Category Archives: child murder

5 years of spreading KiefAir

 Kiefair.com is 5 years old today

in its present incarnation, 7 years old if you count the time it was breedheenorilleykeefer.com

Each step along our individual paths changes us. Some experiences grow body, mind, and soul. Other experiences cause those same parts of us to shrink and ache endlessly. The trick is to let each step teach you even if it pains you. When you dedicate yourself to a task with little hope of recognition or monetary gain, many steps on the path are painful. No matter how much you give or how many you touch, there are still more in need. We live in a harsh world. My hat/cancer bandana off to anyone on the path to healing themselves and/or helping a loved one get relief in the most natural way possible. It takes a lot of courage and resolve to reach the end of the modern medicine road and only be left with options you may be logically against (such as chemo). It’s just as difficult to dutifully stand by and genuinely unconditionally love someone whose body is in decline.  

As difficult as those decisions are, being public about them makes those choices even harder, but the stories we tell and leave behind in this time when cannabis legality is in its infancy of revival are a testament to the plant, it healing and transformative powers, and the lives of those left searching for comfort when modern medicine can’t offer it. Each of us who has chosen to tell our tale in the public forum of our day (the internet, or public eye in general) is living history. My endless gratitude to all those out there playing nurse to a loved one so limited in physical ability. Watching the cannabis world work to change from prohibition to test markets for medical use to states defying the federal government to decriminalize for adult use has been a heart twisting journey every step of the road. Please don’t forget the chronically ill folks and their caregivers for each recreational bowl you enjoy or sell legally. We still have a long way to go to honor the people who put their entire lives and health on the line in order to create change. Let’s begin by more and more programs to help the low income patients among us.

After many years of dedication to the cause of cannabis education and healing, This is the greatest need I see in the movement today: Just too many folks with too little resources and too much pain while the price of cannabis remains a burden to their largely ssi/ssd funded existences while pounds of useable cannabis are grown in the name of someone suffering and sold elsewhere by their “caregiver” for a profit. We must do better by the low income legal cannabis patient if we ever hope to legalize cannabis for medicinal or recreational use across the board. But as an individual, I can only offer individual mercy. Lately I’ve been giving free oil to individuals legal in Colorado and to cannabis charities such as Greenfaith Ministries. We need to see more of this kind of mercy. 

The Greenfaith community supports a wide range of outreach programs, including:

*At this time, these programs are available only to members in Colorado

Feel free to wander around Kiefair.com, wish the site a happy anniversary, comment on and share your favorite articles from years past. Also feel free to comment on this post for any improvements or changes you would like to see to the site. Moving forward, I have a project to preserve samples of products I make and products available in the market for future research. I imagine a time when we are looking back at this period in our shared history as the dawn of cannabis legalization. I imagine scientists wanting to know exactly what we were using. To preserve this history, the best, the good, the bad, and the ugly, I have procured slides and lab vials to make samples to carry on after us.

My next article covers making your own massage oils. As a preview for those eagerly awaiting the write up on that article, Let us have a look at the history of extracting healing compounds or scent compounds from various plants. This history is essential to understanding the next article from kiefair.com

History of Essential oil extraction and perfumery

I invite you to come and visit the site through a sampling of the most read articles. Scroll below the photo for the top read articles according to my site’s stats, 2014 reading statistics. Let’s take a look at what people are reading.

A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing. ~ George Bernard Shaw

A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing. ~ George Bernard Shaw https://m.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=955898141096862&id=100000300558421&set=a.321818131171536.80134.100000300558421&source=44&ref=bookmark

Now, some Honorable mentions.

Green Living in a Red State  and Talking to Your Doctor, Support from Social Media, and Living Green in a Red State Part by Verde LoneOwl

DIY Cannabis Cure oil healing: The tale of Wren by Wren SmilingDeer, lady of the wood

The tale of one of many who has taken information they learned on kiefair.com and had the courage to use that knowledge to treat their own illnesses with it.

Hipgnotist’s High Crimes and Hi-jinks

Tolkien was a stoner… Was Lembas Bread made of Hemp Seed?

This post is not to debate with others about if J.R.R. Tolkien was a stoner or not. This post is for people who have already determined for themselves that he did like to suck on a weed pipe every now and again and who wonder about what is really in Lembas Bread.

