Copyright by Ann Bandazian 2003,2004, 2005

I owe this particular web excursion-adventure to the patience of my exceptionally brilliant and kind grandson, Maxwell Vazken Bandazian. Thanks, hon.

There's a time in children's lives when they talk of nothing but horses. For Lisa it was an unattainable dream. Soon Chris adopted it as his dream also.

About this time, Beatrice, twice divorced and lonely--joined our family. She was with us to talk of her sorrows and joys--to listen to ours-- and for meals and television watching. She couldn't help but hear Lisa and Chris endlessly talking about horses.

One Christmas, Beatrice surprised everyone by placing a check for riding lessons on the Christmas tree. This was only after sternly instructing the owner of the stables that their lessons were in no way to interfere with school lessons as they were geniuses. A declaration which amused and tickled me and even more, the owner of the stables.

And so it was that I found myself with the horsey set. But this is not why I began this story. I was terrified by the sight of my babies sitting atop huge horse/beasts but fascinated by those who owned their own horses and their horse-centered lives. I became the friend of the staff and a few horse owners. There was a class veil which separated us--even though in democratic America the notion of class is rigorously denied.

One day some time after President John F. Kennedy's assassination, I was talking with Bobby, the horse trainer. I knew a little of Bobby's prior history from the owner of the stable-- mainly that Bobby once worked with horses at Newport, Rhode Island and he was dating a descendant of President Martin Van Buren.

I have no idea how we got to the subject but suddenly Bobby was telling me of his days in Newport, Rhode Island when he was called to the Auchincloss estate to inspect two horses (or ponies). Their names were Macaroni and Sagebrush. He observed that both horses were incorrectly shod.

At this time, he said that a yacht pulled into harbor and the President climbed out. Soon afterwards a car appeared at the stables. The President got out, came to Bobby, extended his hand and said,

"I'm Mr. Kennedy-"

Bobby said,

"my hand's dirty."

President Kennedy said,

"That's alright,"

So they shook hands. JFK never once said that he was President Kennedy--Just, "Mr. Kennedy."

After that, Bobby was hired to regularly return to Hammarsmith Farm to oversee the horses.

I'm quite sure Bobby spoke the truth. Lying or snobbish pretense was not in his nature.

***************************** I fell asleep during the absolutely fabulous antics of Absolutely Fabulous--for which I can barely forgive myself. Then I couldn't sleep at my regular time-- 11:30PM-- so I settled down with William Saroyan's autobiography, titled "Here Comes/There Goes-You Know Who--William Saroyan."

To accompany my reading, I made a cup of an odd and unpleasant tasting herb tea concoction called something like Trankwill. The story I selected was "The Bath."

It was my own childhood Armenian bath story now forgotten. Recalling was delicious. My bath featured soap made by my mother which was the a beige-yellow color without gentleness or any kind or appealing scent. I never left dirt at the bottom of the tub as young Saroyan did. But perhaps boys leave dirt and girls don't--or most girls don't-

Anyway, I recommend that you get the book and read it. At least half of it will give you joyful recognition--some of it will give wisdom--some of it sadness- and some of it impatience and irritation with the writer.

Vazken says that the name Harry and Rebecca gave me in the hospital which is on my birth certificate "Shoghig" means "dew". What kind of a name is "dew" to give an innocent child? Shoghig--I think the "ig" ending is the diminutive thus meaning "small dew." I don't think there was ever any resemblance between me and "small dew." My other name given to me by the christening priest was Nishanouhee, He said he was giving me this name because I was christened on St. Nishan's day. The "ouhee" was the feminine form of Nishan. I don't know what St. Nishan was sainted for but it makes no difference because no one ever called me either name. Finally I was called Anahid--a name mutilated by foreigners--that is, nonArmenians who couldn't say "ah" --Ahnahheed. Incidentally, Ahnahheed was the chief goddess of many things until the Virgin Mary came along and unseated her. In the 1970's when I became notorious, I renamed myself Ann.

From time to time Marinella became incensed about some thing or other and ended up quickly firing off a letter to the Editor of her big city newspaper. And sometimes a cute and gentle letter was published. The Press we were told was for all to speak their minds on every subject in any which way so others could read what was on the minds of the frankly outspoken.

