when
in the accompaniment of brilliant, good – looking men, especially my mighty
fine and endearing, PhD program’s department chair, a very handsome man who
adored me –– for my brain that is. And another
couple of very pleasant veterinary medical professors, one private practice
boss back in Pennsylvania who also raved about me and the boon that my healing skill
brought to his business and two fiery redheads, a New Zealander colleague of
great gusto also at the graduate student level in Columbia and a veterinary
neurologist – professor a decade older than the both of us, an Iowa State
University man whose brain I myself truly adored and who totally cuddled and
cooed at Newborn Zane as if he were his very own babe.
Conversations where the three in it were Herry, I and
another one of any of these other six men?
I again, now that I reminisce, was the one shut up. Herry spoke for me. They were all my friends, my compadres
from academia and professional endeavor and lofty in stature of physique as
well, all of them. And, all of them,
long – , long – and well – married.
Still, before too far into the discussion, maneuvers occurred wherein it
became a certainty that the person getting my
associate’s or colleague’s eye contact was Herry. And I? Well, I was the second and so, so silent thing
in the chat, the one that merely in all of these folks’ vicinity, just looked
good. Ya’ know, the female of it all,
the … DEhuman.
This sexist and elitist positioning was a given –– when any
one of the fine – looking, virile human creatures talking with us two was one
of Herry’s colleagues, coworkers or friends.
I just expected it with all of them.
I cannot remember even one such threesome wherein I espoused or
expounded upon anything scientific about which I happened to know a great deal
– nor, as a matter of fact, upon any other subject matter either. I most certainly never had the eye contact of
both men at once because mine were the pair of lips in the room’s conversation
which were flapping. I was … shut
up. Silent!
I truly did not believe that 1963 song’s verses: that one so smart as Dr. Herod Edinsmaier would
actually fuck dull – brained, latchy – servile, needy and ugly women. Woman after woman and even some men friends
of mine including two gay guys down through those 12½ years when I was legally
bound to Herry had, on separate unrelated occasions, asked me what it was like
to be wed to someone not as visually fetching and pleasing, not even as
thoroughly intelligent either, as the other spouse and did that affect our
relationship. Maybe it’s a gender thing,
that men do fuck down and women do
not. Or, we don’t nearly to the degree
and to the actual number that men do.
I know that that is historical in all aspects of men mating
with women and of women relating to men.
But shit, with Herry? I liked
it. I thought I was fairly safe from his
having out – and – out illicit affairs, either physically or emotionally
intimate ones, because of it
actually. Sort of the song’s lyrics in
reverse, ya’ know, “Make an ugly man, dumb as rocks but tall as a mountain,
your husband. And then you, Ma’am,
you’ll be jus’ fine ‘cuz he’ll be true.”
JYeah, Herry’d stray for talk but not for the walk of it all, not for
the actual work of it all. Anyhow, the three – dimensional, breathing
ones who responded back to Herry just weren’t those Sunday – morning, in – his
– head, hand – jiving … and, of course, two – dimensional Playboy material of his.
‘Course, about the dumb and tall part I guess I was wrong –
since Herry was neither. Herry certainly
did beat out the television soap opera physicians in brains and in dialogue
but, unfortunately for him, not in women actually scored. The soap docs, so lanky and lithe, so svelte,
so buffed and so winsomely packed, surely stumbled like crazy all over their
therapeutic jargon and messed up the diagnostic babble almost every time,
something Herry could deliver down pat.
Hell, Herry wouldn’t even abbreviate; he loathed scientific usage in
medical lexicons that did so. But then
those daytime TV docs had for paramours the foxes while in the midst of a usual
and busy Tuesday morning when his pathology department’s boss man, Supervisor
Dr. Shark, was utterly unable to locate him, down at the hospital snack shop
Slacker Dr. Herod Edinsmaier was engaging with his lingo and his smooooth the
ones who, well, … the ones who would so swallow it all up and along with the
croissants and coffee that Herry’d, o’course, sprung for, so gorge it all
down!
And, of course and most importantly, respond back to Herry …
in kind. When the other woman was, indeed, a mouse or
a frump I witnessed this artiste work his chocolate voice and his
smooooth. No, no noun is it modifying;
that was what it was already, a noun with its o vowel merely drawn out: smooooth.
So although I was not in
Now, I think back on her as a hoot and a howl. Then?
Then, I could not believe that I had been so snookered and, ultimately
blindsided, by such a sallow simp as she –– again. Not after I myself –– so many, many times before as Herod
Edinsmaier’s alleged best friend, as his wife –– had so beheld and marked this
velvety – voice manipulation of Herry’s.
Such larynges as these in abusing men have actually been researched –– and warned of –– by Psychotherapist Mike
Lew in his 1988 Victims No Longer!
I should have been protected; I should have known
protection. I should have known what
would, in kind, have been forthcoming
back out after Tenor Edinsmaier’s aria – like serenade to Cherry or Cheri Baby
– back out in the form of Ms. Canard’s so – called “child custody evaluation” report
to daJudge. I so should have known. No matter Mr. Jazzy Jinx’s faulty family
dynamics’ lawyering counsel so horribly in error regarding the mother – fucking,
adjunctive “court industry” which makes so very, very much money for the idiot
– perpetrators placed “in charge” of such massive, life – altering
recommendations known as “custody evaluations by experts.” No
matter that.
* *
* *
True it is. O so head
– bangingly true it is: the
lying, that is.
Verbatim from Petitioner’s Affidavit section A, “From 1968
through 1972 I taught at the Cleveland Public Schools as a junior high general
science teacher. I then went to graduate
school at
And, “I went to the
And “She was hired as Director of the Microbiology Section
of the Veterinarian Diagnostic Laboratory.”
And “I considered this a golden opportunity because I did
not want to raise our children in
Verbatim from Petitioner’s Affidavit section B, “I first met
Legion in 1974. At that time, she had
just been accepted to
“Weeeeell, just exactly – if this person, Dr. Legion True, about
whom you’re writing here then actually, now, is your spouse, Dr. Edinsmaier, and she has – at the very least –
then been that … your wife … for now,
lo, these last infamous 12½ years –– ah, if she is, … then just exactly which was
it? –– was it two years for the twat or was it four years? Or, maybe three? Maybe three for your pussy? Or, maybe in Truth about this one
nonspecific, unremarkable and merely classic cunt within your stash of them, … you, Narcissist Herry, … you have absofriggin’lutely
no idea, do you?”
Verbatim, Herry continues and, nota bene particularly, I include all of the obvious spelling, omission,
grammar and birthday errors in
his so – called Petitioner’s Affidavit B, “After my wife and I began dating,
she told me she suffered from mental problems after her first marriage
ended. Specifically, she said suffered
from a severe reactive depression disorder and had to obtain psychiatric help
as a result.
We spent a great deal of time together before we married
although we both maintained separate apartments. My wife and I were married on December 18,
1976 in
Legion entered
During the 1978-79 school year, I commuted back from
[“Ooops, ooops, ooops, ooops! Waaaait a second here! Hold up!
Stop the more – or – less mimicking stenograph, Woman! Wait just a pea – picking, mother – fucking second
here! What’s with the fucked – up
‘1978–79 school year’ statement here!
Why, babies – two!! of the three!! weren’t even born yet, O Daddee – o’‘em all – Dearest! I was nine months’ pregnant with Jesse but Jesse
soooo not even born yet, and
Mirzah? Mirzah wasn’t even anyone’s
eyeball sparkle! Then suddenly your
statement has us all back ‘in 1978’; we’re all not in
daJudge, ‘The Court’, … give a shit about any of this fuckup?!
O, we soooo know, don’t we Jury, the resoundingly loud NO
answer to that ‘ne!
No shock this is, though: The Pillar, The Exalted cannot remember to
use my True first name –– probably cuz it is – to him – for ‘woman’, for
actually ‘naming’ me, the ubiquitous and
nonspecific and unremarkable and merely classic Pussy one. Or Cunt.
