A waste of days, and wasted nights

A year ago this week my nephew was in town on leave from overseas deployment in the US MARINES, as I left my apartment in my wheelchair with Zeus the service dog on handsfree waist leash a group of local gangbanger wannabes circled around us on skateboards aiming straight at Zeus and in the melee I was thrown out of my chair slamming into a right angled steel gate post. The sharp right angled crease of the hard steel slammed my left shoulder, the impact causing a 97% tear of my rotator cuff and fractured my shoulder blade and crushed two nerves to my left bicep and right there in that moment my active productive “who the fuck is disabled not me” life screeched to a screaming fucking halt!

I wrote many times about the five month struggle to find a surgeon who gave enough of a shit about the disabled to operate, most saying they did surgery to give back quality of life and in their opinion in the case of the disabled we had none in the first place so surgery was a waste of their precious coveted hospital privileges?

On February 4th this year I had all the above repaired except when the bandages were changed the surgeon forgot to suture one of my five surgical wounds! Yes and he replied “oh shit my bad”

I was promised “3months and you’ll be better than you were pre injury” eight months later and I can barely lift 5 lbs with that arm but 150 with my other?

The other injury to my life that day that surgery can’t touch was the injuryto my soul! That morning I was s 275-280lb 6ft4 excellent disabled “adaptive ” climber who hated staying home did 10 mile rolls in my hybrid off-road wheelchair for fun and climbed rocks like a spider.

Month by month with searing pain reducing me to a power chair and being house bound and nothing but my depression daytime tv and the fridge my depression agoraphobia and waistline all held a race to see who reached maximum growth first.

It was I think a draw, in eight months I won’t answer the door unless I absolutely have to, I won’t leave the house without Ella and it’s absolutely necessary my PTSD rules both my waking and sleeping(when if ever it comes) and depression understudies for it when it doesn’t come knocking and these days I am weighing in the 350lbs and hopefully losing.

It’s a vicious circle,I can’t climb because my arm is fucked I won’t climb because I’m too fat I can’t climb because I have to leave my safe studio apartment in flushing to do it and on the days I think I might try PTSD and depression toss a coin and it doesn’t matter which wins ultimately I don’t so I toss a coin between the tv the laptop and the fridge but fuck why choose there’s room for all but if these days keep up there ever increasingly less room for me so then I worry over my waist line and that’s just one more piece of shit to totally fuck my days!

All because the ” kangbangers” (Korean teens who think they’re the bloods and the crips if they rolled on skateboards and swapped soul food for kimchee!) chose to pull there shit on me and Zeus that October day.

Yes they might have done the physical damage but they have no idea  the mental and emotional spiral it caused? I was never someone who used the wheels under my ass as an excuse but these days the cats ride my chair more than me and Zeus while still alerting to seizures is more a lap dog than active chair pulling outdoors dog he usd to be.

I hold on for my final move to New Mexico there at least even being housebound means acreage and sunshine and fresh air , the world it serms just keeps building walls between us and the move, walls that would make trump jealous.

I know things will get better I hope at least physically I should it’s just undoing the damage this year has done is harder than any route or cliff I ever climbed and as I get closer to 60 than 50 taking the weight off is so much harder than I ever remember!

So sorry for not writing for so long but the fog had to clear long enough to form a cognitive concept and even this had to done in an iPhone because my laptop got waterlogged.

Got to pick a pocket or two


Oliver twist by Charles dickens was always my favorite book because I lived it, as a child no one understood me and I acted out, I was being abused and couldn’t tell anyone so I acted out, my mother was a terrible mother my family sucked so I acted out, from an early age I knew I was a girl in a boy’s body living in a family who would drown me if they knew so I acted out so to the world I was uncontrollable.

In primary, what the Americans call elementary, I held the record for the most expulsions by a student in a single year it still stands. By good luck and the intervention of some loving sports coaches I survived, just barely. Then my mom was told I had one last chance or I would finish my education in juvenile detention.

I had an appointment at the local education department field office with a teacher Michael Belnap, he it seems ran a class called the alternative mode a rag tag bunch of students just like me who all acted out in their own way.  We met,he in his hawaiin shirt  and camo shorts and sneakers with tom sellecks moustache,he chatted and he asked me why I did what I did? He looked at me with eyes that could see the soul, two weeks later I was in “the huts” He it seems was a cognitive Fagan, and  we were his band of emotional pickpockets.