After learning of criminal monkey shines of many corporate honchos and how they were just about thumbing their noses at the kept in the dark citizenry, Marinella wrote her city paper saying they should have their fortunes seized and the money parceled out to deserving hard working folks. And the corporate honchos should then be left with the same salary that the hard working folks got. Furthermore, it would prove to be educational for billionaires to learn how hard it is to juggle home, car, health insurance, prescriptions, children's educations, elderly parents, birthday, wedding, and anniversary presents and oh, the list goes on and on.

Was Marinella's extremely wise, letter of justice/injustice published? No, it was not.

Then a light bulb went on in Marinella's brain. It wasn't the editor's fault. He wanted to keep his difficult job. He also knew in signs most subtle that there was an unspoken code of censorship to be honored if he wanted to keep that job. His paper belonged to Mega-mega Zombie Corporation.

In order to appease grumbling citizenry who lost jobs and money as a result of corporate crookery, the governing bosses immediately made up laws about corporate crooks having to go to jail.

Most people were happy that the governing bosses were going to get tough and dole out punishment to the corporate gahnifs (no, I'm not Jewish but I like the flavor of that word). The citizenry were just about dancing in the streets for joy.

Marinella's city paper flourished an editorial saying that now the corporate gahnifs would do jail time just like the guy or gal who robs a convenience store.

Many of the hard working folks who were cruelly robbed from, considered this just justice. But it wasn't. The guy or gal who robbed the convenience store after being released from prison had a "prison criminal record" to follow him or her around, couldn't get a job, money, apartment, or car etc. But the corporate gahnif could just go back to his millions, write a book, get religion, lecture and live happily ever after.

Marinella learned an unpleasant truth. The governing bosses really love big rich, heartless, ingeniously crooked crooks. She still uncharitably feels the all the huge rich, powerful crooks should die--the sooner the better.

Hell, the rich believe is poverty--in which state they have to wash their own hair, clean their own house, cut their own grass, sew their own clothes, plant their own garden, and drive their own cars--and wipe their own behinds.

To ensure that no devil of poverty ever comes to their house in the form of--sickness, loneliness, freezing house, absence of food, medicine, winter coat-- they build walls of paper. Dollars, stocks and bonds.

To build these walls of paper, they close their eyes and ears to the sight and cries of the disadvantaged--children, the sick, the elderly, the poor, the mentally ill.

They say,

"So what the hell- Doesn't the Bible say the poor will always be with us. We're just being rational and pragmatic. How dare anyone call us cruel?!"

Greedily they work day and night stacking up more and more paper dollars, stocks and bonds to strengthen their walls of paper--until God knocks them down.

Someone lied to them.

************************************************************

In a mood of generosity with a pinch of Christianity, I said to teenage Lisa,

"Toss your bread upon the waters-"

to which she replied,

"and you get back soggy bread."

****************************************************** How did they win the favorite worst enemies contest from all the ones we could have chosen? The winners we're told are North Korea, Iran and Iraq. If we're expected to donate fathers, sons, husbands, brothers and tax money for hatrd, torture and wars, shouldn't we know how the decision was made. Facts anyone?

*********************************** Armed forces presently in 140 countries aren't enough. We need a little something else to be safe from countries with evil designs bent on destroying us.

So the word from our military and space geniuses is the vow to space supremacy--put lasers, plutonium, nuclear power stations in the heavens--to eventually fry all earth's inhabitants with new and exciting cancers-- melting eyes, guts, bones and souls. Give these geniuses the Novel unpeace prize--hurry! oh, yeah--and endless pots of money.

*************************************

THE CURSE OF AN IGNORANT WOMAN

Pity the poor man who marries a vapid blithering blathering woman. His fortune disappears as she buys whatever strikes her fancy. Shopping is her principal life's work.

His brain turns to mush listening to her gossip and recitations of their and everyone else's financial status.

She is deaf to anything he says about his work and often answers his complaints about her vacuous nature-

"Why think? It makes me unhappy."

Any talk of an intellectual nature drives her to flee the room with frozen face and frequent yawning. She is deaf to everything he says that isn't about money.