And he cannot remember – in like manner – the birthings and first years
of any of my three babes!!! Two Truemaier Boys are not even born yet –––
yet the Great and Wonderful Dr. Herod Edinsmaier claims here that he did soooo,
so much, ya’ know … – ‘all childcare responsibilities!’ What a freakin’ joke! And in what friggin’ universe of yours
anywhere, Dr. Edinsmaier, am I nursing Newborn Jesse and a two – year – old,
‘Zena’, at the very same time! as in ‘so she could nurse them?’ I am miraculously and massively marvelous
– a bloody wonderment, I know; but even I
don’t wear that cape, do I, Doc?! And – for now, Doc, after this paragraph above
– why, your fuckups just continue on below, don’t they?! ‘In May 1980, after I graduated from the
“In May 1980, after I graduated from the
In 1982, Legion expressed a desire to become a teaching
member of a veterinary faculty. This
would not be possible without her first obtaining a doctorate degree, so she
enrolled in the
One example of this commitment is I have started to help
Zena develop his talent and special skill in art. I have done everything I could to help him
accomplish that skill and today he is on the road to becoming a fine artist.
Jesse is the athlete of the family. I have coached Jesse’s soccer team, and he is
very good. In fact, his skills are
better than mine. I also have encouraged
Jesse to pursue other sports.
Mizha is particularly mechanical and has exhibited special
qualities. One example is when I
encouraged him to become familiar with tools, he took all the doorknobs off in
the house. All three children
participate in accellerated [ … along with more of Herry – Daddee’s own
advanced and gifted … and fatherly …
misspelling prowess, ‘education’ … being soooo important ‘n’ all to him!] or
classes for the gifted.
In June, 1986, Legion graduated and was offered a full-time
faculty position at the
Legion was working as a Junior Faculty member at
In 1987, Legion lost her job and I took a position in
That’d be B in toto.
For … now. O, and
boooofuckinghoo! Herry, regarding “how tired I may be.” Note just exactly how many times –– zero times! in her affidavit Mother – of
– Three – Boys and Dr. Legion True
throws to daJudge, to “The Court” her parenting
self a friggin’ pity party about her
exhaustion!
Verbatim again, Petitioner’s Affidavit section C states, “I
have had my share of personal problems.
I have suffered from alcoholism since 1977. As soon as I recognized I had a problem, I
went to counseling in
My wife currently suffers from a psychological disorder
known as codependency, exhibited by certain personality disorders.” [JYeah,
Catch that, did You Jury? That’s
multiple disorders within a disorder.] “She has told me this disorder originated
from her first husband’s problems with drugs.
She was also treated by a psychiatrist for depression after her first
marriage and has also been in psychological counseling for codependency since
the fall of 1987 at the Regional Substance Abuse Center on a weekly basis. Legion’s problems have been longstanding in
nature and have contributed to our marital discord. She has a violent temper and directs a great
deal of anger toward me, and most recently, has involved our children in our
problems.” As disclosed earlier, that
was it for Section C. Last
paragraph? All – and only – about
me. More on this section later,
too. Suffice it to say here and now, in
If we haven’t yet heard enough on the safety and wellbeing
of the budding artist, one multiply talented and bookoo sports – playing athlete
and the household mechanic because of
the long – suffering and sleepless efforts of a totally attentive and present
father, we are about to read as “evidence” because it is sworn written
“testimony,” mind you, the culmination of Herry’s Affidavit in the rest of all of
those hours of daddeeness that is Section D entitled, of course, “SAFETY AND
WELLBEING OF CHILDREN AND MORAL CLIMATE.”
Also in toto and verbatim.
“At various times when my wife and I were not getting along,
Legion has threatened me and our children that she will separate us. Specifically in 1985, she gathered the
children around and told them they would never see me again until they were
16. This caused two of our children to
run away from home for a short period of time.
Legion and I were separated in June 1988. Legion has remained in the family home and I
live in an apartment. Since the
separation, I have paid all the bills, household payments, and given her, on
average $800 per month. I have usually
meet all her additional financial requests.”
[It’s not my grammatical sentence and note the word “usually” also. That actually means, “Since I did one time
but never, ever again? Well, cuz of that
one time then, I get to lie about all of the rest of the requests the Whore
made ‘n’ jus’ snow daJudge with my word
‘usually’ here – heh, heh, heh … ”]
“At first after our separation when I asked to see the
children, she would conveniently plan other activities for them, preventing me
from seeing them. As a result of such
refusals by Legion, in early September we worked out an arrangement that I see
the children every weekend beginning at 5:00 p.m. on Friday until 6:00 p.m. on
Sunday. This was to continue until
January 3, 1989 when we agreed to re-evaluate our position. During this period of time, we tried marriage
counseling but it turned out to be unsuccessful.
My wife and I met on January 3, 1989 after our counseling
concluded. Since that meeting, my wife
has restricted even minimal access to my children because of the hostility she
feels toward me.
On numerous occasions, Legion has called me at work making
various demands regarding the issues of the dissolution. She has confronted me in the presence of the
children. I have become increasingly concerned as to the safety and wellbeing of
the children when they are with Legion because she seems to hate me so much and
uses the children to punish me. Zena has
exhibited behavioral problems and was recently caught smoking. The boys were told by their mother that she
is having my apartment watched by an individual when the children come to see
me. This has caused Jesse to be afraid
and he refuses to go to sleep except with me.
When the children have been with me, Legion has shown up at my apartment
demanding to speak with me in front of our children about issues of our
marriage. At times she has become
violent and combative on occasion and in front of the boys. This upsets them.
Legion has gotten violent many times before. She has attempted to forcibly enter my car,
my apartment, and my place of business.
She has done this while I have the children with me. In fact, she has repeatedly attempted to
contact me at work and on one occasion she even tried to enter the laboratory
when Zena was with me because he had been sent away by Legion from home for
punishment. She was denied access to the
building because of her irate manner and the result has been for the lab
supervisor telling me such disruptions must end. Upon his advice and the advice of the
Company’s attorney, our secretary has been instructed not to answer Legion’s
repeated phone calls to me at work. This
has made Legion even more angry at me and more disruptive in our children’s
lives.
I can cite many more examples and have hard evidence to
support the instances where Legion has attempted to manipulate our children in
an effort to strike out at me. This is
not good for the children and
I have already seen her actions detrimentally affect our
children.”
The End. Herry’s end,
that is.
Very important this avowed – to affidavit’s last sentence of
Petitioner Edinsmaier’s “Safety – and – Well – Being – and – Moral – Climate” Section
is. Herry – Daddee has “hard evidence”
and has already beheld, he solemnly swears, the harm caused to Zena! I mean to Zane and to Jesse and to Mizha, I
mean, er, to Mirzah by me! I,
the Truemaier Boys’ mama, in their lives … at all … means that
they, as minors only 12, 10 and 9 years old, are already, are currently and
have of longstanding now been, … in
harm’s way.
That is to what Pillared Doctor Herod Edinsmaier is averring
here. Right off the bat … Act One, Part
One. And yet: it is still only the Opera’s
Overture.
Not one word does Pathologist Edinsmaier’s “Safety – and –
Well – Being – and – Moral – Climate” Section on the pathologies of parents to
the Truemaier Boys have in it … about Herry – Daddee’s aprovechar – and – taking
slackerism: that is, Herry The Daddee’s
absolute aversion to true work! while all the while, harboring colossal
neediness for mammoth amounts of attention, Herry – Daddee’s exhibitionism
that is (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, Fourth Edition) psychiatric
illness #302.4 with the weekend jeans’ crotch holes full up of
showing off his pubic hairs, his answering the Othello Drive’s front door in
only underpants and his flourish at purposefully reopening the bedroom drapes
time after time after time after time ad nauseum … , Herry – Daddee’s
voyeurism that is (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, Fourth Edition) psychiatric
illness #302.82) with i) his … hand – jiving … consumption of
pornography and ii) Herry – Daddee’s crime, Iowa Code, Chapter 728.2,
of dispersing it – as well – to his very own minor children, not to mention, iii)
a medical penlight repeatedly thrust up my own True vagina cuz he, Herry The Husband,
just … could … and iv) his med – student
vaginal examinations’ mind rapes of paid laboratory workers; Herry
– Daddee’s crime of frotteurism, Iowa Code, Chapter 728.1,
7c and 7d, with his i) groping of my girlfriend, Grace Portia, which
is Herry
– Daddee’s (Diagnostic
and Statistical Manual, Fourth Edition) psychiatric illness #302.89
and, along with the incestuous criminality of it all as well as by his own
verbal admission to me in our adulthoods ii) of his and Atwater’s teenage –
brothers’ fondling, again! Iowa
Code, Chapter 728.1, 7c and 7d, of three tiny sister siblings. Let alone, not one word about the
harm to the Truemaier Boys from Troubled and Conflicted “I – Have –
Had – My – Share – of – Personal – Problems” Herry the Swearing Edinsmaier –– of all of the above! Let alone: not one goddamn, mother – fucking word
to daJudge about who of the two of us parents is the protecting one,
about the one of us two parenting adults who was actually trying to keep all
three of the Truemaier Boys –– away from –– all of this
harm!
