An Appeal to Austin

Good afternoon Austin,

 

To communicate with you most effectively, I think it best that I speak in parable at first:

 

If our family were a garden, and

If you, dear cousin, were to say to me:

this plant is doing this underground

with these chemicals and having this effect

and the reasoning for this is this;

and I were to look at you and say:

“You’re crazy! Where did you get such a

ridiculous,

unfathomable,

insane

idea and how could you possibly think that??”

we might be close to where we are now, and truly, you might think me a fool.

 

For you see, there are many things you would see,

digging in the dirt and taking care of this plant as you “are”,

that I,

myself,

would not.

 

And there are many things you would know about that plant

and its functions and effects and what affects it

(intense, complicated, unseen things)

that I would not.

 

And to me, it might seem fantastic folly and preposterous pretense and just downright mad,

these things you say are going on underground in the wide, wide, magical plant world, no?

And yet, they ARE happening.

These mechanisms are in place, these chemicals do exist, these effects are being had,

one just can’t see them, or know them, and might never believe them,

underground and unseen as they are.

 

And if it came to verbal blows betwixt us, in this hypothetical instance, and I just would not be interested in what you said, or believe any of the factual things you knew and had experienced,

and I just walked away and never came back and I went out and told all the other people in the garden that you were insane, and likely hurting the garden, and to stay away from you, you might be upset, no?

 

You might feel hurt for a very long time even, and feel unjustly accused of not making sense just because others don’t have the training, or the knowledge, or the will

to see what lays under the earth and inside the plants

and to just know all the small and large things of the flora kingdom that you do???

 

Now if this plant were having some kind of effect on the garden at large and bothering other plants, but underground where it was not seen; or if it were putting off a noxious gas no one could see, but you knew was there; or even if it stung you and your body’s reaction was extreme; and then you tried to talk to the others in the garden about this, and possibly warn them off, and they told you your sting wasn’t extreme, and that the plant “didn’t mean anything by it” and to leave the poor, innocent, poisonous plant alone and to shut the fuck up and go sit in the psych ward, so they aren’t afraid of you and didn’t have to listen to your loud mouth for a while, you might get a little cranky.

 

 

And though this may seem to be the most extreme hyperbole and “insane” extrapolation,

you see, dear cousin, “there is more in Heaven and on earth than is dreamt of in your philosophy” and, truly, I AM NOT MAD. Or at least, I am not insane and without understanding and beyond reason.

I am upset and angry and conflicted, but who wouldn’t be??? Just because you don’t understand and don’t believe, does not mean I am not “right”, or without purpose, or without basic human mores and scruples; and though you say it “wasn’t a big deal”, let me remind you of the circumstances again:

I am Gary’s wife’s sister’s daughter, I was a young woman in his home on a holiday meant for Jesus’ resurrection in view of everyone who is looking, and I had done nothing wrong or deserving of this kind of assault. The power gap alone makes his actions egregious; the setting being Gary’s house and home and him being older and male!

 

Gary is someone I am supposed to “trust”,

someone I “love”,

someone of “faith”.

And not only these inherent things,

but this was supposed to be a spiritual time:

a time of family and faith and redemption!

 

And though I know you and all the rest are thinking what assault? I shall tell you, again, what assault, though it will seem like I was hardly “stung” to all others (which now includes you, my having flipped my metaphor to its true alignment).

 

On one level, yes, I wasn’t hurt or even much touched by Gary on this Easter, and I know he grew up in a time and with a father with whom this kind of behavior was encouraged and that in his time, some girls would have like this kind of touch and seen it as a compliment and I would seem way out of line to even mention my not liking it, let alone make a big stink about it like I am and blah blah blah…

 

But this is not that time and I am not those girls and that time and that father of his, are dead.

 

But on another level, the feminine level, my boundaries were completely disregarded, and I was trespassed upon by an old, male, relative, for no reason at all, on an area of my body that has special meaning for everyone, especially women, and especially me.

 

And on a whole other level, the one analogous to, say, chemical reactions within “your” plant,

 

I was magically attacked by Gary that day,

 

whether Gary knew it or not, and it is my belief that he did.