When young her obsessions dealt with the beauty of her face and body. Now old her obsessions deal with the deterioration of her beauty and later her bodily functions.

Her husband, the poor devil, vacillates between suicide and murdering the woman whose face and body made a slave and fool of him.

******************************************************

HAIKU ON LEARNING OF THE DEATH OF DAVE'S MOTHER

The everlasting

I'm sorry,"

becomes thumping

on a cardboard drum.

9/4/02 Last week I sent this brief letter to the editor via e-mail. It was never published. My first question is did it ever reach the Hartford Courant? My next question is --was it too harsh?

Here 'tis:

"To war or not to war with Iraq--that is the question."

Is the reason because Saddam Hussdein is a bad man?

Is the reason because his existance threatens the serenity of Israel?

Is the reason that there's a slim chance that he has weapons of destruction--possibly mass?

"Or is the actual reason oil? Or is the other reason making their style of government, a carbon copy of ours, stupid."

****************************************************** *December 6, 2002

The blackhearted drumbeat of war gets louder and louder but we still don't have the desired war. Our leaders on most high have reached the end of their patience. Vampires live on the blood of the young. Some say their goal is revenge. Some say their goal is to take control of oil. Some say the people of Israel aren't safe with rabid and wily Saddam at the helm of Iraq.

Whatever the reason or reasons, our leaders on most high will grasp at any straw--any reason to unleash our damnable weapons of mass destruction to punish them for their possibly hidden weapons of mass destruction. We'll manufacture finding such weapons in an Iraqi cave if necessary.

Then, in order to be consistent with our philosophy of ridding evil countries of their weapons of mass destruction, it should follow that the United Nations will march on to Pakistan, China, India, Israel, Russia, France, England and--and the United States? They dare not. And we dare not think further.

******************************************************

Kissing the Massa's Ass

He is very tall, his hair prematurely gray but luxurious with subtle waves. He's had a play reading at a prestigious theater.

I ask if it was a happy experience.

He says, "Yes- entirely happy." He says that he's writing another play and hopes for a similar experience.

That's odd. When my play was read. I was filled with a mixture of pride and joy when an actor showed perfect understanding of his character, embarassment by what I'd written but wounded by occasional bad casting, and laughter in inappropriate places.

Why the difference in our reactions? Was he a better writer? I'm sure not. He was a perfect mediocrity. He learned the secret of success. This is the age of mediocrity. The triumph of mediocrity. And it's awfully goddam sad.

****************************************************** January 21, 2003 Under the sugary Norman Rockwellian title of Homeland Security, the boys in Washington have created our own KGB, Gestapo and similar ruthless citizen's rights thieves. Quiet. Silence. Do the citizens not care? Are the citizens uninformed? Do citizens feel trapped and frightened to numbness? Yes to all of it. How ineffably sad!! When and how will it end--vanish? Stay. Beat the drum and shout. Try not to weep. ****************************************************** CAROLINE CRONE:

Caroline caws insisting that she be given space for regular corrosive commentary:

"Gentle folks examine Myrahms's position that praise spoils children. Is that "spoiled" as in damaged or harmed its excellence--or decayed--or decomposed--or corrupted?

Scientists must work on this. Did praise spoil children?

************************************************************ With pen grasped in prehensile claws, the crone writes:

"This is annoying and probably true but Rebecca's comment that if one isn't beautiful when young, then shame on them. How did she define beauty and at what age did beauty begin and then end? Did she really mean "shame" on them? Did she mean beauty was theirs unearned? Rebecca posing as sage should have said that beauty was more rare after life's brutal assaults."

Thank you for letting me speak my mind.

Truthfully yours, Caroline Crone. *********************************************************** Who can silence her? Caroline Crow: (again)

June 11, 2003

Six horrible months have passed since we last wrote. Clutching at whatever straw for reason to bomb Iraq into oblivious, kill or cause Saddam Husein to flee, so we may take charge of whatever's left of the people and country for our fun and profit. Worry not-- we did do just that.