If all – or if any – had been born daughters?! I can’t even imagine! Whoooooa!
I don’t even want to imagine!
* *
* *
“Okaaaay, Herry. Am I
about to rebut just nearly all of this “hard evidence” that are actually your
lies … or what! These four A, B, C, D
sections, Jury? Readers? These – all four of them – constitute the
crime of perjury, Jury!
Just, however, the first of many, many, many such, very same crimes
of it, specifically for perjury from Iowa Code, Chapter 720.2,
said chapter in general entitled,
“Interference with Judicial Process!”
I am trying not to laugh too hard here because it truly is
conflagrant to me. But I can’t help
it. This was choice. “O shit, Herry! Smooth.
Smooooth. Ms. Frumpy Custody
Evaluator Canard heard all of this smooooth, too, I am so certain. Jury?
Do you know the characteristics, even just a handful of them if not all
of ‘em, of the typical wife batterer?
That’s ‘batter’ as in the crime of battery. Well … one,
just one of them, is, and is as old as androcentrism itself is: throw
it aaaall back on her! Everything that
she says about me? Deny, deny, deny and particularly project it all back onto her
–– that of which she is trying to state about me. And, for sure, because it is a he – said /
she – said situation and she will not
be the one believed if it is smooth enough and particularly when it involves a
man and his spermary, a pillared one at that, why never, never, never admit
wrong or error or that what she says could be even remotely true. And, voila, you are home free, Mother -
Fucker! free! of her, I’m telling ya’.” That’s pretty much the characteristic …
also verbatim! right out of any women’s shelter handbook regarding batterers –
except for the last – sentence, name – for – daddee embellishment there: that one would be all mine … that the Good and Wonderful Doctor Herod
Edinsmaier is a literal Mother – Fucker!
But, otherwise, this is the researches’ and statistical
reality: fathers and their gametes are not to be messed with. Both are only
to be exalted. Sperm
exaltation. Father and fatherhood
exaltation.
I say, “O O O … kay then.
Just exactly who is coming out here from the courtroom or from after
examining the ‘sworn – to’ documents submitted to The Court’s files … coming
out here into this, The Real World, and bringing back to daJudge, bringing back
from it, The Real World that is, to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor, the absolute
proof of the Truth of any of Herry’s muuuultiple avowals here, Jury? Readers?
Who? You? And, furthermore, do you care what
lies he’s told you and me? Do you? Does the judge? Really?
Really and actually does daJudge, Judge Seizor, the man who once “legally”
forced a first Mrs. Seizor into a certain prison way away from her very own
four baby daughters, truly care? It is
easier to lie to and to deceive in an American court of civil law than it is to
lie to and to deceive your … __you __ fill __ in __ the __ blank __, Jury. Of course, depending upon … well, you know
the rest of that sentence, too.”
I did not know it then, but I soooo know it now: Depending
upon who you are, it is easier to lie to and to deceive anyone inside an
American civil court of law and get away with it than it is to lie to and to
deceive one’s own mom and dad. It is
easier to lie to and to deceive an American civil court of law, which, we all
know, is a judge or a bunch of ‘em, than it is to lie to and to deceive your
own minister, your own teacher, your boss and co – workers, your spouse or even
your own child. It is, mind you, easier
to get clean, slick away with lying to and with deceiving an American civil
court judge about anything, depending,
of course, … depending upon who you are, than it is to lie to
and to deceive yourself!
What the most difficult about
rebuttal is … is doing it! Having to do it at all. Why should I have to? Why again and again and again do I have
to? Have to defend myself. Always, always,
always on the defensive throughout the entirety of The Opera. The whole mother – fucking thing. This? This I loathe. And have, now, long – pledged to myself never
–– never
… never … never –– to have to do to Herod Edinsmaier inside of any
format or venue whatsoever again. Not one
more time. To defend myself. No.
But to You the Jury? JYeah. No problem.
One more time again? This tome,
this volume? Nooooo problem. In fact:
Ratchet it on up, that very volume!
Bring it on!
Rebutting then begins, of course, right there within his,
the Petitioner’s, Affidavit section A, continues throughout aaaall of Liar
Edinsmaier’s four sections and finally
ends then with, tah – dah, Respondent’s Affidavit! That is, my
personal history affidavit notarized and dated 10 February 1989! Which weekday (of course!) date that horrid
year happened to be on a Friday.
So.
To begin then, “Wha’, Herry?
‘From 1968 through 1972’ you taught junior high, then suddenly back in
Ames you have, you swear, a grad
degree in cell biology also in
1972? But didn’t go to med school until
1975? That ain’t so at all, now is it,
Herry? No graduate degree #1, Herry –
zip, zilch on the master’s degree, right?!
That, well, along with all of your other procrastinations, well, … that
just never did happen ever, now did it, Hype – ing
Hypocrite Herry? No diploma ‘tall! Not even
in 1975, which is when you left graduate school after I literally lived with
and doctored you day and night, 24 /
7, back to life from a deathly parasitic pulmonary infestation from June 1975,
right through till nine days before medical school began in late August 1975,
when you were released from Oakdale Sanitarium outside Iowa City to where I’d
had Devin drive you at top, breakneck speeds two weeks earlier and he thought
those two harrowing hours in the car that you, coughing, gasping, cyanotic and
doubled over, … that you were going to die on him right there racing down the
interstate. Okaaay, now that that’s
straight, there’s more, isn’t there, Herry?!
How it is I literally saved that sacko’shit life of yours for you, isn’t there?!”
The tangible –– and
screaming –– absence of Herry’s master’s degree in cell biology, something
really, really easy to prove, well, did
anyone bother ever to bring back to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor the actual
“evidence” of its existence?! Of its nonexistence?
! ! !
“In fact, the master’s degree’s nonexistence has, indeed, hasn’t it Hype –
ing Hypocrite Herry, just exactly the
same nonexistence to
it as that of a supposedly earned bachelor’s degree in physics ! ! ! which You,
the Good and Wonderful Doctor Edinsmaier, to this day in Grubtrop and in
Montclank, West Virginia, also claim to have, at one
time, merited and deservedly received ! ! ! – but in point of
actual fact, continue several decades later to pad thereby falsifying
your medical organizations’ and societies’ résumés with and there state (as
well as at these several agencies’ websites!) that you once obtained this alleged
physics degree at Iowa State University –– when you soooo never did do? !
! ! Ha!”
Of course, we already know the answer to that –– along with
all of the other NOT! answers to the very same question after every
written affidavit lie and almost all of them, if not all of them, most easily and equally ascertained as false
and, therefore, lies and – and – and, therefore too, … the
crime of perjury! Ya’ know,
the
crime detailed at Iowa Code, Chapter 720.2. IF only they had been. IF only that other pillar of the community
known as daJudge, Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor, had ordered up the tangible proof of … what it is … ‘he said’!
To continue I must just shake my head, “Herry, you of all
people: there is no University of Missouri –
Jefferson City at which you could’ve ever
taught, let alone, could have taught full – fucking – time! And moi?