Duke the Cancer fighting Dog and RIP Duke

A dog who teaches us that not every case is a clear success, but not every gift is wasted… we lost duke but ended up helping his owner.

Naphtha is not good for you!

Certainly one of our most controversial posts. Just check out the associated youtube commentary.

Phoenix Tears Healing a Diabetic Ulcer (the healing begins)

And  Phoenix Tears Healing a Diabetic Ulcer (updated Journey)

Fat Freddy has had a sore on his back for about 3 years and it would not heal! We started putting Rick Simpson Oil on it on November 23, 2011 then the next day we checked it and then checked it every 3 days afterwards, changing the oil and bandage every 3 days as well! I documented the process as long as I was the live in maid/nurse for the patient. (WARNING THIS IS GRAPHIC!)

Familial Mediterranean Fever ~ a Rare genetic disease

I do not look like I have a single drop of Mediterranean blood in me, so why do i care about this rare genetic disorder? Because the color of skin is only skin deep. Because despite the pale appearance of my exterior,  I have the genetic ancestor from that part of the world who handed me this recessive trait. Because I have this disease and have to live with it…

Now, The Top 10 Most Read Posts

10. Hannah Hurnard’s “Hind’s Feet on High Places” audiobook video series

I was rather surprised this one made the countdown because the video series is as yet unfinished.

playlist on youtube: http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLwc43UiVjiudD0DhoUELBfeHOamG_Hvtj

A set of videos in Tribute to the writing of Hannah Hurnard, “Hind’s Feet on High Places” to Art of Breezy Kiefair i just put music and art to a book that has been a favorite since childhood… my mother used to read me that book…. call it a tribute to her and an introduction of the book to an audience that may otherwise remain unaware of it. I recommend it for anyone with anxiety or PTSD

hind'a feet on high places

9. Remembering Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts, a child murdered… his murderer acquitted 

This is the tale of how I lost my only child and had to watch the individual who logically was guilty walk free. I was rather surprised it made the most read articles list. May Westley’s love and story live on. My maternal heart will never stop longing for what should have been.

EPSON MFP image

8. Dixie Elixirs, Dixie Script, Dixie Dewdrops and The Clinic Colorado Review

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7. Cannabis Oil Advocate Ronnie Smith Suddenly Dies from Leukemia

Please also read:  Cannabis Activist Roland a Duby’s Censored Wikipedia Article

Ronnie Lee Smith, aka Roland A Duby made much of Kiefair.com possible. In April 2014, he lost his battle with Leukemia after being falsely imprisoned by Yavapai county in Arizona. We got Ronnie out of jail, but only in time for him to die with a pipe in his hands. While Ronnie was alive, he tasked me to keep his oil making method alive. I have done my best to ensure I keep this task entrusted to me by making his method freely available to anyone willing to learn.

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 6. A few words on the properties of Isopropyl alcohol

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5.  Cannabis products and Colorado Dispensary Reviews

*****Note, I have not updated the review page in quite some time. Some of the dispensaries I have reviewed may no longer be in business. The quality at the locations I have reviewed may have changed due to a change in ownership, grower or extraction agreements. Nearly all of my reviews are of MEDICAL locations, so please check to see if they have a retail location before using any of these reviews for a vacation guide.

6/2/2012 after a feeding

4. How to make Cannabis Cure Oil without alerting the neighbors

Screenshot 2014-03-09 20.13.36 edit

3. Hemp Seed and Hemp Seed Oil ~ a superfood, but not a cancer cure

from wiki Sesame-Oil-Rice-Bran-Oil-Hemp-Seed-Oil

2. How to Extract Cannabis Cure Oil with alcohol (Phoenix Tears)

2013-05-23 0657 indicasativa leaves collage polished

1. FAQ’s about Phoenix Tears Therapy for the Beginner 

A Heart Filled with love is like a phoenix that no cage can imprison ~Rumi

A Heart Filled with love is like a phoenix that no cage can imprison ~Rumi

Here’s to another Great Year!