The so-called weapons of mass destruction which we frightened the brain-numbed populate and which we sold or gave them in the first place weren't found. (some say they were used on the Kurds) This should have caused shame for our rulers--but didn't. The actual reasons were to have a good fun destroying war for the idle military and to give Israel's nervous heart rest, to secure oil so we might apportion the spoils whatever way we wish. And to put all those poor job hopeless boys and girls a sort of job in the military. And to give Chaney's Haliburton a contract to rebuild what we destroyed. Can libraries and museums be recreated just as they were? Can the surviving people ever trust an American or her few false allies again? Where greed reigneth there will always be bloody murder with dogs eating dogs. I am deeply depressed. **************************************************** Caroline Crow: (speaks)

November 24, 2003

So much time has passed since I last wrote about our country's parachute jump into the war abyss without a rip cord.

I know what we're supposed to think and feel. That is--now we are the greatest empire with the greatest wealth and military in the history of the world. We must sacrifice to stay that way.

Yes, young boys and girls of many countries will die or be wounded in horrible ways. Yes, homes and businesses will be destroyed. Yes, water and food with be scarce. Yes, thousands--maybe millions of innocent people-- middle-aged, elderly and small children in no way connected to the military will be murdered or maimed.

But we must be tough. We mustn't waver. To stay on top--it's dog eat dog. No sentimental unrealistic tears. Yes, we must have a pseudo-police state to make sure hot oil isn't poured on our rulers'heads and feet by protestors. Naturally, some of our leaders' favorites will make millions which will be thanks to our tax monies--also from stealing resources of those we conquer. We must know that the god of religions is myth--the god of success is money. See what a good patriot I am!

*************************************************************

WAR AS AN ECONOMIC NECESSITY

Millions of the desperately poor must be born and kept poor for the dramatic necessity of making a select few disgustingly wealthy.

In order to have this vast class of desperately poor, the Church must cooperate. First it makes limitless pregnancies a blessed act. It must also make pregnancy termination a damned sin.

The Church gently and subtly brainwashes females into believing (even worshipping)that all males are more intelligent and really far superior in all heavenly and earthly matters than themselves--the helpless dirt dumb females. Dirt dumb females therefore focus all their life's energies on winning favor with the godmales. And so an entire sex is malleable to the doctrine of seduction for baby production.

Now, having a vast desperately poor mass, the State can wage wars for empire building by destruction--and incidentally for profit. Millions of the poor thus have no path to employment but the military and those organizations that protect the military unimpeded from their murder mission. A few pennies sometimes fall from the claws of the extremely wealthy so the poor crawl in muck to retrieve the few pennies. This principle is called "trickle down" economics. Those of the desperately poor who do not find employment via the military, find work performing jobs formerly done by slaves.

EVERYTHING BAD IS THE FAULT OF TERRORISTS April 7, 2004

Oh, the terrorists are coming! Hide. Shiver, tremble, sweat,and weep-- THE TERRORISTS ARE COMING!!

It's too troublesome to try to poke about in our brains to decipher why the terrorists are coming. And who are they?

Oddly terrorists are people of passionate beliefs. They consider themselves freedom fighers.

But they seem mad as hell--or simply mad--out of their minds. Why?

Well, you poke a hornet's nest and you keep poking it and what happens?

How long can a people be trod opon, stamped upon, spat opon, shat upon before they become irritated?

What if, their natural resources are stolen and their people murdered and their houses and businesses demolished- What if they have no food,water, heat, or medicine?

Would we become terrorists,or freedom fighters willing to give up life itself to stop the brutalization, devastation, and hopelessness?

________________________________________________ Ann Bandazian October 18, 2004 My last visit to this site was in April. Things have become steadily worse. There is a hysteria surrounding this next presidential election bordering on the insane. There is fear among progressives that the election will be stolen by a number of criminal means. Ralph Nader's candidacy is anathema to the politically religious. Every kind of barbaric diatribe is flung about despising his unwavering commitment to the health and welfare of the common man. He'll end up nailed on the cross--like the last unwavering icon shaker! It's all depressing to the point of making one physically ill--emotionally drained.

***************************************************************** October 18, 2004 Ramon felt cold,stripped naked, stumbling in the woods. He cried out to the unlistening deer, rabits, and crows,"Lorraine's gone. I am better dead. She took my heart--on which was her image reflecting me. I was important and alive. Now I am vanished. The wind answers, "She is dancing elsewhere--far away."