‘… hired as Director’? As
‘director’ of anything? Sure, Mister, suuuuure
… just try to inflate my workplace post so that your monetary, support – to –
me amount will be judge – ordered down – down – down … down into the toilet! Bloat the fucking hell out of my –– actual ––
position before I came to
More. “Do you never
proofread squat, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier?
You know full fucking well that nothing is ever referred to as
‘veterinarian school’ and yet at least three, if not more, times you term it … exactly
that. How fucking dare you diminish the
naming of my educational endeavors when, with your own, you do not – ever – identify it as ‘doctor school’,
Herry! How fucking dare you continue
that dissing of me and of my successes … just because you always have before –
and in front of all three of my
children, too?!? How dare you?!? Children
whose birth date and, indeed, name you totally fucked up for Jesse and for whom
you could never, not one fucking time, get correctly spelled for Zane. What is up with that, Herry? That
is unforgivable from a blonde and bloodied secretary, let alone, when perpetrated
by a goddamn, mother – fucking father.
Children who were never even being considered to be living one damn day,
not to mention, ‘raised up’ in
Moving into Petitioner’s Affidavit section B with continued and further refutal of “sworn” – to “evidence.” “So,
Herry, you know me so well, huh? I’m
your fucking wife and you can write about me under oath to a judge –– cuz of
your wealth of knowledge on my background –– to a fucking courtroom judge, can
you? So if you know me that well, then
which was it that I was married to John Silver, two years or was it four
years? Cuz one is, well shit, So – Many
– College – Degrees – I – Actually – Never – Had Herry, you’re the
mathematician, one is fucking twice as long as the other one, now isn’t
it?! I mean one is 100 fucking percent more than the other one! So.
Which was it? Two years? Or, four years? And what were you reeeeally stating here,
Herry? Implying just exactly – er well,
not very exactly at all really – what, Herry?
What?! That I’m a bad risk in the
wifery category? Is that really what,
Herry? Since that so is about what you
were writing, then where –– also –– is the information to
Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor about your busted engagement to Theresa, the one she
broke off with you that landed your smashed ego inside Ms. Rebound Edwina’s bed
in Cleveland for a few years whilst simultaneously dodging Bass County, Iowa’s
draft board ticket to Viet Nam by teaching junior high school in an inner city
instead of being soooo draftable were you
to’ve taught in just an ordinary school, one, say, anywhere in Iowa?! Where’s the whole scoop on Ms. Theresa, Herry? Hell, I worked alongside her as an ISU
sophomore, same engineering department; we were hourly workstudies together. And, furthermore, you knew that I knew her because she and I’d met as student workers
there, and I told you this! So, Herry,
she must’ve seen in you a bad husbanding risk, huh, to cleave it off with you
and your upcoming nuptials back in the late 1960s?! But where’s that written and
sworn to, too, especially the part about how you wouldn’t ever consider
marrying Edwina, no way, no how, never, never, never !!! –– cuz she was, well,
what Herry? Cuz she was what, Racist
Herry?! Cuz she was your great black fuck, wasn’t she, O Pillared
One … O Doctor Edinsmaier?
And you told me you wouldn’t even take her home to meet your parents,
would you? Which, of course, you never
fucking did do, not even that one christmas eve when Edwina so wanted to come back to Iowa with you and
meet all of your family, you told
me. Not even the fuck then would you
bring her back to your kin, O Good
and Wonderful Doctor! Judge Seizor never
knew any of this about you though, did he?
daJudge never knew that you’re a sexist and racist, homophobic, whore –
mongering pig risk? as a spouse? in the
husbanding category? Did he?!” … As if it’d’ve
mattered to him anyhow … if he had known!
NOT!
Defend, defend, defend –– to which I am forced.
Or, as icky are Herry’s sugary and honey statements about
himself, especially about his fatherly fathering functioning. Those pieces are so funny to me now. Then, though, when I read them through the
first several times, I was made simply livid by them: the obvious blatancy at the puffed – up,
hyped – up chestiness of himself –– of himself as “accountable Daddy”– to Judge
Sol Wacotler Seizor.
Lumping these into Herry’s quoted phrases, his lies
about me of Section B, “Marital History,” are
i)
“suffered from severe reactive depression disorder,”
ii)
“the reason we got married,”
iii)
“she dealt with small animals,”
iv)
“her hours were from 8:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m.,”
v)
“so she could nurse them,”
vi)
“Legion then felt the job too stressful, so she quit
and began to babysit our children,”
vii)
“my salary as a resident was not enough for us to make
financial ends meet, so Legion became employed,”
viii)
“She worked the night round from noon until 10:00
p.m.”,
ix)
“We were forced to employ many different babysitters,”
x)
“In 1982, Legion expressed a desire to become a
teaching member … so she enrolled in the
xi)
“In June, 1986, Legion graduated,”
xii)
“Because I wanted her to pursue her career, I turned
down various jobs and opportunities,”
xiii)
“In 1987, Legion lost her job,”
xiv)
“Legion has remained unemployed since we left
xv)
“I have made a commitment to my wife that we would stay
in
xvi)
“since my wife Legion is unemployed.”
Sixteen – regarding me alone! Supposedly detailing the history of his
wedded union Herry’s Section B is – but – almost all about me. And about me … negatively! Elaboration on
just a few.
How does one nurse an already weaned child? Zane had already been weaned! He and Jesse did go to childcare providers
but separate ones; that was one of the reasons I left the house’s door at 7:00
in the morning with two babies to go
to a job that didn’t begin formally until 8 in a town only 13 miles away: so that
I could drop off a 2½ – year – old at one place with all that Zane needed and a
½ – year – old at a caretaker of infants, someone different, with all that Baby
Jesse needed. “And You, Herry?! You friggin’ slept in! You, O Slacker
and Entitled Sperm Donor, you slept in! Then on those same soooo cold, weekday
mornings wherein I had dealt with the two babies’ labors, you bundled up only yourself and left the house to go
mind – rape vaginal exam models in
And about the ‘too stressful’ part and that I was a
‘babysitter’ for our own children? “What
the fuck is that, Parent Herry – Daddee?!
I fucking fell down on the cement floor.
Collapsed. Flattened my exploding
breasts right there in front of Miss Evelyn who was in to see me with a half a
dozen of her 42 cats! She’s the one who
fucking telephoned the UI Med School Dean’s office to ask them to go find you
in class somewhere and have you come collect the dropped corpse on the concrete
that was … me. She’s the one who stayed
with me until you got there. Completely
pissed off you were too, ‘member that?
You drove the fucking 13 miles in dead silence. You didn’t even ask me what I thought could
be wrong? Ya’ know, like say … exhaustion! Cuz you didn’t the fuck care what was wrong
with me, did you, Husband Herry? And –
and … you didn’t even go back to Solon to pick up Jesse or Zane from their
respective care providers after you’d dropped me off at the trailer! You
literal … Mother – Fucker. Straight
up.”
And as regards our financial ends meeting, did Herry write
daJudge about the fact that from $10 per salaried veterinarian hour, I would
after taxes, gasoline and childcare costs for three children under five years
of age ... I would … I would, winter – and holiday – time 1980, with Mirzah then
just 13 months old, Jesse not even 27 months old and Zane himself a mere four
years and two months old, I would only clear $2.75 per hour?!
! !
“I literally begged you, didn’t I, Herry? Over and over I begged you to borrow for us
the money to live on, to borrow from your wealthy, soooo wealthy some of them,
older brothers and sisters, from at least one or two or so of the four truly
wealthy ones of your ten other siblings, didn’t I, Herry, when we were in
Hershey?! Mirzah was only a year old,
Jesse 2 and Zane 4. And the one word that
I got back from you –– the
only one I got back from you –– about our borrowing from any one of these, your four siblings, was
what, Herry?! You remember. ‘Cept you soooo conveniently forgot to tell
Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor this. That
word, for my leaving my babies when I so did
not want to but you forced me
to instead of our temporarily borrowing from your family –– to clear a
measly $2.fucking 75 an hour –– was what Daddee Herry?