I was a young Oliver and through his compassion along with his sidekick Trevor brown together they took flotsam and jetsam from the education department and put together vessels worthy of the Cunard line.

Each one of us today has survived in their own way, many of us have travelled the world and many of us have floated on the sea of emotions but our north star was always one Michael belnap”belly” “jelly belly” We gathered with our Fagan in a Nissan hut not a loft of Victorian London,where we picked classes not pockets(well most of the time) and through belly’s compassion and guidance and no bullshit approach to life we made it.

That was 1979 Adelaide, fast forward to 2009 sunshine coast Queensland Australia, some tough life savers decided that my sorry ass in my wheelchair deserved to be in the water enjoying my blessed sunburnt country if only for one day. The view from a wheelchair is different you see so much that others miss and nothing was different this wondrous day. As they tipped me back to push me easier the life savers tower came into view and there was my Fagan, belly older, a little rounder the moustache still so good tom selleck would be jealous and I asked the life guard “is that mike Belnap?’ they replied “you mean belly?” I laughed and asked them to yell “do kids still call you jelly belly”? They did and he laughed and said “there’s only a small bunch of brats who call me that which one are you”?

In the next hour on that beachline in Queensland the years rolled back, the memories returned I came out to belly he said he didn’t care he only ever wanted us to be happy and we have remained in contact ever since.

A week ago belly posted he was solo sailing up the Aussie coast in his latest yacht and he has regaled us with pics and brownie his side kick from our school days even joined him, I shouldn’t call him a sidekick he worked for us just as hard as belly did but for the purpose of this story it works.

On one of today’s pics someone posted “you lead us in work and you lead us in retirement” and I thought about this, how does compassion retire? How does a man who has saved so many turn off the caring? he’s had his own struggles. His beautiful boy TY was born with down syndrome  but in typical Belnap fashion has grown to be an outstanding human and in 2010 his beloved Nancy took her last wave and didn’t surf back to shore.

I answered that post “he’s not retired just redirected” but I’m sure even now there’s someone who thanks the heavens above every day Belnap is in their life, because I know I do and someone of that caliber doesn’t know how to be any different. The saddest day I can imagine is when he takes his last set but I know the many in my life who he saved pray every day that is not for many years to come.

As I write this I am six months into recovery for shoulder reconstruction and a 97% torn rotator cuff and it only seems to be getting worse, I have been permanently disabled with wheels under my ass for almost a decade but Belnap’s influence has me tell myself every day my broken body is in a chair my brain just hitches a ride.

So just like the verse in banjo Patterson’s Clancy of the overflow where he sits in his office imagining clancy “up on the Lachlan where drovers go”, I imagine belly spinnakers set full billowing canvas and the thought of the pacific and the wind and his laugh gets me through the pain and the boredom and who knows I may get to sit in his boson’s chair again and run my toes across the surface, this time were all a little older a little grayer and if were a little wiser it’s because of the captain at the wheel.

Collection agents can screw your life even when the debts not yours!


On the weekend she who must be obeyed and I checked our credit scores on credit karma, Because of my lack of work due to my disability mine wasn’t great but what was surprising was there was an outstanding collection for $75 for a dr from May 2010?

Because of my childhood rape issues I can count on one hand the males of any kind I have let touch my body ever, so for there to be a claim that I owe money to a male md was something that got my interest.

I rang the collection agency, they made trump sound like Einstein  so they were no help, then I googled the doctor and found an address in Manhattan, the building was familiar I used to see a female doctor on the ground floor for a few months until she kept slipping “pray away the trans” prayer cards in with every bill.

So I rang the practice, the doctor in question left the practice in 2012 and to quote A.B. (BANJO) Patterson “they don’t know where he are” and in their 25 year history they’ve never seen me, So I asked for the practice manager he heard a rumor of los Angeles so I googled the good doctors name and LA and found him.

So I rang the doctor in LA, and after getting past his Cerberus of a nurse I told him that credit karma says I owe him $75 from May 2010, he was quiet and said “I was on sabbatical for April and May that year and saw no patients”? WTF so I rang the agency back they didn’t care they want to know when they get their money.

