Wednesday, February 4, 2009

there can't be a title for this one.

If my week doesn't deserve a blog then no week would. So, blog I must and blog I will. Suffice it to say that I have three bullet holes in my house, I learned about my mother's past for the first time and it's gettting more and more incredible and answers so many major questions, and the bullets are there for reasons that I still can't understand but for the sake of suspense I will save some essential details for later. One bullet lied there looking beyond feeble on the carpet by the coach. One bullet was stuck in the door and one bullet is on the side of the kitchen cabinet. The CSI or whomever that was decided to leave it be for the time being. And, since I longer trust police I can't not assume that they probably won't investigate this in any right way.

Where to start is the big problem that I won't be able to solve. I am literally being persecuted by a two sick and stupid lesbians, then I find out the history of my mother's survival and it turns out to be epically fascinating and amazing. My mother found herself amongst 21,000 jews that were a part of Eichman's "deal with the devil"-- Rudolph Kastner-- Two trains went off to Aushwitz at the tail end of the war and those in those trains(my greatgrandmother and great cousins amongst others) were gassed to death upon arrival. My mother and her family for reasons that can be interperted in millions of ways were on the strasshoff train and that explains so much that never made sense to me. Google Strashoff, Bergen Belsen, Bergen Belsen hungarian camp, Rudolph Kastner, Debrecen. But, it gets "better." Then google Hileslaben Magdesberg train for another insane episode in my tiny mother's childhood. And, my great uncle Imre was on the Kastner train -- 1,300 or so Hungarian jews saved for reasons that pose too many philosophically agonizing questions to answer at this moment and because I am too busy writing up the be all end all document that will finally sink the fools who thought they could bury me and my family. There's a actual whole confederacy but two will never live what they've done down. One I barely knew and theoretically didn't know at all and the other I never knew nor cared to know. but these abject strangers(and I mean abject in it's more negative connotation) have seen fit to do things that they will pay for legally and financially for a very very long time. I won't even get into the other repurcussions that should result in such a gross gross injustice, but are not in our power It gets better everyday and evidence and investigation comes in that has resulted in a document that is getting to be a bit of a masterpiece of aburdity. I've finally gotten it down so it expresses what happened from top to bottom and it will be shown to anyone and everyone . Damn, it's good. Cracked me up and is cracking up those reading it. It's a actually a terrible and evil thing that was done but the way it is coming together in this document is laughter inducing.

I just don't know where to start ...

Let's start on Wednesday January 28th, the day before I have to go to court, and the day that I put out a prayer to god or the universe. I put out a prayer to something not tangible is what I'm saying. And, this prayer was: Please, god, I really can't stand this carpet anymore. Someone please make this disgusting carpet clean or give me hardwood floors. This was my admittedly mundane seeming prayer and this is the first time that I could recall praying for something so banal.

Long story shortened but long still is that yesterday I got my stinking wish and my carpet is clean as can be and most spots(except sister's red punch spots etc)
And,this didn't come about because I hired or paid for someone to clean said carpet. This was done for free because....

The craziest answered prayer yet and I've had my share. It will sound glib when you hear why but it doesn't feel that way and is not intended to sound that way. It is just one of those things where you remember something so clearly. I remember putting out this intense intense prayer for a better carpet and feeling silly about it and 5 days later I get my wish because of the murder of a lovely good man.

I plan to link some articles about what happened but that would ruin the story and even in the darkest of times a story is a story.

The articles I'll link don't mention so many things and of course it isn't mentioning the reason my carpet is now clean. It is all in another police file somewhere how three bullets came into my home while me and my family were there and when I asked the strapping female cop who came by and who had an accent( I asked- new zealand) if it could have killed us she said, "Hell, yeah."
YOu see the murder happened right outside my door. By my door. And two bullets were shot through my door and one ended up in the side of the ikea style kitchen cabinets. When the police came to collect forensics from my apartment they dragged some of the victim's blood and so now the manager got the owner to agree that this warranted a no cost carpet shampooing.
There is still a bullet hole in the cabinet and though they've painted the door you can still see the outlines of the two bullets. Squares of the carpet outside our door have been removed-- the ones where the blood was. In my not sure but true crime reading estimation: There is very little blood once you hear that a man was shot 5 times or more and that all together there was 8 bulltes fired.

The lead detective interviewed my mother but me and my sister got so stressed we fell asleep before they could talk to us. I don't trust the police at all anymore and I don't feel sure that they will investigate this as thoroughly as they theoretically could. My mother for the record is a not healthy 70 y.o woman and the way she didn't flinch at the sight and sound of bullets coming into her home was beyond heartening. The machoest mother alive! It was really something to see her just act so cool when it appears we were going to be murdered. After seeing judges and "elite police units' bow to the wishes of a corrupt repulsive law firm called lavely and singer and other horrors, we really weren't feeling paranoid when we were sure that we were going to get killed.