“solvent”
You said that $2.75 an hour was enough to keep us “solvent,”
didn’t you, You Mother – Fucker?! All just to save your fucking face in front of
your family. No matter what my little,
little Boys and I wanted. No fucking small,
small matter … that!”
This ‘we employ’ thing?
“I, it was I, wasn’t it Herry,
who did absolutely all of the
arranging for childcare? Never the fuck was
it ever you!” Never the fuck any sort of ‘we’ about ANY part of the 26 in – home childcare
provider – hires and six daycare facilities over 11 years’ worth, was there now
… was there a ‘we’ to doing any of
that childcare arranging! Truthfully, Herry?! Was
there?!
And the expression of desire to go to
“All of those hours and hours and hours you frittered
away. Squandered, You Fucking Selfish Slacker,
so we soooo just ‘had to have a lot of babysitters?’ Fuck that, Herry. You needed
a lot of babysitters, both literally for your sons cuz you so were not there for them. And,
figuratively. Cuz Dr. Shark and the
other bosses couldn’t get you to willingly and cheerfully accept their
authority over you and get their assignments to you fucking done correctly and
in a timely manner! Now that
is the fucking Truth, and you didn’t think I knew and Judge Seizor
sure’s hell didn’t either, did he?! That
it was you who wanted to leave
Hershey because you couldn’t get along, and they were about to fucking fire you
right there in the fucking middle of your residency, something pretty much unheard of, huh?! That is why we left Hershey for
And this? O, this
could so easily have been tangibly proved to a judge, too. Pink fucking slips evidentiarily scripted
down regarding Dr. Herod Edinsmaier all over the pink fucking
I graduate not in
June 1986! “In June 1986? In June 1986, Lying Herry, I am getting up at
4 am on every single Friday morning to drive four hours from Manhattan over to
Columbia to sleep on cushions on my grad student office floor and then drive
home Monday nights in June 1986, to be back to attend children before beginning my first assistant
professorship which did not start until July 1986. So no,
Herry, I marched and was hooded on 01 August 1986,
after two grueling summer months to finish totally and completely in
four fucking years flat – absolutely fricking all there was to an
entire PhD dissertation and degree program in Veterinary Microbiology which you
cannot even fucking spell correctly – something most persons, female
or male, with three babies under five years of age have no idea of even
starting, let alone, aren’t capable of finishing. But I did.
I did that, Herry, didn’t I? In
four fucking years flat I did it all! And, no … no, no, no. No, soooo nooooo, thanks for any of it to you.
You, if you did anything at all, Herry, you so hindered me. You so fucked with me, didn’t you?”
“Two more I’ll make the effort of which to explain the Truths. If I can get over laughing so hysterically
here. And those are the bloody ludicrous
and mucked – up statements you, Daddee Herry, ... that you made about being ‘unemployed’ when a mama – when a mama anywhere – has three little kids.
That one?! That one just fucking
stands alone, so stupid and loud it is, doesn’t it, Jury? Soooo stupid!
Soooo patriarchally stupid!”
And about Herry’s commitment to me and to the Truemaier Boys about us all staying in
The lies of Section B about Herry’s involvement as a father
with his children are hilariously ridiculous, too. And, every fucked mother today 14 years out
from these of Herry’s, tells me she reads in her “sworn” divorce and custody
documents so such the very same ones.
And they get away with them. Nearly
all fathers do today, too. Fathers, any kind of them, are back to wresting
total custody away – that is, they are back to the taking of their perceived “ownership,” their self – directed, self
– centered aprovechar – their taking away from biological and other
mothers at a rate unparalleled for 75 – some odd years. But not since before about 1920, or 1930,
though. Except for the last seven
decades or so. In other words, at a rate
just the very precise same as that for the last 12 millennia. Lies like Herry’s, besides the maleness –
like – the – pillared – judge thing, are why, too.
i)
“Zena” instead of Zane throughout the entire affidavit,
not just Section B. For every instance
where Zane is named in Herry’s sworn affidavit, Zane’s alleged “father” doesn’t
get my
firstborn’s first name correct ever. Ever. What does that say? I mean, what
the fuck does that scream?!
ii)
“Jesse, born December 15, 1978,”
iii)
“From 1974 through 1978, we jointed shared in all child
care responsibilities with the exception of bathing and breastfeeding. I cooked, cleaned, did laundry, and changed
diapers. … the time demands required we equally share the child caring
responsibilities,”
iv)
“During the 1978-79 school year, I commuted back from
v)
regarding Hershey, “we needed a babysitter,”
vi)
“because Legion was working nights, I would get up in
the morning to care for the children and attend to their morning needs,”
vii)
“However, at night I cared for the children. At this stage of the boys’ lives, toilet
training became important. Because my
wife Legion is deaf in her left ear, when the children would get up in the
middle of the night, as they often did, they would come and wake me up and I
would tend to their toilet and other nightly needs,”
viii)
“I became quite involved in taking care of the children
during this period of time,”
ix)
“I played a primary role in deciding the choice of
school, and the age in which the children would enter school,”
x)
“I continue to hold their education part of their
wellbeing and my main concern in life,”
xi)
“I have done everything I could to help [Zena] accomplish
that [art] skill,”
xii)
“On Mondays, Fridays, and on the weekends, however, I
helped to those things. We employed no
babysitters on those days I was home,”
xiii)
“I still helped with all child rearing
responsibilities,”
xiv)
“I consider the children to be my primary
responsibility regardless of how tired I may be ... But my first commitment is to my kids … I
made a commitment to my children that we would stay in
How many are these?
Fourteen? Just in The Lie
Department alone to daJudge, I – I, Legion True ... that’s Doctor Legion True, – I rate more lies about me from Herry than do even
all three kids! Well, that –– that right there must be something upon which to brag, not?!
But about them, those lies about the kids? Jesse?
Born 15 December? “Shit, Herry,
that means you up and fucked this mother that I so am right after, well, … probably
in the goddamn hospital delivery room, doesn’t it?! Like the vag exam models you were mind – raping
back in med school? Why do I say
that? Why? Well, do the frickin’ math, So – Many –
Degreed Herry. How in the hell, if you
didn’t fuck me right there and then after I’d immediately just bulldozed Jesse
out, then how in the hell did I go on to grow, also propel out and begin
lactating Mirzah in just nine months and two weeks later!?!”
“JYeah, I know you knew I, twice, twice in just that nearly identical four – year length of time, I
Legion was gestating and lactating at the very same goddamn time – twice!
Pregnant with Jesse and nursing Zane, then pregnant with Mirzah but yet still
nursing Jesse. Hence, the reason for the exhaustion collapse onto
the fucking Solon veterinary practice’s floor with Miss Evelyn, we come to find
out the next day when I – alone, of
course – visit my doctor, don’t
we, Herry? Don’t we?! You, Husband Herry, who did absolutely fucking
nothing as a spouse, let alone, as a scientist or as a physician about birth –
controlling! But, hey, even for me, being fucked and
impregnated right there on the delivery room table in order to shell out Mirzah
in just another nine months flat, ... even
for me!, that’s damn near mighty fuckin’ miraculous, Mormony Catholic Herry!
! !”
“So Jesse wasn’t
born on 15 December, was he, Herry, but exactly four months earlier than that, wasn’t he, Herry
– that is, on 15 August instead!? What another hoot! The so – called “father” of child #2 – and a
man of medicine at that – can’t even get Jesse’s fucking birthday, ah, er … that’s Jesse’s birthing day … correct! Yet I’m the one who went into that courtroom
the first and every time after Act One thinking … believing … that
this sort of thing would matter to Judge Sol Wacotler Seizor – about who
was primary in our lives and for whom were we each primary –– when
… it, so very clearly, never did matter! In just telling this – it becomes even more so
when considering all of your lies of how responsible and of how accountable you
swear that you were, Herry? Getting up
in the goddamn nighttime with the Boys, getting up in the morning with the Boys
and having them ready for the goddamn day.