So my credit rating is being affected by- A bill I never incurred

  • To a doctor I never saw

At a practice I never visited

I asked both the doctor and the practice in New York if I just paid them could they contact the collection agency? and they both said without any knowledge of the account and an account number there is nothing they can do?

So I asked the collection agency what I have to do? according to them

A/I have to get affidavits from the practice and the doctor and he’s in LA stating I don’t owe the money

B/I have send notarized copies to all three credit rating agencies asking to have it removed and that normally takes up to a year, but they can also simply say no!

In the meantime that one collection is the difference between an average credit rating that would get me small lines of credit or pass real estate checks, and being told to piss off.

Check your credit ratings folks, if I an immigrant from another country can have false reports on my credit rating anyone is fair game #suckstobeme

I have become my relatives


When I was a kid my family already had enough members for our own basketball team and mum was pregnant. One day in a small country town called Clare my dad drove my mom to the front door of the hospital to have our sister and said “I’m out of smokes I’ll be back in a few” and till the day he died 40 years later he never came back home.

While mom was in hospital he took every stitch of furniture and clothing we had, because his girlfriend/bitch/slut/family wrecking whore needed them for her love nest?

Mum came home with 6 kids under 15, 4 0f us under 10, 2 under 5, to a housing commission home with even the kitchen sink stolen. She had no way to earn a living except her sewing  and her garden, so she got us kids in the back yard and had a game, who ever could dig over the largest patch of the green lawn in the quickest time got a prize, the prize was we got to plant seeds and seedling of vegetables.

Before mum had met my asshole of a father she was a qualified seamstress and tailor, so our front door became a revolving door. She made every wedding dress, graduation dress, party dress, bridesmaid dress in the 100 mile area of our home and we ripped up all garden and lawn and planted vegetables, strawberries and herbs.

With my sister in a stroller and me a beside her pushing an old English high wheel pram full of strawberries and veggies and herbs, she would go from pub to pub to pub at the back door because women were not allowed in the front back then and she sold her wares. A sympathetic friend who was a long haul trucker used to get her sales on his route and twice a month we would load his truck with the food we grew.

She made a livable wage, barely because their alternative was a truck that drove 200 miles round trip and they paid double for delivery.

We had relatives who knew we were broke and a few came with a “chicken they had extra” or a “lamb they killed extra” or a “side of beef they had extra” but from family that wasn’t a regular thing even though they owned and ran millions of acres of cattle and sheep properties, and we had an honorary uncle “George lowther” he was no relation he was just one of those friends of your parents who you were forced to call uncle”

Uncle George was a man mountain, 6ft 6 and 400lbs and his wife “aunty Barbara” was 4ft 10 inch and 80lbs they were hilarious when she was too much he would simply put her over his massive shoulder.

From my earliest memory aunty Barbara was sick, she always had a walker or a cane and a table with literally dozens of different medications on it, yet George despite his massive size was literally and officially as fit as a bull.

George worked at an army base as a maintenance man, and always was buying bingo tickets at the pub (in Australia you put 20cents in a machine and if the ticket spells bingo depending on the color you win from 50 cents to 100 dollars)

George always showed up at Christmas with a “turkey he won at the pub” or a Christmas ham or 10lb of sausages he was a mensch, as we say in Oz he was bloody true blue.

At his funeral we met the pub owner and the butcher and grocer he never won any of it he used to special order for as he told them “his angels in the city who were doing it hard”

But Barbara was always sick we figured she would die first, But one year George’s doctor retired and a new guy forced him on a diet and he lost 100lbs quickly and had a heart attack and died. We took over care of aunty barb and she was always sick, I used to ride over on my bike and mow her lawns and do her shopping and pick up her meds, and I used to think “I never want to be as sick her, I never want to be that house bound and reliant as others”.

I don’t know what happened to aunty barb, when I became estranged from my family she was still in an elder care village with her walker and her pills and her six dogs and two cats and four parrots.

Since 2007 I have been permanently using a wheelchair for my ability to get around, due to an inherited neurological condition complicated by a serious attempt to kill me which left me with spinal cord injury and I sit home during the day.

I used to be very active with judo and rock climbing and swimming and road racing and more in my wheelchair, until October last year when my shoulder was smashed up and in February I had reconstruction surgery.

