User:Shilo.D.Rives.Windsor/sandbox

I have a purple spot on the back of my head. I am an indigenous north canadian product of artificial insemination that was chosen not to survive. my parents do not know that I even exist because when i was born a gierl; not actually knowing the fucking process, I suppose that they stuck the ovum with a needle and and then added the sperm sample. the sperm sample stayed with the ovum until at least one of them tracked its way into my developing uterus and ovum/ I was a fetus with a fetus from a pimpernel ovum and a brown haired xy sperm bank.

scarlet pimpernel is the winespot birthmark. I know I am not not NOT the egg from the uterus that held me until i had ears. i felt a kick from the host mother's bottom, and heard "yes mistress, yes mistress." then i heard a shot.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camphor I have the odor of camphor today because of naturopathic medicine that makes me smell like matches.

Menopause teaches a citizen Democrat of Kittitas that even a psns navy brat who is deemed non-compos mentes cannot serve the military when she is finally ready, able and completely willing to serve even a Swiss tour of duty. this body was born in a brown house at the top of 1116 shorewood drive in bremerton washington, not in hospital. Then they made sure I was snuffed with chemicals up my nose, so that the emotional distress of being cut from a womb after hearing a shot and feeling her signal cut off would cease to disturb that which they intended to do. They decided that I was a girl and they wanted a boy--after I was viable. they jammed a needle up my uterus to damage it and fold it, then they broke my neck, back and other places in my spine. I remained alive, though it appeared i was dead. they didn't scar my skin.

Psychiatric drugs revealed that persons clinical did this to me and silenced my inner verbal nature to the agreement of the doctor, so that the screaming stopped, and they acknowleged it.

I am a scarlet pimpernel and another one is Gorbachev. He isn't my father but may be another ovum. another ovum is windsor and this is how i know I am windsor. not donated garbage baby who always lived in the little brown house until i was moved in on by marna rives, who was probably assigned to be my caregiver by the state. not actually my birth mom, but i probably never even had time in my early years when I could recall just one individual who was with me in MY little house. the one i went into as soon as it got too cold for me to stay outside and hang out with the creatures, the squirrels and the birds, eating berries and bugs and being hugged by garter snakes.

Marna Rives, Spencer Snow the local mormons, and the DSHS/dcyf got me an actual birth certificate and social security number the moment i declared i wanted to go to university and then they got me a number, and then told me it was wrong, so it was confused a bit more officially. they lied all my life about where i was born and how i came about. I am sure that they didn't know i was alive until they found me and kept me in one place. I walked everywhere and was probably really a popular child before Marna moved herself into the house and "paid rent" so that I would have a caregiver. She wasn't my mum. I recall that she was there and did arts and crafts with me and gave me popcorn and we watched tv and stuff, but i know she wasn't my mom after all, and she took her job so seriously, that when i defied her on my friends porch for coming out on my own and walking all the way to High street, a whole 2 miles away, that she just hollered from the street, "If you don't come home you can't go back."

I am sure they were appalled when they came in and saw me hugging hugging her dead cat like a toy and loving it anyhow. I bet it was dried and dirty, and that's why they gave me such a tooth brushing and then took me to a nice lady who gave me a teddy bear and some jelly beans and took me to mormon easter service. i had white gloves. it was special. they sang songs and performed music actions.

the mormon single adults of bremerton, wa in 1977 were probably trying to be cool and see who I would pick to adopt me, like i would pick my mom and dad, like they tell you in the B of M, and then when Alvin Cox made advances, he shot pheasants for us, and I said he was my boyfriend. he made me feel good and sweet and never did anything bad or stupid or untoward. not even eskimo kisses. it was completely chaste. He may have been the only adult male in my life who actually made me feel the most best loved. The other men were modern boys.

I really needed to have that bodyguard in my house well before my skull was broken at a suture and bleeding about 2 grams of blood into my throat. also it would have been nice to have that nice red, beefy portuguese rhode island lieutenant of the police academy at the ready when champaign illinois keystonze came to haul me away via the gargoyle of class of 1984. Doing freud a favor like that gives hitler one more torture victim for art.