Free Kyle Rittenhouse

Many years ago–more than half of my life ago now–I was homeless. It was honestly a time when I was the most popular I’ve ever been in my life, but the people I was surrounded by were truly in no way friends. I came to realize, after a lot of difficult lessons, that most people in that situation are there by some form of choice. Those who are not come and go quickly and usually never end up in that situation again. Especially in the case of younger homeless people, it is usually an escape from real life and responsibilities.

I should know, as I grew up in a relatively upper-middle class household and a friend of mine who had that in common with me chose to leave her life because she felt too much burden from her parents. She was, in fact, absolutely spoiled past the point of being able to recognize it, in contrast to me. She chose what was, to her, a glamorized form of the truth. She found before long that it was not all it was cracked up to be. At first, I didn’t have a choice in being there, myself, but I turned things around from the moment I was able to.

From the time I showed up to the scene, a lot of people gravitated to me. I thought, at the time, that perhaps homeless people were the most down-to-Earth and accepting people I had known. I ended up having a starkly different outlook on things after all was said and done. People that I trusted ended up getting me into bad situations again and again, as well as a lot of trouble, ultimately. Many of them were people who sought trouble out and found it regularly. Some of them were just bad, possibly sociopathic or psychopathic people with an overdeveloped sense of self-entitlement and the need to dominate others.

The incident that I relate the most to what is going on in Kenosha today was one that took place one night involving a mob and one person they set their sights on in this way. A girl I knew had made an accusation about this guy. I had no way of knowing what the truth was about it, except that I was very familiar with her and the type of person she was. To make a long story shorter, I did not in any way believe her. She was not a credible person and there were any number of reasons I could argue that she was lying, although it was the first time I had ever encountered the guy.

It was after dark and no one was around but this ever-increasing mob milling about the park. I asked someone why so many people were continuing to gather and I found out that they were planning something against this guy. He was led to the park, right into the midst of the mob where I couldn’t even see him. There several dozen people blocking my view and I stared and waited anxiously to see what was going to happen. After just a moment, I heard something and then saw the guy run for the fence and try to climb it. When he got pulled back down, I started shoving my way forward. After all, most of these people were familiar to me and many were my “friends”.

I could hear a lot of commotion by now and, when I got to where the guy was, several people were attacking him. The one kicking him in the head who had primarily been responsible for the ambush was actually a guy I had gone out with briefly. I begged him to stop and tried to get in his way. When he dismissed me, I absolutely panicked, not knowing what else to do. Before I or anyone knew what was happening, I was screaming at the top of my lungs, over and over. Within seconds, the entire group scattered and were gone.

The poor guy was crying, bleeding and snotty with a big old boot print on his head. I was so horrified and disgusted, I didn’t know what to do other than get him help. One other person I knew had stayed behind with me who had nothing to do with the assault. He pretty much let me take the lead but he must’ve been concerned or he could’ve just taken off, too.

We found a payphone, which is a thing that used to be attached to walls or in booths in public places where you could put money in and make a telephone call before the days of cellular telephones. I called 9-1-1 and an ambulance came. They asked us questions about what had happened. I told them everything except who the aggressors were. I lied and said I didn’t know any of them and my friend didn’t say anything even though he knew the truth. Neither did the guy who got attacked, even though, if he heard any of the exchange between me and the idiot kicking him in the head, he knew I was lying.

They ended up taking care of him and my friend and I walked away. I never knew anything that happened after that, other than the fact that I knew he was still resigned to staying in a shelter in town and that the same people said they were not done with them. I was still homeless, though, and resigned to being stuck there a while longer, myself, and saw those people regularly. As far as I knew, nothing further came of it. Some people were mad at me. They never did anything about it, though, because homeless people like to think they have a “code” and that you can’t attack females. I suppose that’s why no one so much as confronted me, really, except the asshole who was at the center of it. All he said was “I’m so mad at you.” I don’t know why I ever let that make me feel bad, though. He wasn’t a good person.

From everything I came to know about him later on, he had a tendency to hurt people, almost as though it was a need, as I saw it… and that’s exactly it. That’s why this situation is so much like Kyle Rittenhouse’s. I really did not ever have to put myself on the line as he did, but it’s due to my observations about the crazed mob I observed and the one Kyle Rittenhouse got confronted by that I feel I have to make this point.

