THE ANGELS AND ME
by
Anthonystjoseph
Even as a young child I knew something was
going on. I am descended from very
religious and spiritual genes on both sides of my family. I was around four or five years old the first
time, that I remember, I felt their thoughts.
I was staring at my reflection in the mirror. I stared at myself for what seemed like the
longest time and the craziest thought ran through my head. A thought that said I was special, a thought
that all kids have but are taught and trained to lose by the harshness of the
world, or as some people might put it, the reality of the world. Well this thought said I was really
special. I mean really, really, really
special. Even at that point I knew that
people who think that they are really, really, really special were generally
considered crazy and locked up, so I shook that thought right out of my head
and said out loud, “That’s crazy!”
Little did I know that approximately
thirty years later my half-brother would contact me during one of the saddest
and most life changing moments of my life and tell me that God had talked to
him and told him that very same thought about me that I had tried to shake out
of my head. What was happening to me in
my life? What were these thoughts, and
more importantly, why were they happening?
But on to more earthly matters, or once
again, as some would say, back to reality.
I was born in St. Paul, Minnesota, when my training, or should I say, childhood
development, was transferred to the city of Los Angeles at the age of two, the City of Angels. They called the part of Los Angeles that I
lived in, ‘The Jungle’. In the city of
‘Lost Angels’, as I like to think of it, my naiveté became quite evident. I mean I was Gullible Gary, Nancy Naïve, and
Stupid Nupid all rolled up into one. I
mean talk about being thrown amongst the wolves. These kids, so called angels, almost ate me alive.
We had this substitute teacher one day in
the third grade and she was not prepared for this inner-city school. Those ‘jungle’ kids tore her a whole new
asshole and probably gave her a new belief system. They had her climbing the walls. They pushed every single button she had to
push. Finally, she couldn’t take it
anymore and decided she was going to take charge. She started screaming at the kids and they
screamed back. I was sitting at my desk
and was numb and almost catatonic at the scene unveiling itself before my eyes. My empathic abilities had me all twisted
up. It was clear to me that she was not
going to recover from this at any time soon.
She decides to grab one of the kids.
It’s the third grade but I’m thinking this kid might take her. He runs, she chases; around and around the peripheral
of the classroom they go as all our heads follow them in circular motion as he
runs and as she chases. All of a sudden,
the kid behind me sticks his leg out and trips the teacher and she falls at my
feet creating a loud thud. I start to
cry for her and I go to help her up and she says to me in a slow and deep
guttural growl, “DON’T YOU TOUCH ME.” The teacher had transformed into a primal
creature right before my eyes. She was
not well and wasn’t going to be well for quite some time. You didn’t have to be an empath to see that.
The ambulance came and carted the
substitute teacher off to where all decent innocent substitutes who think they
can handle an inner-city school go ~ the infamous padded room. The little demons in training had
accomplished their mission. The so called
‘angels’ were once again at peace,
they had had their meal and been fed.
Meanwhile, there is still one little Gary Gullible around wiping his
tears, little old me. One of their
leaders decides, why not do a little side job before retiring for the day. He tells me, “Watch this!” He goes up under the big round table where we
are sitting and proceeds to stick his hand up under this girl’s dress and in
between her legs while she sits across from us and he then digs in her
panties. I know because I looked under
the table as he was doing it. Um-huh,
stuck my head right under the table and saw him with his hand in her private
area digging around. I was naïve but I still
had to see some evidence, although when I raised my head up and saw the look on
the girls face it was all the evidence one needed. The girl was terrified and being held captive
in a daytime nightmare.
Now this next occurrence is when they, the
‘lost angels’, as they shall now be
referred too, found out that my believability factor was very high. Some people might call it the stupid gene;
it’s from my mother’s side of the family.
He, the little crotch digging devil, went back up under the table, back
into the little girl’s panties and then came back and said, “Look!” He opened his hand and there was a little brownish
green nut with what looked like a little fur and tiny little chunks as a
covering. The nut was about the size of
a pistachio nut but looked hard. He
said, “I took this out of her private.”