 

Part of the reason I believe this is his reaction then and afterwards:

when he did what he did to my butt, for whatever inane reason he did it,

my reaction was to turn around and point at him and tell him off.

 

Now, you may or may not know this, but pointing at someone is a psychological/magical threat of attack, if not one in and of itself. You see, in terms of energy and magic and subliminal psychology, in pointing a finger at someone, you are pointing a phallic thing at them, akin to pointing a knife or an arrow or a gun at them. And while you may be doing no actual damage to them, psychologically and spiritually, your subconscious and soul feel the threat as real. And Gary acted thusly: he flinched, jumped back, and sort of shied away and acted genuinely afraid of me and my finger.

 

Half of this was certainly social: I was certainly socially attacking him for his breach in etiquette (if not a break in social mores and common assumptions about feminine safety and boundaries around men, especially relatives). But the other half of his reaction seemed to be his genuine understanding of what I’m talking about, the “finger attack”.

 

Many other cultures know about it, too, because the action is primary and basic and universal.

In Feng Shui, this concept is knows as Poison Arrows

and refers to sharp corners on furniture and the like in one’s space

that subconsciously makes one anxious if they “point” at you as you repose,

vulnerable and with your guard down in the “safety” of your home.

In any event, this notion is known in our culture through the idea that “it’s rude to point”.

 

The whole thing being, Gary acted a little too pointedly and guiltily and genuinely

to my “magical reprisal” of his “magical attack”

for me to not notice and not view this all under the auspice of

his knowing everything that I do…at the least;

at most he appears to me,

along with all the other information I saw that day

(flowers on the right, dog named Hoodoo, all other signs and symbols)

and everything else I know about him (Monday evening men’s meetings, personal anecdotes)

that he is indeed, a dark wizard.

 

Furthermore, Uncle Wayne.

First of all, you don’t become that rich and influential and have that many lawsuits brought against you and have that many people hate you and have the ex-governor as your lawyer, without bending a few rules, ok? But rules be damned, I have many other reasons for disliking Wayne, as a family member, and a public figure, but that’s neither here nor there right now…

 

And even if you don’t believe Papa was involved in Atlanta human trafficking

(even though Atlanta is a hotbed of it, and even though most institutions and many, many

people are involved [especially Freemasons, the Port Authority of Savannah, and Georgia

politicians in general])

 

or that Wayne had any hand in his death,

 

it is undeniable to me that MY beliefs in this have caused a reaction in him and you all

that is disproportionately serious if I were just some “crazy girl shooting her mouth off”.

 

Basically, because I am talking about my beliefs and doing things about them and speaking up,

events have happened in the world and around me and in our family and state and social spheres

that would never have happened if some people weren’t taking me seriously.

And one of these occurances is:

 

When you all cast me out of the family,

I reached out to other family members,

one of them being Wayne.

 

I figured what did I have to lose that I hadn’t already lost.

I was interested to hear what he knew and had to say and remembered about Papa,

and I thought if anything, he could help me understand what the fuck is going on around here.

So I hit him up.

 

At our last meeting, he told me with no pretense or veiled intentions and under no duress from me,

that his friends and people who knew about me

shooting my mouth off about human trafficking

and our family’s involvement in it, were afraid of me

and wondered why he even met with me

and wasn’t he afraid, too?

 

 

Now, let’s dissect this, dear cousin.

 

First of all, how do these people even know about my activities in the first place?

(especially if I’m just some “dumb, crazy person” running their mouth)

Why would they even notice?

Why would they even know?

I hardly talk to anyone who talks to Wayne or would speak to his associates

and probably never about that.

So, what gives???

 

Annnnnnnnd, since these people do know,

and if I’m such a live wire

(which they also must know),

why are they taking what I say seriously?

Serious enough to be “afraid”

and then tell somebody about that??

Why are they talking about me at all?

Why are they questioning Wayne about it

like I mean something by all of it?

Like it means something to them??

 

Because they know.