Soon but what seemed like a long time later the police came in droves and we were asked about our neightbor and we were told something that made us conclude that he was murdered and we all began to cry. He was an old gentleman. A black man who brought to mind the jazz age or new orleans or something more genteel and poignant than L.A. Very tall and with an easy walk and smile. And, we cried. I remembered how he came to my door and wanted to give me ice cream. I was in a rush out somewhere and he told me that someone got him the wrong flavors and he wanted to give it to me. I insisted that I could return it for him and get him the flavors he wanted but he insisted I take it. He opened the freezer and there was lots of breyers ice cream in there- those quart tubs that have been around forever. He leisurely took out four tubs of icecream and gave it to me. I was in a rush and I am pathologically incapable of saying, "I've got to go." especially to old folk. My sister and me have always had a particular respect for older people. And, so I waited patiently. He smiled sweetly and gave it to me as I said thank you many times. Money was so tight and it seemed very great to get so much ice cream for free. And, I liked this man before the free ice cream anyway and my sister had recently become very interested in ice cream and this was a lucky and good feeling. I ran into the apt and gave it to the family to freeze and ran out. I remember taking note that he didn't act like the stereotypical senior living alone -- he didn't make me feel guilty when I had to go etc.. He didn't do anything to break my heart-- only icecream to make my sister pleased(sweettoothwise, I'm into pastry as is my mother or plain old candy bars etc fyi) I saw him seldomly as I haven't been able to get out much and I don't think he got out too much either but each time was just plain pleasant. I find most people friendly and pleasant but this was different -- like I said, there was a needed throwback classic quality to this man. Thinking about in now, and the shabby modernity of the architecture and people of L.A and how he was different.

I would say anything to him by the elevator or on the way to the garbage disposal or on the way to the elevator or by the mailbox and he would laugh. My sister once overheard it and said, " yOu must have been really funny with him. " And, I just wasn't. He just found me amusing and would laugh sweetly at everythig I said.
About two months ago a package was left by his door and too much time seemed to pass and the package was still there. We worried that he died or something bad and we tol the manager. He assured us the next day that our neighbor was fine. The package was gone soon thereafter. When I was away my mother knocked on his door and told him that if he ever needs anything we are there for him. He never sought us out.
In the three years he lived no more than 3 feet away this was the extent of our relationship. But, not just by dint of retrospective recall when one dies did we remember him so fondly. He just seemed terrific and after years of lousy loud neighbors he was a godsend. So when something the cop said led us to believe that he was murdered we cried.

But, a knock and the door and the "real story" of what was happening with all those shots dried our eyes quick and made us wary of any further tear duct action. The same strapping and very tall female new zealand cop was back and she clarified: Our neighbor was the murderer and he had "brutally." murdered our handyman. My mother had talked with and met the handyman about 5 times in the three years we've and so now she cried for the handyman. I rememberd the handyman and my sister who doesn't deal with things like thing that need fixing remembered someone else but soon remember who it was and what a good vibe he was. His name was Gerardo Villegas Ramos and he had a 5 month old baby. My neighbor is in jail on 2 million dollars bond and I can't help but want to visit him and I can't help but wonder how and why this happened and if it was alzheimers or some war related mental snap or what. But, I have so many of my own worries that all that will have to be shoved into the parts of my headspace that manage excessive and inexplicable tragedy that in essence don't truly effect me in the sense of measurable loss blah blah blah.

So, if the fact that my gentleman neighbor turned out to be a senseless and brutal murderer( I won't believe it for a long time or until I know more.)isn't a reason for a blog ..

we (my family and I) know not only the sound of shots fired but how it feels to think you and your very loved ones will be killed because the police are not neccesarily there to protect you. That story too will get told if bullets keep missing. I have so many stories that I think I live to tell ,and so since I haven't told them all ,there's no telling how long I'll live.

I know how my mother and us act under the kind of pressure we've ever only seen on TV or in the movies. I know of the pride one has when they are literally under fire and they don't hardly flinch, and though I've never watched one episode of CSI I saw a CSI unit outside my peehole for many hours. I know how bullet holes look very close up. I know or don't know that I got my carpet wish and that once again the higher power answered my wishes in a really sick bastard kind of way. There are countless other elements to this tragic tale that may or may not get told. But, the least I can do for now in this strange sad modern landscape is ... blog.
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