***************************************************************** November 15, 2004 In one of the most brilliantly conceived election strategies of the century--the George W. Bush army went for the stupid, brain-washed segment of the population--regretably even more stupid women who parroted what the men said (who had in mind keeping females barefoot, pregnant, poor and uneducated). Again and again they drummed their morality mantra--family--put homosexuals back in the closet --more of the populace uneducated, willing to work as slaves or die poor without home or food or medicines. I was physically sick with the election result and from what I heard--all my friends felt the same with the possible exception of Lil. Today on the front page--a picture of Fallujah in ruins and our soldiers running around being heroes--accompanied by a deception to delude speculating about the cost of rebuilding-- reconstruction. And I thought what if that was a picture of Hartford in ruins-- hospitals gone, schools gone, churches gone, museums gone, apartments gone, small businesses gone, clean water gone, sewage systems destroyed, the State Capitol crumbled to the ground, and people dead, wounded, and mad-- Few people think any of it because we are the greatest military empire in the history of the world. No one can huff and puff and blow our house down.

2005 August The pus of war continues to depress. In his recent novel, Heart of Glass, Ian McEwan says, "In Kiev, Belgrade, Beirut, huge gatherings can bring down a government; in the West they are merely another form of entertainment." !! What's the protester to do? Play clown or become raging madman--or mute but silently praying on and on?

August 29, 2005 The Hurricane whimsically named, Katrina. Cities and towns devastated. People like animals. Lost. Dead. Starving. Filth in the waters. People on roofs of their houses praying for helicopter rescue. People herded into vast amitheaters, coloseums- Our leaders, ignorant and fumbling. Previously monies to maintain dykes cut- New Orleans gone.

Followed by Hurricane Rita. Everyone standing at attention now chastened by the Katrina debacle. There is flooding. Minor loss. Oh, disappointment. We so love drama. It makes money.

________________________________________________________________ Melancholy Melina to Caroline Crow: I finally realized you were never going to give me a minute to say what I think--or feel. Not that you care. I was, still am-- a gifted artist. Did you ever acknowlege my special talent? I do remember that you once came to the Hobart Museum to see my painting which won honorable mention. You said it was beautiful but I sensed jealousy. Mother was proud. I think Father was too. As an amateur artist, he was surprisingly good. Impressive sense of color. Did you ever notice? Probably not. Your interests were confined to a small area--certain sophisticated people, writers,movies, actors, plays-

Later you became interested in politics but you never included me. You were a publicity getting activist. What did you accomplish?

I admit I was often in poor health. I was born fragile--or so I was told. Miraculously, God saw me as a valuable human being and kept watch over my health. You soon became bored with my fragile constitution and waltzed away to glamorous people and undertakings. Your ignoring of me pained me to the core. You only had one sister. Why did you reject me? There is nothing worse, absolutely nothing worse for a person than to be cast aside.

Don't interupt. You seduced everyone with your fake warmth, pseudo-honest charm--everyone--family, friends, superiors. You had to be center stage every second of your life. It could have been a sickness with you. I know I'm very intelligent but I'm not a psychologist.

At last--at last I've managed to wrest the spotlight from you--even though it was only for a few seconds. It's probably killing you.

I love you but it's impossible for me to forgive or forget. From what I've said you must realize how deeply you've cut my heart.

Melina

Caroline Crow to Melancholy Melinda:

Thank you for spewing all your bile at me. Now you can live in peace.

I have one thing to add. You knew the very things that Dad hated and feared. And you ran to him with every tale of me calculated to infuriate him. In your whiney, mousey way you got even.

Melinda to Caroline:

Oh, no you don't. You will not have the last word. Do you remember practically drooling over the food in my dish and barely waiting until I became bored with it to lunge at what I hadn't eaten. You were like some jungle animal. No, you are a jungle animal.

Also, you were jealous of my more European looks. You were tall, thin and olive complected. Your hair was curly. People asked if your parents were from Persia or Egypt. On the other hand, relatives chortled about my pinky white skin, my avacado green eyes, cupid bow lips, and plumply feminine body. I'm sorry that I took after our Polish looking father and you our Moroccan mother. Cancel that. I'm not the least bit sorry.