Today as I write I am in my mid-fifties at home with two wheelchairs two canes one dog three cats and used to have two birds, I have a cupboard full of numerous drugs I must take daily and Ella does most things a healthy person would do for themselves, I have become Aunty Barbara!

The funny thing is aunty barb and Uncle George, lived basically off the grid way up in the Adelaide hills and coincidentally Ella and I are moving to a similar place shortly.

Is this what life is? As a child you’re shown what your future could be?  I feel as if I was visited by the ghosts of Christmas future as a kid and the rides to mow lawns and pick up shopping was the universes way of saying this could be you!

Aunty Barb, I believe lived to almost 100, so maybe there  is hope that Ella and I still have many years to raise hell, the difference is  we have no one on a bike to ride over its just Ella and I but then it always has been and probably always will be.

Look around at the elders you care for, look at how they live what their medical conditions are and ask yourself is that I am I being shown my life or just what it could be?

The answer is upto you!

All it takes for evil to prosper is for good men to do nothing!


Two teens walk into columbine high with pipe bombs and AR-15 bushmaster rifles and children died

Nothing was done

A mentally ill student went crazy at Virginia tech with a hand gun and students died and nothing was done

Every day in Chicago, Atlanta, New York, loss Angeles and nearly every major city in the nation our children and adults are slaughtered by gun violence and nothing is done

A mentally ill customer in a Colorado picture theater walks in wearing Kevlar body armor with AR-15 and many people died and nothing was done

A man sits in a Charleston bible study for more than an hour then gets up and shoots the people in the room and nothing was done

Two Isis sympathizer’s in San Bernardino county California walk into a work Christmas party and open fire and many die and nothing was done

A deranged so called Isis sympathizer walks into the pulse night club in Orlando and kills dozens of partiers and nothing is done.

A former soldier with hate for white people and police used his military training in sniping took a high position in Dallas and 5 cops died and nothing was done.

Of course promises were made, drumpf said if someone “just one” had been armed “kapow” the gunman would have been stopped? It turned out that there was an armed person, there was also a former marine and a former army soldier but still they died.

We the people elect supposedly honest politicians to carry out our wishes and protect our nation, but we have one vote THE NRA has billions of dollars.

Everyone screams “it was my second amendment right to carry a weapon “to own and bear arms “so let’s look at that

“A well-regulated militia, being necessary to the protection of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed”

That was written in 1791, the country was 14 years old the average musket in the hands of a well-trained soldier took 30-60 seconds to reload and fire, there were on 11 states.

The definition of a militia in 1791

, That whenever the United States shall be invaded, or be in imminent danger of invasion from any foreign nation or Indian tribe, it shall be lawful for the President of the United States, to call forth such number of the militia of the state or states most convenient to the place of danger or scene of action as he may judge necessary to repel such invasion, and to issue his orders for that purpose, to such officer or officers of the militia as he shall think proper; and in case of an insurrection in any state, against the government thereof, it shall be lawful for the President of the United States, on application of the legislature of such state, or of the executive (when the legislature cannot be convened) to call forth such number of the militia of any other state or states, as may be applied for, or as he may judge sufficient to suppress such insurrection.

“Foreign nation or Indian tribe”

It shall be lawful for the president upon application to the legislature?

So the right to bear arms was to guarantee that on occasion that commancheros came over the hill on ponies, or the red coats snuck in from Canada with their muskets and powdered wigs you were ready for call up by the president, this also allowed you to hunt to feed the family.

Now I am not writing this because I am a gun hater I am writing this because I am a hater of mass murder and slaughter of small children.

I was a trained by the Australian  navy  to be accurate up to 1,000 yards with a Belgian slr 7.62 mm  rifle which in the 70’s was the weapon of choice for all commonwealth military forces.

I was taught “a gun is always loaded, even when it’s not

An automatic weapon is for war not for private citizenship to own

That less than 1% of 1% of the citizenship has the emotional wherewithal to point a gun at another human and shoot,Special Forces count on this so they can choose the best of the best

The NRA screams “licensing our guns and the next step is they’ll take them”? They license your car you still have it?  You are required a license to fish or hunt or operate a jet ski or be a hairdresser or a nail tech basically anything we do in this world it is a fact of life.

If you’re a non-felon, non -mentally ill patriotic American with no affiliations to terror groups  foreign or domestic what do you have to worry about?.