They know what I know, they know I know it, and they know that I know that they know it,

and are involved in it and they are AFRAID, of me, because they know

I’m right and I’m righteous and I will never stop.

(I know, this sounds crazy, really I do…)

And though they don’t know how I know,

they feel guilty about it all the same, deep down inside;

and, really, they’re secretly glad I’ve found them out

and that I am saying something

because after all these years

and decades

and lifetimes

and centuries of

secrets and

lies and

covert deaths and

heartache and

bad sex on both ends,

they’re glad the game is up.

 

Because no one actually likes human trafficking:

not the sex slaves, not the traffickers, not the Johns.

 

In fact, in terms of magic, it’s like a drug all around: the whole system is magically programmed for hateful addiction: the traffickers are addicted to the free and insanely lucrative money, the Johns are addicted to the girls and end up hating them even as they fuck them, and the girls are obviously enslaved, but are often doubly so: they are kept addicted to drugs so they don’t even ever think of running away.

 

See why I hate it?

Why I fight it tooth and nail, with everything I’ve got??

Why I am so determined to stop it?

 

And, truly, human trafficking affects us all, but that is very complicated, and I won’t go into it here…

 

But the fact is: I would give up my life, and really have,

for the mere hope that I might one day find and free, or at least just give hope to,

these unjustly enslaved people,

because they’re not all women;

 

some of them are men and little boys and little girls like YOUR kids,

that are being assaulted and raped and enslaved and taken advantage of and forced to lick dirty ass and whatever else depraved shit happens to them and then just DIE,

unknown and unsung, often underground and in unmarked graves

(if they even get one: most of the bodies of these people are liquified in acid when they’ve outlived their “use” to the system…). Because that’s what happens to them, that’s their life… UGH. Anyway…

the point is, Uncle Wayne’s friends are scared of me for a reason and that reason is that

I am serious

and I am RIGHT

and I am willing to do whatever it takes

and give up anything and everything I have

(including YOU and your kids and the family)

to make it stop,

even if “Papa’s sins” aren’t mine

or even if they are a “fabrication of my deranged mind”

the system is still BAD and needs to go

and I have the knowledge of it

and of how to stop it

and the balls and will to do so

like no one else I know does

so I’m going to do it

and it all starts here,

in my own life and family,

with this tiny, little, asinine fight

between me and your dad

that started on Easter

so very long ago.

 

I know this and they know this,

and Wayne’s friends never would have heard what I was saying,

or taken it seriously or talked to Wayne about it as if it were,

if I were not so, so committed to ending human trafficking,

a system in which they must be involved, to be so afraid of its demise…

 

And even if our family “isn’t involved”, the fact that I fight a system so patently terrible and horrible and vile, with everything I’ve got, should at least be acknowledged, if not outright lauded, unlike what you all have done and act like it’s just a byproduct of my “insanity” and then actively work against me.

 

And the fact that neither Gary nor Teresa have reached out at all, also makes me think this way. Why haven’t they tried to talk to me, if I’m just a silly girl with confused ideas and no point at all?? If I’m just crazy and of no real consequence and what I’m saying isn’t true, why all the fuss?

 

Yeah, I sent a letter. Yeah, it was a weird, magical, “mean” letter (if you look at it that way, because all it really was was my listing stuff I knew and the worst thing I did was tell whoever opened it to EAT SHIT, which is not a threat at all btw…).

 

But let me say: it could have been much worse, fam, and a few pieces of paper is nothing.

And I certainly wasn’t violent or in any way even physical about it like Gary was, and there was no way me or anyone, would send a letter like that and then drive up to the farm and do something hurtful that might damage my life forever? That’s too crazy for crazy people. That’s working against yourself, at odds with your own “intentions”, to “warn” the perpetrator with a letter, and then act???

 

But putting me in the psych ward like, two weeks after Gary grabbed my ass, because I sent a letter and your mom watches too much evening news and fabricated some crazy unreality wherein I, what, KILL Gary?? Assuming I was dangerous because of a piece of paper? Cutting me out of the family and refusing to speak with me? I can’t even get a gun, for Christ’s sakes and Gary is a grown man and I would never do that anyway!!! (Nor do I need to btw, as magical attack is enough.)