I pleaded softly because I didn’t want the teacher to hear, “Put it
back, put it back.” This new teacher
knew how to handle these angels, pardon me, lost angels; she just left them
alone and minded her own business because she knew if they felt the slightest
need, they would jack her up like they did that poor substitute who now only mumbled
words occasionally and took her food through a straw. I silently pleaded with him to put the girls
‘nut’ back. Gary Gullible was rearing
his stupid head for SURE! I begged him
to put the girl’s internal organ back and he said, “Do you want me to?” I said, “YES,
put it back!” He said, “Okay,
okay.” He reluctantly went back up under
the table and proceeded to put the ‘nut’ back into the girl’s innards. City of Angels my ass! Somebody get me out of here! Now for the life of me, to this day, I do not
know why this little girl sat through this whole thing without saying a word. I did hear that some girls like somebody
digging in their private, I don’t know, just something I heard. Now about that surgically removed and
replaced ‘nut’. It wasn’t until twenty
years later and I was at a fundraiser in West Hollywood for the new mayor Steve
Schultz and ate a Spanish Olive from the buffet that I realized what this ‘NUT’
was! It was a SPANISH OLIVE SEED! After I ate the Spanish Olive and revealed
the nut, there was the fur all over it, and everything else I remembered
seeing; the moist chunks, the ridges, all of it the same as back then. I stood there and stared at the olive seed as
clarity came over me. I had traveled
half way around the world and been to Egypt and Germany but there I was around
ten miles away from the school where I was traumatized by the little demon
angel in training staring at the truth.
I think I looked around in slight fear thinking he was under one of the
tables traumatizing some poor old West Hollywood socialite and digging in her
panties serving up appetizers as a waiter.
Gary Gullible was rearing his ugly and naïve head in my early twenties
right in the middle of a public function.
After I got out of school in the afternoons
in the city of lost angels, I would have to go to a day care center until my
mom got off work. Can you say absentee
father? Well actually, none-at-all
father. Although I would not know this
until later in life, my birth certificate is blank where my father’s name goes
so that was the first clue as to who and what my father was to be in my
life. The woman who owned and operated
the day care center, or should I say the ‘House
of Hell’, was a ‘head demon’ in training named Jemima. Well, one day my ear started hurting and then
the pain just got worse and slowly became unbearable. When my mother got off work and came to
retrieve me and saw that I was miserable and crying over the pain in my ear, it
was decided that I had an earache! I had
never experienced anything so painful in my young life.
My mom, who preferred me quiet and in
front of a television, didn’t know what to do at the sight of me writhing in
pain. The Head demon said she knew exactly what to do. I stopped writhing for just a second to cock
an eyebrow at Jemima because she was always a suspect. I always knew to keep a good eye on her! Anyway, Jemima says, “Bring him to the
kitchen.” I am watching everybody
because my sensors are going off! I’ve
heard the screams of lesser intelligent creatures who this woman has taken into
the other room for minor infractions so I know something is up. And why are they holding me! Then it happens, Jemima turns on the gas
burner on top of the stove. I try to
bolt and she says, “GRAB ‘EM!” Dear
God! My mom has taught me how to talk
and reach out to God and at this point, I am REACHING OUT!
They, her two henchmen, get hold of both
my arms. My mom should have known
something was up with this day care since this woman always had two henchmen
around to help. I was too young to tell
you what they were there for so I couldn’t tell you to this day. They grab my arms and she says, “Bring him over here”. I’m searching my soul trying to figure out why
on earth my mother is letting them do this and what exactly are they
doing. She pours something into a spoon
and puts the spoon over the fire. OH
GOD! TAKE ME NOW GOD! TAKE ME NOW!
She then says, “Tilt his
head”. The whole time my mother
continues to watch and allows all of this to happen. In my mother, I am witnessing the behavior of
a traitor if you asked me. The woman
takes the hot spoon and pours the liquid right into my ear. I let out the scream of someone being impaled
through the rectum in the early days of England’s war on Protestants. They release me and I feel no pain. I think its shock. I stare at everyone involved and pledge that
I will never trust another human being in my life. It was at this point that everything
changed. They were different than I. I could never commit an act of such nature on
another human. IT WAS WAR! A silent war that I would fight with all my
wit and intelligence from that day on.