The thing that confuses me is no one believes a word a politician says? Right you are told that by your parents from the moment you can walk yet you drink the NRA Kool-Aid by the gallon? Are they not politicians in their own way? Are they not the ultimate spin doctors?

What happened to the good Americans that came around a person or family or community in a time of tragedy and did what was necessary to make sure the tragedy never happens again?

In Australia in 1996 the day after a mass shooting the parliament unanimously voted to ban all automatic weapons there has not been a single mass shooting since.

Yes criminals will always get guns but junkies will always get heroin but we still agree its bad and ban it

No one is saying we must be a gun less society, just for Christ sake some common sense. If someone is hearing voices , listening to isis  or planning to kill everyone who ever called them stupid or just did ten years in  san Quentin they shouldn’t get a gun.

Yes someone will reply that last night a man in niece France used a truck, should we ban trucks? Of course not but you can’t load 30 trucks into an extended clip and fire 600 trucks per minute at first graders can you?

If you need an AR-15 or an AK-47 or an UZI to hunt you’re a god awful hunter who has no business hunting remember “one shot one kill make each bullet count”

I  have many gun owning friends all over the world, and to the best of my knowledge this doesn’t apply to them, they are all sane non isis non felon safe gun owners who know what they’re doing so please don’t unfriend me  I’m not talking about you.

Before you argue with me or scream at me ask yourself does the NRA run your life?. Do they pay your bills will they protect your family? If you answer no the next time they open their mouths ask yourself who they are really speaking for some gun manufacturer’s bottom line or the safety of a class of first graders?

A gun is a piece of metal and sometimes plastic and wood it gets stolen or broken you simply get a new one! look at your sleeping family whataisle do you replace them in? you can hunt with the same velocity bullet a 30.08 you just don’t need full auto if you have a glock you’ll stop an intruder or a violent offender intending to hurt your family and you’ll scare th crap out of a drug fucked burglar.  tell the NRA to mind their own house and stay out of yours.

The Power of words


I have been called a lot of things in my life



“fit thrower”

“spaz Kid”

“Mentally challenged”

“violent youth”




Then a lot of Phd’s got involved and they said


“Eidetic memory”



Then the teens and the twenties came around and it was






I started throwing out drunks on pub doors before I was old enough to get in myself, and I was winning martial arts comps and turning those skills into a security career on top of my cheffing on top of a dozen other thing because why do one thing when you can do ten things better? but one day I looked the  book being written in by my manager who got me protection work and next to my name it said-

“efficiently violent”

So I walked away and never did it again, I threw myself into entertainment but my manager said I was-

“gifted but troubled”

So then I figured the only way to throw the insults back at the world was to make them laugh so I had a career in entertainment and then I was




“in your face”

“total package”

Then I came out and my family threw me away like old sneakers, my wife threw me away like last weeks trash  and my career went down the toilet thanks to a homophobic manager.

You see I had been raising myself since I was 12 or 14 , when I was 12 I was riding a bike 20 miles round trip to and from judo practice on my own, today that would be abuse, from 10 we were taught to do our own laundry and the first  person home at night cooked dinner for a household of 8  even if you were still in third grade, then at 12 I lied about my age (I was 6ft2) and enlisted in navy reserves it was one night a week, one weekend a month it meant I had to catch a train 20 miles each way every Friday night never getting home before 1 am on my own. my mother knew she thought it was good for me to be out on my own.

When I came out to the family my mother gave my brother the job of “beating the gay out of me” she told him do whatever was necessary, he broke my back but that was nothing new he’d been raping me since I was three.

I don’t share this so you’ll ll line up and go boohoo, if you notice the only words never used by anyone towards me was love. So for some whiny bitch to say I was born with the silver spoon in my life and was an over entitled fool hurt me more than any rape or beating or lack of care ever has.

I know those ponces, as I would ride up on my bike to judo after 20 miles mummy would be dropping them off in the bmw, yelling ”remember play nice” judo was a dalliance to them to me it was an hour or two without a relatives sweaty body on top of me.

Silver spoon? You know I have one and I cherish it, not because I was born with it but a because a head chef gave it to me as a tasting spoon as a reward for busting my ass 14 hours a day in a kitchen without airconditioning, learning not only to cook but at the same time the language so I could understand what was being taught.