These? These lies projecting onto
yourself that which I am responsible, truly responsible for, fucking diss me
the most – because, god knows and so does every other mother whether single,
staying married or becoming single again, that the Boys and I soooo could have
used that accountability from you. Every
one of us mothers can, but this daJudge already knows before you even lie to
him. His ‘Honor’, daJudge, has lied to
himself about how it is that his ex – wife only ‘babysat’ his four daughters
like you, too, called my mothering –– my parenting –– of the very own babies whom
I alone … grew! … ‘babysitting,’ Herry.
daJudge tells himself, too, just how splendid and just how fantastic a
housekeeper and a mighty fine childcare provider he, too, was. So when you say you are, you did, you made,
you got up, you coached, you drove, you cleaned, you cooked, you encouraged art
and mechanics –– you soooo sacrificed your own wants and desires because you
gave the Boys your very all –– ? Why, …
you are soooo, so fucking good at it and that you, most importantly here, will now quite definitely keep that all up
and that that’s why you should be given full physical care custody, why, fuck
Herry, you’re home free with … with ‘His
Honor’: the goddamn lying – to – his –
own – self Mr. Also – Pillared Judge Man!”
“But, hey Herry, you better here not lie toooo goddamn well.
Or, you just might! You can, for
chris’sake! You can end up having physical care custody of all three of my Truemaier Boys and then you really, really having to do it all
alone like I, in Truth, did do! Ha! Herry!
You better watch it here with this sugar and honey slop of yours to
daJudge! And lastly, Herry, regarding
that I – am – so – accountable – to – my – kids lie #iv), the one where you
were supposedly commuting back and forth every weekend the year of 1978 to
1979? What a grueling toll on you that
must’ve been: why, boo – hoo, boo –
fucking – hoo, poor you, poor you … Huh?
And so, too, would daJudge so surely think it hard and soooo parentingly
committed of you to’ve done, not? Well, really
though, Herry, what about that?
Is that – any of it – True?!
I mean I finished and graduated from veterinary medical school on a
Saturday morning in the middle of May 1978, Jesse well long into my belly some
six months already with Baby Zane in tow, and began working –— I
did –––at the Solon, Iowa, practice the very next Monday morning
because we were all, by then, moved and living in
that coral – colored trailer on the edge of Iowa City! Soooo:
why whatever for then, Herry, were you –– as you swear that you were
–– driving every mother – fucking weekend back and forth to
“Section C is the funniest, though. Truly.
The Boys are not mentioned so I feel very little sorrow with regard to C
and read there, Truly, only the sick humor of Herry’s! The 51 words about how he drank booze, beer
alone it was, Jury, but saw the Light! And
sought the Light! JYeah, riiiight,
Herry, since 1977, you spent all of those years in self – improvement, did you?!? Noooot!!! Not since 1977, did you get fucking help from
anyone, least of all from alcoholics
anonymous or even maintain a membership there!
What a load of crockshit, Herry!”
This would’ve, too, been so easily tangibly proved –– had Judge Seizor
simply ordered it to be so tangibly proved –– which, of course, … he soooo did not.
And C’s entire second paragraph, all only about Dr. Legion
True and my long and deep sufferings of bookoo disorders within disorders! That is so funny. I never even knew till rereading this now as
I typed it that I suffered codependency from Husband #1 John’s problems with
drugs! John smoked pot now and
then: let’s see, back this would’ve been
before, during and just after Woodstock to which we hitchhiked together in mid August
of 1969, and he did a couple of hits of LSD after that I think and, hhmmm, what
else? Nothing. Nothing of which I ever knew! Perhaps he had done more, but I didn’t know
of it. ‘Problems with drugs’ I did not
know John to have had; he smoked marijuana but not even that regularly and
functioned in his day job as a New York City travel trade magazine writer just
fine. And liked it! No problems of which I ever knew. Let alone, of which … I ever told Herry! “Now?
Now I am having to defend, defend, defend … for a person – John – whom
Herod Edinsmaier hasn’t even met! Never
even one time – yet Herry soooo
knows, doesn’t he, Your ‘Honor’, … and is, carte blanche, permitted by you to
disparage even John!”
“And not only is there no
“And ‘the violent temper’ pronouncement? Here was more projection onto me,
Jury, and, this time, all of the blame, too!
Let’s recap here for real, Herry.
The Truth. On
this thing, Herry, deal. Deal with
it. Straight up. Literally dead serious.”
“I am not the one here, Herry, who goes ballistic at the
mere mention in your earshot vicinity of the two words, ‘gay guy’, am I? Not only am I the veterinarian and you the
pathologist, I the caretaker and healer of living creatures not even able to
tell me what feels wrong with them and you the dead – carver and tissue –
splitter who doesn’t even have to try
to relate to his ‘patients’ –– literally –– at all; but it was you, Doctor – “Healer”
Herod Edinsmaier, you, Herry, who actually handed that mother at the Columbia
morgue door her very own dead three – year – old child,
naked,
without so much as a crib sheet covering its lifeless corpse. That was
you, too, Dr. Edinsmaier, you who right out loud mocked and chortled, you who
snorted and sneered and sniggered at me every single time I spoke to you or
anyone else within your range of hearing about … the mother – child bond. At that ––
at the bond between child and mother –– you Herry, you actually fucking
laughed. Every single time. Must be
why, Herry, you could actually threaten both Zane and me with Zane’s death,
couldn’t you? Besides the violence of
your woman – hating pornography that you consumed with my little ones,
you
actually threatened to kill my child, too, didn’t you, Herry? And just the very year before! So I am not talking about the cold, late
November when Robyn and Robin, thank goodness, were home when I so needed them, am I, cuz that happened in
Columbia in the presence of all three of my even littler sons then,
didn’t it? When you physically hoisted
me up onto your shoulder and flung me over your back like a bag of feed or a
sack of some much shittin’ waste. And
threw me out of my home. My
own home. You, “The Good Doctor,” did that, and then
you up and locked me clean out of it. For two days and two cold, November nights. Away from my home and away from my babies. And I had to ask my friends, Robyn and Robin,
for a temporary place to crash! No,
Herry, I’m not talking about your earlier years of brutality, tyranny and
terrorism; I’m talking about
These pillared male judges about whom Dr. Herod Edinsmaier soooo,
so looks quite like? Why, they’ll never,
never, ever check out Liar Herry’s stories for how real, for how True – or
not – they are, will they?! “You
so, so know this one wee fact, don’t you?!
They will not. So it ends up,
doesn’t it, O Great Fathering One … that cuz of who you actually resemble in
maleness and in pillaredness, … … that it is soooo, soooo easy to lie to and to
deceive anyone inside an American civil court of ‘law’ and get
clean, slick away with it, isn’t it?! You literal Mother – Fucker!”
“So much for short, short section C. On to D.
Its lies. i) ‘in 1985, she
gathered the children around and told them they would never see me again until
they were 16. This caused two of our
children to run away from home for a short period of time.’ Truth?
Truth is, isn’t it, Herry: Zane
ran away because I gathered him around and told him he couldn’t go off fishing
by himself at Robyn and Robin’s that afternoon!
And that I wasn’t able to take him out fishing to
And as regards lie #ii) the minimal access? “Why, Herry, you know why that really happened,
you pornography perv!!! It is easier to
lie to and to deceive in an American court of civil law, isn’t it? I gave them over to your mother – fucking,
perverted ‘fatherly care’ up till early January 1989, every single friggin’
weekend for over 48 hours and then, well, you would not stop with your true
addiction. You wouldn’t even try. You wouldn’t even try to stop – or go to get
help to try to cease with it. Fuck, you
won’t even acknowledge it to this day – let alone, the crimes of providing
pornography to minor children, O Pillared Daddee! So,
hell, was I to endanger the Boys
longer than that?! I
think not!!!”