Never would I admit to having an ear ache again. My powers were stronger than I knew. I would never experience an ear ache again in
my entire life and I’m sure it was due to the fear of that big black woman
being summoned from hell to turn on the gas burner with her two gargoyles to
hold my arms and tilt my head!
I think it was a few weeks before I spoke
to my mom again unless it was to say something like NO or SO. Our relationship was downhill from then
on. Little did I know that almost fifty
years later, she would be laying in her death bed taking her last breath
saying, “I won’t die until I see Tony.”
I, at the time who had not seen my mother in years, would be refusing to
visit her death bed based on our history and her deceptive machinations. Eventually her death came, my visit did not.
Well, finally my screams of terror and
prayers of passion were heard by the ‘upstairs department’ and I was granted
leave from the city of angels. My
mother, that’s what she was trying to get me to believe at that point,
requested a transfer back to the airport in Minneapolis, Minnesota. A big earthquake in 1972 had just traumatized
the city of angels and she was
definitely one of the ones who wanted to get out! I will remember that earthquake for my entire
life and beyond for what happened and how it happened. My mother and I were sleeping in the same room,
each having our own twin bed in the one bedroom apartment. The room was grey due to the curtains being
drawn or the time of day or both. Both
of us were sleeping very soundly when all of a sudden, the room started to
violently shake. I remember I awoke
first and was startled by the new shaking scenario as pieces of stucco were
falling on us from the ceiling. My
mother awoke and realized what was happening and her first instinct was to jump
on top of me and cover me from the falling ceiling. I start to struggle with my mom as I am
feeling violated and suffocated by her fiercely covering me. I think about this event often in my life
when I question my mother’s love for me.
Did she lose her love for me after that?
Was she just holding me out of her own fear? Or was she simply just protecting her
investment?
The moving truck seemed to show up the
next day. We moved immediately and lived
in St. Paul, Minnesota, the place where I was born. Little did I know that this was the main
center of torture. I should have known
that all was not going to be well when I met my mother’s sister. She was another head demon in training. I
was surrounded no matter where I went. Nothing
but demons, my life was a living hell! I
was standing in the kitchen of my grandmother’s house at the tender age of seven
or eight when her presence entered my world.
She came running into my grandmother’s house knowing that my mother and
I had just arrived. I heard the screen
door slam and this voice that said, “WHERE
IS HE?” Yeah, they were coming for
me. I heard someone say, “He’s in the
kitchen.” How did they know who she was
talking about? Why did she come looking
for me? Did they know by her actions
that she was clearly looking for the sacrificial lamb? Was I the lamb? She came running into the kitchen and that’s
when I saw her. I had lost all sight of focus on anything but
the voice of the wind. The voice in the
wind had manifested itself in front of me in the personage of this woman, a
woman out of breath who seemed to crave the moment as a dying vampire craved
blood! She stood there at the north
entrance to the kitchen crouched like a tiger.
She was a tall,
extremely light skinned woman of substantial girth with a large afro that was
half auburn red and half mango yellow! I
later found out she called the yellow part gold. She came running straight towards me in the
kitchen with a maniacal grin on her face and then tackled me to the ground and
sat on top of my chest while pinning my arms down with her knees. I was catatonic and now I was completely sure
I was in the medical condition described as shock. She then proceeded to lift her blouse while
wearing no bra and revealing a very large set of huge white breast and jiggled
them back and forth and then took out all her teeth, as in a set of dentures,
and screamed, “I’m your AUNTIE CONNIE!”
Great!
So now I have the head demon named Jemima with the tablespoon of hotness
and the toothless two pale moons of September as my top role models for women
outside of my mother who herself happens to constantly leaves me in a state of
abandonment. I feel a balanced
comfortable life of heterosexuality in my future for sure. What do you think? Everyone called Connie by her nickname which
was ‘New’. They can call her New if they
want to but her shit got old real fast.