Words cut worse than knives, the only people who don’t get that were born with a silver spoon in their mouth, they’re too busy verbally putting down people like me to realize the power of a  vocabulary.

I am proud of what Ella and I have because we sweated blood for every inch of it, I’m proud of the real friends I have because they’re still here through the good and the bad.

Bmw’s don’t excite me I’ve had a couple I rather have a pickup like we have now, big houses don’t excite me owning my own piece of desert does. The highest thrill I’ve had lately is  a lady called Samela telling me my blog post was a good piece because you see she is a world class journalist.

Life when it’s handed to you means nothing ,the people who know it’s value earnt their lives, my friend Samela was working in her dads bookshop as child, my cousins were running large tracts of Australia before they graduated school  and my Ella was translating bank loans for Russian relatives and family before she was 12 and a Public relations exec before she was 21 because she simultaneously did a degree and worked 60 hours a week.

So before you open your mouth next time to put someone down look in the mirror, look where you are ask yourself “did I earn one stitch of this?” if the answer is no mommy gave it to me shut up and listen.The person you were about to put down ,the hard worker , the blue collar person ,the self-made person can teach you one thing you’ve probably never encountered, humility because for them to achieve in your world they had to start at the bottom of the shit pile

Is that a white line down the road or speed? Wtf I’ll sniff it


Eighteen years ago a newly transitioned transgender woman was living in a share house on Sandgate rd in Brisbane Australia.She was newly released from prison after all charges were dismissed and an apology from the state government was written, it took them several months of her in hell in a male prison for them to realize it is impossible to be in Asia and the gold coast at the same time?

She had had her children stolen by her ex, her career destroyed by a lying homophobic manager and a price put on her head by her own mother to “beat the gay out of her” and when her brothers are two of the most famous muscle for hire in the country that was a threat not to be ignored.

A woman newly hatched, How to survive without (as she later found to be a misguided idea) the use of all her formerly masculine fighting skills was she would learn a scary proposition.

She met some people who taught her how to be a woman, they had friends who taught her how to survive the gay scene, and then at her lowest they had friends who introduced her to speed. For two years every day that she was awake she was putting a gram of pure uncut speed up her nose.

Life was a blur for her,she witnessed things she would previously have run from she would be up for a week, crash for three days, then do a gram and repeat it all over again.

She was the life of the party at every night club in the valley, she was known to all, disliked by some but as long as she was chemically assisted “fuck them and the rainbow unicorns they flew in on”!

Then One day she was at a party with her group of drug assisted twinks and drag queens and she saw some older gays talking. She was taking pictures, lots of pictures, it was her new hobby because her special friend at that time was a photographer who took crime scene pics for the federal police. He would on slow days  Take her pics to work as a favor and develop them. Three days later she was at headquarters explaining where she took the pics, why she took the pics and if she knew the older gays in the background by the pool?. Two days after finding out the total stranger in the background was one of Queensland’s most wanted people she went cold turkey she was clean for ten days.

ten day she thought I have this beat, then she was walking along a road high as a kite and suddenly was pulled into a car was held down and felt herself being jabbed with a needle, it seems they liked her  better when she was a junky.

The shot it turned out was her old friend speed mixed with heroin, a message? She was dumped in the carpark of a doctors surgery in a strip mall in the valley at 4am, luckily it turned out her doctor.

At 7 am when the doctor opened up to some quiet paper work before patients, she found the almost gone woman on the welcome mat. As the nurse arrived a few moments behind her they got the comatose figure into the back room. They drew blood, they put in a fluids and vitamins drip and they strapped her to the bed for the next 24 hours. That woman threw up, messed, sweated gallons, was cleaned up and did it  all over again and when they knew what the drug was they countered it.

That woman woke up shaking the next day, she was told where she was and how they found her and that the doctor believed the shot was meant to kill her.

That day was June 22nd 1998 that woman was me and I have been sober and clean ever since.

There are a small handful of people, all beautiful women that have my undying gratitude. They know who they are, they know I love them and one is my bashert Ella, the other I shall not name here out of respect for their lives 18 years later.

It took a lot to come clean with this and tell people, but it’s not for glory or bragging it is to show those still going through their own personal hells that if they just keep going and accept the help offered they can make it out the other side.