Grateful Dead Throwing Stones

Check out our videos on Youtube

Do you use Kiefair.com? Do you support me giving out info on cannabis oil creation for free? Do you support my free oil program with the colorado cannabis charity known as Greenfaith Ministry? Well, you may be unaware that one little lady pays for all costs associated with KiefAir.com. The way the site stays afloat with its mini library of cannabis related reference information is through sales of art and books. Each year, I must make $300 in PROFITS from the art at my etsy store and my poetry book sales on amazon.com.

Have a look at some samples from my portfolio, all of these images may be purchased to support kiefair.com 

Please remember I only make pennies per art print I sell, so I need to sell a lot of pieces each year. I was very worried about keeping the site open for 2015. The holiday season left me with not one sale. But People pulled together, and We are all set to keep the site open through February 2016!

This is the tale of how I kept the site open this time… previous years, the money had come from my medication budget. This year was different… this happened because a long time patron gifted me $100 to bring the hosting fee bar a little lower, but he was a special case, my first patron ever who seems to still want to pay more for some ceramic figures I did when I was about 14. He always sends me some cash during the winter holidays and on my birthday. In truth this anonymous donor has been more of a father to me than my own. One of the few positive male role models i have had in mu life. The rule is to spend it on something for myself. I misbehaved this year and give the gift to you. This year I’m put it towards continuing to give the gift of information via kiefair.com . Pebbles Trippet, a prominent writer for Skunk Magazine bought a clutch of 4×6 limited edition Maya Angelou memorial prints. Other patrons got posters or 8×10 prints and we made our goal to keep the site open! My thanks to all Patrons!

Each year, I allow you, the reader/viewer to decide if kiefair.com stays alive. If I get sales, all profit (save my usual tithe if 10% of all profits) will go to saving KiefAir.com.  I hope we can do better on those sales and keep the site alive. Remember the power is yours to make it live or let the library die. Any image from my please bogart my art page is for sale except the maya portrait.

Buy here: https://www.etsy.com/shop/ArtofBreezyKiefair

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Portrait of Toni Fox image created by: Breezy Kiefiar

Portrait of Toni Fox by: Breezy Kiefiar Toni Commissioned me to turn one of her favorite digital images of herself into a canvas painting. Toni said she was so pleased with it that she has it displayed in her home office.

RIP MAYA Angelou

Appeared in volume 10 issue 1 of Skunk Magazine Read the article here: https://kiefair.com/2014/05/28/rip-maya-angelou-honoring-her-cannabis-connections/

Screenshot 2014-03-09 20.13.36 edit

more motin art here: https://plus.google.com/photos/108039434993096331483/albums/5958522508897641073

Image title: Maiden, Mother, Crone title by: Wren Déjà Vu SmilingDeer Image by: The Art of Breezy Kiefair source image: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=555469131139767&set=a.151763424843675.27293.100000300558421&type=3&src=https%3A%2F%2Ffbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net%2Fhphotos-ak-prn1%2F603947_555469131139767_1142977912_n.jpg&size=251%2C750 source image description:  Title: Banshee Breezy, Be afraid Title By: Breezy Kiefair Image by: Breezy Kiefair of The Art of Breezy Kiefair

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remember that cannabis flowers are like roses... roses come in many colors and the right color given to the right person can open many doors... cannabis flowers come with many different effects and the right flower given to the right person with the right illness that flower is good at treating can ease much suffering. —                                                                     https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=530336420319705&set=o.154533251224064&type=3&src=https%3A%2F%2Ffbcdn-sphotos-g-a.akamaihd.net%2Fhphotos-ak-prn1%2F525999_530336420319705_1779578205_n.jpg&size=480%2C384

2013-04-02 tokin hills for rev b2013-04-02 Fire on the mountain in a Canna Colorado moonrise2013-04-02 caturday in the woods think i saw a lynx with my eye2013-04-02  Blue moon for a green moment

Love the art on Kiefair.com? please visit: https://www.facebook.com/Breezy.Kiefair.likey

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$11.00 USD
details: 1. Make your selection at the following link: https://www.facebook.com/kiefyart
2. Complete your transaction here and let the artist know what image you desire. Ms. Breezy will ship you a print in the size you desire right away!