 

And in any event, the freaking law is still in place, too, to deter me or anyone from violence!!

 

If that letter didn’t contain some grain of truth

and Gary wasn’t in some way guilty,

why all the mother fucking, fucking, fucking fuss??!!

 

UUGGHH!!

*Calms down*

 

You also mentioned my apologizing. This I already did.

Very quickly thereafter, as is my nature.

I said explicitly that I was sorry for playing my part in all this as the indigent dragon something in one of the first letters I sent to you all. But I have not heard one peep, let alone an apology, coming from the shallow Waters.

 

I did see Betty, who nearly started crying when I told her innocuously that she should have tried harder to find out where I’d gone when she saw I was suddenly absent from the pack… Jessica did text me for a while when I requested everyone in the family respond to me and she was the only one who did. She hadn’t read much of my letter and was so bad at arguing and was missing my point so completely that I just quit talking to her after it became apparent to me that she didn’t have the argumentative or the verbal skills to speak cogently to me in a way that would have been satisfying to either of us.

 

You, alone, Austin, have been the best in this, though, of course, nowhere near what I want or need from the family. And I am sorry I hung up on you the last time we spoke, but I tend to get too aggressive and emotional in direct conversation and prefer to write and take my time and think about what I’m saying and not scream my bloody head off...

 

It works better for me, and I am also trying to protect you from my wrath,

which is significant at this point, as I have not been “dealt with” at all…

 

I am so angry in part, for reasons you will never understand, as well.

You will just never know what it is to be a woman, Austin.

To be the “weaker sex”, to live among men who can literally reach out and kill you with their bare hands. You will never know the threat of a man killing your entire career, your whole life’s work, just with words passed to another man, simply because you don’t want to submit to him.

You can’t feel the unasked-for vulnerability and liability and just, SALIENCE of your body and its natural shape and its empty orifices as you walk down the street among all these creatures of unknown intent. YOU have no threat of some man looking at you and giving in to his baser impulses and just reaching out and taking what he thinks is his, or that he has a right to, or is just inconsequential to him,

and changing your entire LIFE and your whole WORLDVIEW and your real and perceived PLACE in the world and your own concept of your own BODY as an unsafe place to be,

down some dirty alleyway one day or night,

just because he wants an orgasm

and you are nothing but a means to that end,

an object to be used and disposed of afterwards...

YOU WILL NEVER KNOW, AUSTIN.

And though Gary did not go this far,

he went too far and far enough,

and to a place he had no right or reason to be.

 

You will ALSO never know this part of me completely: not only have I been fighting this very fight

(against men in our family

[which IS far more important than we’ve been lead to believe],

being female, human trafficking),

alone, for a decade and half, without support and with open disdain and active resistance from nearly everyone, I ALSO just never expected to have to explain this part of my life to you all.

 

This is such an insanely complex, complicated, and layered thing I have yet to fully figure out myself because it is so shrouded in mystery and ancient, arcane magic and just, the nebulous obscurity of closed temple doors, and the natural obfuscation of personal conversations, convictions, and commitments, and the subjective and circumstantial notions of what good and evil even are!!!

 

I never dreamed I’d have this conversation with you,

especially in the context of my relationship with your children, for Christ’s sake!

 

This is all NUTS, and I see that, and I see that you all see that, and I see why you think that, I do,

and I hardly know what to do, because, to use another metaphor:

 

I am a long-time operative, well versed in spycraft, working hard in the field to neutralize a bomb (of bad sex and the magic thereof) with only what’s around me, under no direction but God’s and my own fallible mind, senses, and intuition, trying to explain to you and the other civilians the chemistry of that, when you can’t even understand the war, let alone why I’m fighting it, let alone why it HAS to be me!

 

And in the midst of it all, you all think one of the bomb-makers is a good guy

and that I’m the problem and are trying to stop my deactivating his horrible bomb

that will surely blow and kill us all, even as it leaks radioactive crap into our communal blood…

It’s a lot, Austin, and I have nary a guide and I am not just being dramatic…

 

I was hardly prepared for the war, dear cousin;

in no way was I prepared for it to come home

and then be forced to talk to my family

about the very tangled weave of human trafficking, magic, and misogyny I fight!