Little did I know then what Rachel has since so succinctly
stated, “And don’t you forget it, Legion:
there jus’ ain’t no judge who doesn’t surf porn himself!” Rachel is, well, right on the very mark,
isn’t she? “And not only the judges, is
it Herry? It was Mr. Jazzy Jinx himself,
my attorney, whose den, like yours
Herry, also contained Playboy for his
– and for who else’s, for all we know – for his casual off hours’ perusal. It was Mr. Jazzy Jinx who, himself physically
manhandling me, rammed me –— his very own
client, for chris’sake! –— upside the inside of his slammed office door and
bellowed at me, ‘Shut up, Legion! Now
you just shut up ‘bout this sex addiction stuff! You’re so exasperating, Legion! You have to shut up about this, you hear
me! Cuz, cuz, a … ah … ah … a lotta nice
people read Playboy, Legion. An’ ah, ah, it isn’t gonna play well. In court I mean. You can’t be saying this stuff in court, I’m
tellin’ ya! It just won’t play there at
all! Believe me!’ Even though it was The Fucking Truth, it
wouldn’t play well there in court Jinx had just fucking admitted, Herry. Soooo, how would I know about his own goddamn
den, do ya’ suppose, Herry? S’pose
someone else who knows pornography’s pernicious deadliness told me about it
when she happened to be there in it – Jinx’s den – when at his own home
visiting? S’pose someone – other than I!
– thinks pornography in the hands of little children is a … well, what,
Herry? What would that be, Herry, d’ya’s’pose?!
Try the word ‘crime’! We think
it’s a mother – fucking crime, Herry, don’t we, Realtor Madonna and I do?! As regards ‘the safety and wellbeing of
children and moral climate’ of section fucking D, Herry?”
Pornography, any
form of it, in the hands of, let alone
in the subscribed – to name of, minor
children are the crimes of child
endangerment and child abuse. That is what it really is. “But daJudge, even my own lawyer besides
yours, Herry, and of course, you yourself, Daddy Herry Dearest? Were you all going to point all of your
fingers back at yourselves ever? More
accurately, were they each ever going to stop this woman – loathing act? O, let’s just fucking summon up the First
Amendment here. The one no woman ever
had a hand or voice in constructing, that
First Amendment. And the one that,
when constructed, was never done so by those men with the intent by any of them
that it would also work for the Not Males, the DEhumans, the
females. Just summon it up. And, ‘Move the hell on,’ Jinx was so loud, so
angry and soooo hands – on that afternoon. One thing more I can now say with the
staunchest of strength, conviction and will, ‘Herry, just whoooooa! You just back the fuck up here. Nooooo invoking the First Amendment with me
you don’t, not any bloody damn more, you don’t!
No fucking First Amendment on this with me, Herry Daddee. Not with me.
How dare you entitle this section D anything
–– anything
at all –– about the so – called, alleged safety or wellbeing or moral
climate for kids. The very kids who were
sperm DNA – spawned by you. How mother –
fucking dare you, Herod Edinsmaier, You Child – Molesting Criminal!’”
* *
* *
With that same infamous, two – word lead – in phrase of very
common legalese … “comes now,” then … comes now the Respondent’s Affidavit, the
one dated 10 February 1989, and, as importantly, also known to all of us as
“evidence” for Sol Wacotler Seizor’s judging.
Note very, very well the near – to – complete absence, in seven
pages of single – lined type, of any negative reference to
my then still – husband, Doctor Herod Edinsmaier. “I, Legion True, am the Respondent in a
dissolution of marriage action concerning Herod Edinsmaier, my husband, which
is called case no. 9215 in the District Court for
Our three children, Zane Truemaier, Jesse Truemaier, and
Mirzah Truemaier, then ages 11, 9 and 8, respectively, lived with me at the
family residence, spending the late spring and summer involved with functions
including the finishing of the school year, Quakerly activities, soccer, Little
League, swimming, and two birthday celebrations. They saw their father at two of his
residences at his, their and my requests on an occasional basis. During the latter half of August 1988, Herod
Edinsmaier requested to have the children every weekend from his picking
them up at the family residence at 5 p.m. Fridays to his returning them to the
family residence Sundays at 6 p.m. I did
not feel this arrangement to be just in light of our frequent Quakerly
activities on First Day, but nevertheless, I allowed that this arrangement
commence on Friday, 02 September 1988, provided we discuss and implement a new
arrangement on 02 January 1989. Herod
Edinsmaier wanted the date to be 03 January 1989. I agreed to the 03 January 1989 date. Subsequently, all three boys were taken from
the family residence every weekend by their father, including Thanksgiving and
the New Year’s. I was allowed to have
them Saturday, 24 December 1988, if, in exchange, I allowed him to have them
Monday, 26 December 1988, which I did allow.
I discussed with all three boys alternative arrangements
before the 03 January 1989 meeting with Herod Edinsmaier. On 03 January 1989, I did not agree to his
wanting an arrangement involving the following:
he was to pick all three boys up from school Fridays at 3 p.m. and have
their primary physical care until I would pick them up from school at 3 p.m.
Tuesdays. Instead, I asked for and
subsequently implemented the arrangement that i) the boys wanted, and ii) my
attorney, Mr. Jinx, and I felt was in the best interests of all the
children: a) that their father have one,
two or all three of them whenever he, they, or I wanted, when it was mutually
agreeable, excepting out that the children always stay overnight at the Othello
Drive family residence on school nights and b) that for the three months of
summer, they spend either the first or last contiguous six weeks with one or
the other parent. This arrangement is
currently in place and from the Boys’, my attorney’s, and my perspective,
working generally well. At times, plans
have been made that are not kept by Herod Edinsmaier. At other times before the visitation occurs,
Herod Edinsmaier refused to change plans or to be flexible about situations
that arise after initial arrangements have been made. The boys always have received and continue to
receive their personal mail, as does their father, at the address of the
current family dwelling,
1. I
work full – time in the home as a homemaker and mother, am in town both during
the day and night every day of the week and at home together with the children
all evenings, except for occasional short periods devoted to civic
responsibilities, or Al – Anon meetings.
2. I
am presently in excellent physical and good mental health. I was hospitalized during 1970-71 for
depression on approximately three occasions for a period of approximately two
or three weeks each time. My only other
hospitalizations have been for the births of my children in 1976, 1978, and
1979.
3. I
try to be an example for my children that includes showing them that I take
care of myself:
a. We
four are active Quakers since November 1983, and official members of the
Religious
Society of Friends since 12 June 1988. I serve on the Ames Friends Meeting’s Peace
and Social Concerns Committee and its Financial Committee. The children are welcome at and may attend
all these meetings. I have taken care
for their spiritual custody since their births.
b. I
read a great deal – to myself – and aloud to them and always have.
c.
I am very active in a political party and in
nonpartisan politics, that includes being a mobile voter registrar. The children attend many of the functions
with me – and are encouraged to and do participate in these political
activities.
d. I
have always belonged to their schools’ PTAs, and currently serve on the PTA’s
Principal’s Advisory Committee and am their school’s representative on the
Superintendent’s Advisory Council, whose primary function involves construction
of the $20,000,000
e.
I am a sports and exercise enthusiast – jogging an
average of 25 minutes daily including winters, sometimes accompanied by the
boys on their bicycles. I quit smoking
cold turkey on 11 August 1983. I enjoy
helping them with their baseball, basketball, fishing and ice fishing, swimming
and soccer skills including coaching Mirzah’s soccer team when Herod Edinsmaier
was no longer able to do so, and I continued to do so in subsequent
seasons. My volunteering for their teams
includes meeting deadlines and coordinating treats and rides. I am a licensed Iowa Certified Safe Hunter,
having helped our eldest, Zane, also achieve his Certification and the pleasure
of safe hunting.
f.
I eat nutritiously – and in so doing, they do so
also. Our diet consists of low fat, low
cholesterol, low sodium, no caffeine, high fiber, and is balanced daily
with respect to the basic four food groups.
The boys make their own school lunches nightly with my supervision.
g.
I play piano, flute and guitar, and have daily
shepherded all three boys through two or more years of Suzuki piano
instruction, and now encourage the eldest with his trumpet practice.
h. I
love and have owned or cared for many animals.
The boys presently own and, under my supervision, care for a cat, a
snake, and two finches as well as whatever else if found injured, orphaned or
otherwise in need of individual attention.
Great respect in the regard for animals, property and environment is a
given in my and Zane’s hunting procedure.
i.
I always use a seat belt. They do, too.