Aurora Borealis through Cannabis Eyes

$11.00 USD

Other Products:

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Of Pain, Poetry and Pot [Kindle Edition]

Breedheen O’Rilley , Breezy Kiefair


Print List Price: $11.11
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Book Description

December 6, 2013
A poetry book centered on pot written by cannabis activist and artist under the influence, Breezy Kiefair. “Of Pain, poetry, and pot.” Is a collection of cannabis centered poetry in a neobeatnik style. It includes updated versions of Allen Allen Ginsberg – Howls “howl” and “america”, along with an update on “to whom it may concern” by Adrian Mitchell , a cannabis parody of Rifleman’s Creed and many other poems that are all my own.


Product Details

  • File Size: 1518 KB
  • Print Length: 31 pages
  • Publisher: Breedheen ORilley, aka Breezy Kiefair; 1 edition (December 6, 2013)
  • Sold by: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.
  • Language: English
  • ASIN: B00FGF8WUY
  • Text-to-Speech: Enabled
  • X-Ray:
  • Word Wise: Not Enabled
  • Lending: Enabled
Customer Reviews
6 Reviews
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4 of 4 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Rare and Lovely, October 2, 2013
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This review is from: Of Pain, Poetry and Pot (Kindle Edition)
Would You Like To Pick Breezy’s Brain? This wonderful book is a chance to witness the creative process at work; author Breezy Kiefair (aka Breedheen O’Rilley) is the real deal, a gifted poet/journalist/activist on the forefront of the battle for medical marijuana patients’ rights and for truth in media. And speaking of truth, emotional truth is exactly what you’ll get here. Breezy isn’t afraid to take an open-eyed, unsparing look at society, at herself, at her illnesses, at the lies we tell ourselves and each other — and at the scintillating, breathtaking beauty which is more real and more powerful than all else. Highly recommended.
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3 of 3 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Beautiful., January 14, 2014
This review is from: Of Pain, Poetry and Pot (Kindle Edition)
Written by someone very intimate with pain on many different levels. Beautiful and honest. I can’t wait to find out more about this amazing young woman. I originally borrowed this book. I have now read it twice and I have to own it. It must become a part of my permanent collection, along with anything else I can find which flows from this beautiful author.
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3 of 3 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Passion and creativity fills these pages, December 27, 2013
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This review is from: Of Pain, Poetry and Pot (Kindle Edition)
The poems and rhythm that comes from the author’s feelings show you that she uses her medical cannabis passion and even frustrations to put her concerns into words we can understand. You can feel her pain – you can feel her pride. The transposed songs were a great touch.
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3 of 3 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Talented, insightful artist and writer,November 25, 2013
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This multi-talented artist and writer amazed me with her insightful and sometimes heartbreaking poetry. Her artwork is not only beautiful, but different from any I have seen. I have actually ordered several individual prints off her website to give as gifts this Christmas. I highly recommend this book.
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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Fabulous, February 8, 2014
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This review is from: Of Pain, Poetry and Pot (Kindle Edition)
As an activist,a woman and a HUMAN BEING,, I could feel the pain in Ms. O’Rilley’s poetry. Yet I could also feel the triumph. A must for all “pot’ lovers, I got it for 2.99 for my Kindle and it was MORE than worth it. I’ve read these poems over and over, you will too.
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful
5.0 out of 5 stars Of Pain, Poetry and Pot, March 13, 2014
This review is from: Of Pain, Poetry and Pot (Kindle Edition)
This is an excellent book written by a very gifted, unique woman Breezy Keifair. I loved the whole book and have read it a couple of times so far. She is an artist that does her work under the influence of pot for the pain she is in and you can feel that pain with her words. I could really relate to that and a lot of other things in the book. I highly recommend this book. She is also a very gifted artist besides being a good poet and writer.
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Amish Kid forced on Chemo: What’s the Matter Here? and Why the cannabis community should care!

Court Sides With Ohio Hospital on Amish Girl Care

August 28, 2013 (AP)
By JOHN SEEWER Associated Press

An appeals court has sided with a hospital that wants to force a 10-year-old Amish girl to resume chemotherapy after her parents decided to stop the treatments.

The court ruled that a county judge must reconsider his decision that blocked Akron Children’s Hospital‘s attempt to give an attorney who’s also a registered nurse limited guardianship over Sarah Hershberger and the power to make medical decisions for her.