 

I am basically a self-taught vigilante, fighting for my life while trying to save the laymen (you all)

who are then also fighting me!

It’s a lot,

like, so, so much,

so forgive me if I hardly know what to say and am very, very mad.

 

Plus you all are just so bad at conflict resolution,

having lived “normal, healthy, sane” lives.

 

No one wants to try to even understand me, let alone resolve our conflict, or even to try to try;

and I am very mad, and I know that I’m a lot even when I’m happy

or just sitting there, with my crazy eyeshadow and loud-ass clothes and smelling like super, duper roses or whatever. I know all that.

 

But I also know that if you don’t deal with something, or someone, they/it just get/s madder or bigger and badder and they/it don’t just go away! Everyone knows that, ya ding dongs!!!

All this could have been avoided, or at least mitigated,

had Gary just picked up the phone and called me,

like an ADULT, like a Big Boy, like a man;

or just not touched my butt in the first place!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

So, yeah, I’M MAD; and I’M MAD THAT I’M MAD and that I’M STILL MAD,

and I feel that I have done everything on my end that I could do to stop being mad.

The ball is, and has been for some time, in y’all’s court.

 

 

As for you, Austin, this whole letter feels pointless because I do think you know something of this behind-the-scenes, ulterior, and underlying world I occupy; I feel that they have started in on you at this point. I do think, based on the colors you wear, how you argue and what you say (it’s windy today?? I wasn’t going to play that game… talk plain, cousin…), how you’ve defended Gary, and what you look like in pictures past and present, that you DO know more than you’re letting on…

 

And I know that your silence is part of the drill:

I know they’ve got you by the tongue,

and the balls and the bank account,

and the progeny and their safety and livelihood,

and I can work with all that because that’s how it is, but, up front, I still think you’re excusing and downplaying behavior that shouldn’t be excused or downplayed, and invalidating me and my feelings and experiences, and not seeing the implications of the impact Gary’s behavior might have on your own kids and their future some day.

 

I also feel that when you handed me that little, wooden, v-like stick at Easter and I was so excited, you were doing more than handing me a little piece of wood, and that we both knew/know it. And your true understanding of this gesture is confirmed by how you reacted when I asked you about this piece of wood later, when we were “arguing”: you didn’t react. You ignored that part of my inquiry. Just didn’t answer that part of my text. And since you had never done anything so whimsical or pointed, ever, in our whole lives together, dearest Austin, I can only assume you were trying to “work on me”.

 

Now, I know what that little wooden v means, probably more than you do, as they only give people like you (neophyte initiates) so much information (and hide more than they give, in any event). But WHATEVER. I know you didn’t ask for that either so, here we are. Cousin and kin to the end, but with a feud between us older than we will ever know.

 

All I can really say is that this has had a huge impact on me.

Family was very important to me, and still is

and the fact that I speak of it, and you all, now

in the past tense is an extremely sad thing for me.

 

Your kids are my kids in my mind, especially Kensie who is a daughter of my soul, if nothing else;

and though I gave up my genetic destiny/legacy voluntarily,

I did still give it up

and yet, I do still enjoy children

and want to impact the future generations.

It has wrenched my soul so very much to be apart from them and miss this time in their lives and I think of them nearly every day.

 

Now, because I know that your kids are not my kids, I have not bothered you all with my presence or anything more than the gifts I have left. But if it comes to pass that I see them again soon, I will surely rejoice and be glad for it, for I would surely die for them as I would for many, many others.

 

I hope that this and all my letters act as a testament to my sound mind,

at least in their well-ordered argument

if not their clarity and continuity of focus

(I don’t lose sight of my point or what I really mean).

 

Goodbye, dear cousin,

and thank you for “listening”.

Please make sure Kensie reads her letter in her journal,

And tell her I would like to speak to her on her birthday,

If you are in agreement.

I love you all.

 

Sincerely,

Macy