With that initial warning completely put
out of my mind since I was so happy at being liberated from the city of angels, I pressed on. I was walking on cloud nine. Not one person in St. Paul knew that I was
really Nancy Naïve and Gary Gullible rolled up into one. I had been given a new start, a clean
slate. I was now one of the
in-crowd. Back then I didn’t know about
the demon website, which is how they
communicate with each other and clearly how they put my name and likeness up as
in, ‘get him!’ And that was before computers.
I start my new school with my head held
high. I wear my new attitude like new
school clothes. Satan out of my way, I am love. Well you know love like that attracts him
quicker than anything. All the kids at
school were impressed by the fact that I was from the city of angels. I mean that’s where ‘The Jackson Five’ lived,
and yeah, I knew them. At least you
would have thought I did by the way I paraded about. Some of the boys were even scared of me. I had not been established in their pecking
order so nobody knew my fighting skills.
They didn’t know my capabilities in the ‘meet me after school’
arena. So, one day during my ‘parade’
this kid named Leon pissed me off. I
think he forgot to bow or something.
Anyway, I told him I was going to kick his ass. He whimpered off waiting to be handled later
by the gangster from the city of angels.
I was riding high. Little did I
know that not even the singing of Barbra Streisand herself could stop the rain
that was heading for my parade. I should
have known because Leon is Noel (Christmas), spelled backwards, and that’s just
what Leon did. He backed up and canceled
my Christmas.
The day the ‘rain’ came I was still riding
high when we were let out of school. I
was leaving the school yard and walking down the stairs as I spotted Leon in
front of me and remembered the ‘contract hit’, my own authorization, it had to
be carried out. Now, Leon must have had
a father and I must have been the school bully the way this story ended,
because Leon had grown some courage and apparently, some boxing tips as well. Here’s how it went. I said to Leon as we were walking down the
stairs, “Hey! Wasn’t I supposed to kick
your ass? You ready for that ass
whipping now!” Much to my sheer terror
he said, “Okay.” All I know is that
thirty seconds later the school principal was pulling Leon from on top of
me. I got up off the ground surrounded
by knowing demons. My cover had been
blown. The parade had stopped, the
confetti had turned to laughter, the fans had turned to foes, and my float was
flat.
I was left in a cloud of shame that would
stay with me for years to come. A cloud
that angels themselves would have to dissipate.
I had learned true humility.
Worse than that, I had learned fear, and Leon had smelled it. The next day in class when breakfast was
served, there were two trays. One tray
had little boxes of cereal and the other tray had the milk. Leon served the cereal. I remember it vividly. The school played music over the intercom
system during breakfast to calm the savage little beasts. Carly Simon was coming through the speakers
singing, “You’re so vain. I bet you
think the song is about you. You’re so
vain…” POP! Instead of cereal, Leon had given me a sturdy
punch to the side of the head. The
teacher had left the class to take care of something. I laid my head on my desk as Leon exclaimed,
“You’re a punk.” I didn’t respond for
fear of more retaliation. With my head
lying on the desk, I started to cry. I
heard some girl say, “Leave him alone Leon.”
The teacher came back and I was still crying so she asked the class,
“What happened to him?” I wanted to
scream, ‘YOU LEFT THE ROOM, THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED!’ Someone informed her that Leon had hit
me. The teacher said, “Leon.” And that was it, no torture, no punishment,
NOTHING! I had been humiliated and there
was no penalty for Leon. Heads were
going to roll! Just wait until I talk to
my angels. But then I realized that they
had abandoned me. They had brought me to
this new place were a different kind of shame was known other than naiveté. Now it was no longer Nancy Naïve or Gullible
Gary; it was now, Scary Jerry. I made up
my mind at that point right then and there that I would never ever subject
myself to such public displays of humiliation ever again. If you ever saw me get my ass kicked again
you would have to see it on cable because I was no longer doing theaters. In those days, there was no such thing as
cable so guess what? No ass whippings
for Tony anymore. Not until the eighth
grade when they said JoAnne whipped my butt was my reputation tarnished, and
I’m here to tell you she never touched me.
I was entirely too fast. She
might have chased me, but she never caught me and she definitely never touched me.
By
Anthonystjoseph
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