Caroline Crow to Melancholy Melinda:

You're right. It was a damned relationship from birth. God bless you and keep you from unhappiness and harm. I am rich in love. Amen.

***************************************************************** December 3, 2005

The reason

the reasons for our various wars are often cloaked in thick black wool-- one blurred statement--"national interest."

who dares question "national interest?" It's like a snake in a paper box. Forbidden.

is the "national interest" another country's oil or other natural resource?

is the "national interest" stopping the spread of a foreign style government?

is the "national interest" to get as many as poor males and females murdered so jobs or other aid won't be needed to be provided them?

is the "national interest" providing fantastic wealth to those engaged in the military industrial complex?

is the "national interest" replacing their leaders with ours?

whatever--our "national interest" turns out to be murder. A sin. ******************************************************************* Feb 8, 2006

One is rendered nearly mute by the daily increase of horrors, cruel neglect, barbaric lack of conscience as the leaders do what they precisely want to do.

Two weeks ago I presented this scenario for John and Max's consideration:

WOULD I BE A TERRORIST, AN INSURGENT, OR A FREEDOM FIGHTER UNDER THESE CIRCUMSTANCES?

A MIGHTY COUNTRY WITH VAST WEALTH, POWER AND RESOURCES, WITH THE ONE EXCEPTION OF WATER DECIDES THEY MUST HAVE OUR WATER. IN ADDITION, THEY DON'T LIKE OUR LEADER'S ARROGANT AND BRUTAL WAYS. iN ORDER TO GET RID OF OUR LEADER AND GET OUR WATER, THEY ATTACK US--IN MY CASE,THEY HAVE KILLED MY MOTHER AND MY BABY. MY SON HAS LOST A LEG. MY DAUGHTER HAS LOST HER ABILITY TO SPEAK IN SHOCK FROM THE HORRORS. MY HUSBAND IS BLINDED. OUR BUSINESS IS DESTROYED AS IS OUR HOUSE. WE HAVE NO DRINKING WATER, HEAT OR ELECTRICITY. OUR CLOTHES ARE IN TATTERS. THEY HAVE DESTROYED A SCHOOL AND A COLLEGE. THEY HAVE DESTROYED OUR CHURCH, ART MUSEUM AND THE PRICELESS ANCIENT ARTIFACTS.

I HAVE NO OPTION OR WISH TO ACCEPT ALL THIS AS FATE. i TAKE MY RIFLE, CLIMB UP A TREE AND WAIT FOR THE CONQUERERS AND OCCUPIERS TO STROLL BY. WITHOUT A SINGLE QUALM OF CONSCIENCE, I SHOOT EVERY PASSER BY.

Am I a terrorist, an insurgent, or a freedom fighter? Ann Bandazian ______________________________________________________________________________________________ June 25, 2006

From today's Hartford Courant headline on page A9

STATISTICS PUT IRAQI DEATH TOLL AT 50,000

A conservative estimate of our own U.S.A. death toll is 2,500. I have no estimate of those seriously physically wounded--or those sensitive young boys psychically wounded.

Now let's consider from a Hartford Courant editorial June 25, 2006

NO IRAQ PULLOUT, FOR NOW

to answer whichever thundering ass wrote the following in that editorial:

"No doubt there is public dissatisfaction with the administration's handing of Iraq, but most Americans still favor keeping U.S. troops there until the situaton becomes more stable."

Most Americans naively believe what they're told by a press with vested interests. A gentle brain wash, if you will.

When does the situation become more stable? Is it when we have three U.S. soldiers per each Iraqi citizen, that is, man, women, and child? Is it when we have over 10,000 dead U.S. soldiers? Is it when there are 100,000 dead Iraqi citizens, men, women and children?

Stop posturing and lying you hypocritical, venal, syphilitic pimps! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- August 27, 2006

I've reached what I hope is the last cycle, 47 of the novel/poem Black confetti.

At this point I have no plans for new creative writing. I'll return to the early novels and plays and tidy them up.

Type from the journals until some specific point as they can continue until death.

It's also time to tidy up all the file drawers containing information on various subjects and folders of letters.

Sounds glum but it does feel like the end of the line.

______________________________________________________________________________________________