One thing I realized about those types of homeless people–the ones who don’t actually want to change their circumstances and never seem to get off of the street–is that they’re parasites. The reason these types of people were so interested in me was not because they were good or accepting people. It’s because they can tell when someone in their midst is not like them. I think it fascinates and attracts them but, at the same time, they want an undefined something. Reflecting upon it all in hindsight, I was able to see that everyone who had attached themselves wanted something. Maybe they just want to be close to that thing that’s not like them. Maybe they want your energy or perhaps they want validation from someone of a different ilk. Some of them actively want to use you and take anything they can get out of you. Those were the types of people who got me into trouble or tried to more than once and that’s what every single person in that mob had in common who attacked that guy.

They are all bad, parasitic people and, when a group of this type of people descend on someone, it is not because they are in any way coming from a place of moral superiority. When they talk about what “codes” they have, it’s not because they care about anyone else or really have any interest in right or wrong. It is all just to give themselves airs. Hoodrat ethics. When they assaulted this guy, they did not know him. Many people I spoke to didn’t even know the girl who accused him. They knew a mob was going to put the hurt on some guy and they wanted in on it. They had an urge to take out their angst and negativity on someone. They didn’t give a fuck what he did or didn’t do or whether any of it was true. Some people didn’t even know there was a reason at all. Parasitic people create, perpetuate and gravitate to trouble. Parasitic people are cruel.

I am using the example of homeless people that I was acquainted with because all of the ones involved had this in common, but you don’t have to be homeless to be that type of person or to seek out likeminded people and collectively cause all of the damage you can. Every single person who attacked Kyle Rittenhouse was this type. Joseph Rosenbaum had no reason to single out this kid. He wanted an excuse to fight and to hurt someone. It was all a fucking excuse on the part of everyone who got involved. No one who attacked Kyle Rittenhouse that night was in any way informed, nor did they care. All they needed was to consider themselves morally justified in doing whatever they chose to do to him or to Kenosha.

The judge in this case identified those people as rioters and looters and he is correct. Every single one of those people was there because they wanted mayhem. Kyle Rittenhouse became their focal point and their excuse. They decided they were within their rights to abuse a kid because everyone else was doing it and low, weak-minded people who have no right to consider themselves superior to anyone else feel validated in joining a destructive mob. It’s like taking out their self-loathing on others without having to admit the truth about where it really comes from.

I actually looked up some of the people I knew those many years ago, so that I could confront them, tell them what I thought of them and possibly even wage a campaign of trolling them online. Whenever I heckle someone over the internet, it is in the context of something that’s come up and it tends to be isolated to the thing and the moment, itself, and I do not carry it on, but I was actively hoping to harass some people I used to know, if only because they never actually suffered any consequences for their actions. Furthermore, I can guarantee that some of those people have not improved in any way since then. If they could manage to surprise me, I would have no choice but to give up on this idea, but I actually did not end up finding a single person I searched for. Probably still on the street, posing a menace to innocent people.

Heh, the guy who caused most of the trouble went by the alias “Blood”. How telling–not to mention absolutely remedial–is that? I know his real name, though…

In any case, God must have been on Kyle Rittenhouse’s side, considering the caliber of those who threatened him. Even if he was only fighting for his life, he took out some very dangerous and evil people in the process and I honestly don’t know how he made it out alive. The only thing left now is to let justice be done in a way that never seems to occur anymore: to find the victim of what took place that night NOT GUILTY.


Speaking of nightmares…

Here is my latest. In all seriousness, don’t read any further if you are easily put off.

I lived in a two level apartment complex that looked more like a motel. I was a little girl of about eight who looked exactly like Wednesday Addams. My mother was a woman I don’t recognize and there was a party in my apartment. I left to go to a neighbor’s house down the landing. He was a man in his thirties with shaggy hair who I also didn’t recognize from real life.

I think I let myself into his apartment, but didn’t see him. I began looking for his black cat. When I found it, it was freaking out and having a fit. I didn’t hear anything, at the time, but I came to realize something was going on in the bathroom. It was a gigantic, tiled bathroom and there were two men electrocuting him. I saw everything in pieces, up close, but almost as though my brain couldn’t handle the whole scene at once. He was soaked in blood because it was coming from every pore including his entire head which, as they laid him down dead, I now saw was completely bald.

As the two men walked out, they were laughing that he had let go of his bodily functions when they saw me. They stopped in their tracks long enough for me to give them a death stare. Then they walked out. It’s bothered me all day.

I have always had dreams like this, when I can remember them. I never have abstract dreams about nothing or about things that are really far-fetched. All of the dreams I have that I remember upon waking are nightmares and there’s nothing to betray to my unconscious that they are unrealistic. They are usually extremely graphic, visceral and ugly–nothing I would ever voluntarily look at. For a long time, I’ve done things to try to prevent either dreaming or remembering them and it more or less works, but I have been unable to keep them at bay lately.