I buckled them in from their respective first rides home from the
birthing hospitals and have either done so myself or seen that they or others
supervise this measure ever since. This
given extends to their friends, and anyone else riding with us is requested to
use their belts also.
j.
I have always seen that the family dwelling is
locked or as secure as possible at night.
The boys are now responsible for doing this procedure before retiring
when they stay overnight at their father’s residences.
k. I
have personally acquired formal education and have been responsible for
overseeing all three boys' formal curricula, including my just visiting school
for the day several times for each boy and have done so yearly since they have
attended any elementary school. I also
help daily with their remembering to do their homework, never doing the
assignments for them but assisting where appropriate. I also provide all necessary transportation
or other assistance to them so that they may pursue before and after school
activities. As soon as the present
family dwelling is sold we shall move to the immediate neighborhood of that
school so that meeting varying school – related activity schedules, including
friendships, by all three boys can easily be met by walking. At the time of purchasing
l.
I appreciate punctuality and try to show the boys how
and where punctuality is useful, kind and wise in all their affairs.
m. I
advocate accident and disease prevention that includes smoke detectors
installed when and where absent, daily humidification for dry winter air, water
safety equipment and lessons, prudent housekeeping measures, especially
involving safety and hygiene. That
includes removal of unnecessary obstacles, removal of animal manure from home
or yard, removal of extra – ordinary build up of molds and mildew from bathroom
fixtures and appropriate lessons and equipment for other unfamiliar or dangerous
activities such as hunting, wrestling, skateboarding, etc.
n. I
appreciate good grooming and take care of my appearance and countenance. In like manner, I have taught the boys, and
for six years now they have known the basics of, how to do or help with their
own laundry. They bathe daily and I
encourage them in the discipline of keeping themselves and their immediate
space free of clutter and filth, and in appropriate condition. I respect their and they respect my modesty,
especially in matters of physical appearance and speech.
o. I
advocate and practice energy, resources’ and money conservation. Examples include the turning off of unused
utilities, water conservation, coupon shopping, use of clotheslines when
available, the practice of Quaker Frugal at least once weekly and savings
accounts or plans. The boys directly or
personally participate in all these measures because I have helped them to
understand the wisdom of their use. Wise
and proper handling of all property, including their own, and the environment
is observed and encouraged.
p. I
am in excellent physical and good mental health as evidenced by a complete
annual physical examination performed by Dr. Robert Narod of
q. I
believe in love and try daily to practice nonviolence in all affairs,
trustworthiness, equality, listening, compassion, charity, sensitivity,
kindness, friendship, honesty, humility and awareness. What my interpretations are of these
qualities I have tried to give my three boys as guides for them to use in
choosing their directions. My
interpretations include the “little things”:
caring to remember to fix BLT on toast for breakfast from time to time,
to decorate for Valentine’s Day, to send their godmother a birthday card or
their grandfather a typed letter for the heck of it – and to show him their
keyboarding skills, to help check under the pillow after the Tooth Fairy
visited, to get Santa’s work done by 5 a.m. Christmas Day, to color the Easter
eggs and to bake the birthday cakes – each of these things, year after year, to
care to remember to renew the boys’ subscriptions before the deadlines; and
some “not so little things”: how to make
friends and to be a friend (Friend), how to wake up every morning loving your
brothers and wishing for them and helping them to achieve respect
and well – being for more of their day that day than less of their day that
day, how to apologize to somebody, and when they, the boys, have been truly
wronged, how to help them admit this injustice to themselves and feel
comfortable, able and deserving in asking that that errant person apologize to
them, and how to help them believe that they have the right to mess up, to make
mistakes, to blow it, to disappoint themselves and to fall short of the
mark.
I love my husband, Herod Edinsmaier, and my boys, Zane,
Jesse and Mirzah. For all that means, I
believe all of their best interests are being and will best be served by my
maintaining the children’s sole primary physical care.
Attached is a letter from my parents with whom I and the
children have frequent contact.
[Grandpa and Grandma True’s
06 February 1989 REMARKS
To Whom It May Concern:
1). Legion
participates in the children’s school activities. We both, as Legion’s parents and as the boys’
grandparents, visited their
2). After we realized
that the oldest son was a nature lover and much interested in hunting and
fishing, his grandfather gave the boy, now age 12, a birthday gift of a Savage
.22 – .410 beginning shooter’s gun, an over / under rifle / shotgun. It was his mother who saw to it that the boy
took (and passed) a formal course in gun handling, gun safety, and marksmanship
from experts in the Ames Chapter of the Izaak Walton League. Legion herself also took the same coursework
at the same time, passed all requirements, and often takes her son hunting
during legal season. Both mother and all
three boys enjoy the outdoors in the recreational sense as well as otherwise.
3). Furthermore,
Legion herself likes all athletic sports that her sons enjoy and takes part in
them also – even to the extent that she coaches teams.
4). Legion expects
the children to join in routine household tasks, and occasionally gives
appropriate reward if assigned work is well done.
5). She does not
hesitate to tackle difficult maintenance jobs herself. She has taught herself and knows a great deal
about the mechanics of home and family equipment like the care of the laundry
equipment, and is already teaching the boys the rudiments of such knowledge.
6). She is punctual –
carries out decisions, once they are made.
7). Because of her
profound, congenital deafness in one ear, she constantly has to improvise ways
and means of dealing with even a simple problem, such as responding to a child’
question when she is on the telephone.
8). Legion watches
very carefully the health needs and safety precautions of and for the boys, and
often discusses these concerns with us.
Scheduled and unscheduled physical examinations, shots, immunizations,
dental work, eye exams; seat belts, field and water safety – all these are but
examples in this reference.
9). She has been
satisfied with “make – do”, “hand – me – down” clothing and other necessities
for the children in order to cut costs and conserve resources, and to treat all
three fairly and equally.
10). Legion will make and take time to have friends
associate with her children. Keeping
well – trained pets in the home adds to this “bit of happiness” for her boys
and their friends.
Respectfully submitted,”
And then both my parents, Mehitable True and AmTaham True, each signed
the letter separately. Since Mehitable
is legally blind it is not possible that she typed this; and I recognize all
over it anyhow my father’s text, not the least of which humorously enough, of
course, is the exact description of
the gun he bequeathed to Zane! So he not
only typed it, AmTaham created it, too.
Never has there been in all of Acts One, Two or Three – because
I now know … there never would have needed
to be – for endorsing, let alone, for ‘protecting’ Herry’s parental fathering
role –– there never would have needed to be one such document like AmTaham’s had
been for me –– … so never has there ever been such a written, defensive – like
submission to The Court nor to any one of the some 25 total judges (almost all
of whom – that is, 24 of whom were male –– except for, of course!!! that lone,
token female appellate one who had penned the scathing but, naturally, … powerless … six – page
dissentience, Judge Patsy Shawshank) formally involved of such a sworn – to or
affirmed letter by Juggern Aut Misein, the androcentrically tyrannical patriarch
of that entire passel of Edinsmaiers, let alone one from him detailing and
defending the fatherly capabilities and traits of one of those half dozen male
children of Detanimod’s, Herod. Not one
word from Juggern, then still an Ancestor in Training, Detanimod being, of
course, long driven quite well – dead and so, by the time of the opening of any
Act, already an Ancestor!
With frumpy little Miss Cherry Canard charmed right into his
back pocket, thieving and thuggish and perverted Herry – Daddee Edinsmaier
found himself more than very well – positioned then to not secure physical care custody of Jesse, Mirzah and Zane at all –
but to so make it all out to look like
that was exactly what he so badly wanted.
Attorney Jazzy Jinx was quite correct on calling this one.
With Herry so very well – positioned to obtain nothing more
than his escape from all accountability
for the Truemaier Boys’ primary care and upbringing and for his taking only the Joy Toy Boy fun of
acting like their 17 – year – old, older bro with, therefore, none of the real work of parenting at all, why, the orchestral
music decrescendoed before the opening of the curtain on Act One, Trial
One. And the Overture of the Opera, “We Were Mothers Once, and Young,”
concluded.
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