The hospital believes Sarah’s leukemia is very treatable but says she will die without chemotherapy.

The judge in Medina County in northeast Ohio had ruled in July that Sarah’s parents had the right to make medical decisions for her.

The appeals court ruling issued Tuesday said the judge failed to consider whether appointing a guardian would be in the girl’s best interest. It also disagreed with the judge’s decision that said he could only transfer guardianship if the parents were found unfit.

The family’s attorney, John Oberholtzer, said Wednesday that the ruling essentially ordered the judge to disregard the rights of the parents.

Andy Hershberger, the girl’s father, said the family agreed to begin two years of treatments for Sarah last spring but stopped a second round of chemotherapy in June because it was making her extremely sick.

“It put her down for two days. She was not like her normal self,” he said. “We just thought we cannot do this to her.”

Sarah begged her parents to stop the chemotherapy and they agreed after a great deal of prayer, Hershberger said. The family, members of an insular Amish community, shuns many facets of modern life and is deeply religious. They live on a farm and operate a produce stand near the village of Spencer in Medina County, about 35 miles southwest of Cleveland.

“Our belief is, to a certain extent, we can use modern medicine, but at some times we have to stop it and do something else,” Hershberger said in a telephone interview.

They opted to consult with a wellness center and treat Sarah with natural medicines, such as herbs and vitamins, and see another doctor who is monitoring their daughter, Hershberger said.

“We see her every day. We watch her really close,” her father said. “She runs, plays. She crawls up ladders. She’s got a lot of energy, more than she had when she was doing chemo.”

Hershberger said they have not ruled out returning to Akron Children’s Hospital if Sarah’s health worsens. “We told them if it gets to the point that we cannot do anything for her, we would come back,” he said.

After the appeals court decision, the hospital said in a statement Wednesday that its goal is to ensure that the girl receives the most appropriate care based on scientific evidence and added that the allegation has never been about “parental unfitness.”

It said neither the hospital nor anyone else is requesting legal or physical custody of the child; instead, the hospital said, this case “involves a disagreement between providers and parents over what course of treatment is best for their child.”

Robert McGregor, the hospital’s chief medical officer, said last week that it is morally and legally obligated to make sure the girl receives proper care.

He said the girl’s illness — lymphoblastic lymphoma — is an aggressive form of non-Hodgkin lymphoma, but there is a five-year survival rate of 85 percent if she continues treatment.

Some of the girl’s tumors had gone away after the first round of chemotherapy, but she isn’t yet in remission, the hospital said.

“We really have to advocate for what we believe is in the best interest of the child,” McGregor said last week.

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retrieved from http://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory/court-sides-ohio-hospital-amish-girl-care-20094478 on 09/03/2013 17:00 MDT~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, Why should the cannabis world care?

We as cannabis activists and as religious rights activists need to care about this case…. If this Amish family cannot follow the laws of their own religion regarding medical treatment, then we as cannabis activists need to side with the parents… this is no different than a parent making ia choice to treat the child with cannabis. their choice happens to be prayer. THEY HAVE THAT RIGHT IN MY OPINION.

Forget my opinion! These parents 1st amendment right is being trampled….

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

I wonder if the state of Ohio remembers this little bit of freedom we are all taught to love.

if we sit by and let it be trampled, our cannabis kids are next… and we are already seeing examples of it… In our own backyards with horrifying results.Did the parents choose out of fear to begin chemo? yes they broke their own traditions and took her to start chemo of their own free will… when it was making her so sick and the parents and child wanted to return to their beliefs is when the fight started. now, like some cannabis kids… she is in foster care… no fair!

I was a kid with cancer in the foster care system… had to go before the judge about chemo…. the facility i was in said i was having a suicide attempt by refusing chemotherapy.  i am so glad Judge Regina Walters sided with my choice to decline chemotherapy.

If doctors were perfect, they wouldn’t practice medicine on people they expect to have patience to the point of calling them that as if it was a magic term that made us willing to wait an eternity to be graced by their practicing.

Now, back to this child…. imagine this poor Amish kid not yet old enough to choose if she wishes to join the religion or not (the rite of Rumspringa )
and who knows little outside of the people her parents have allowed around previously…. All of the sudden she is plunged into the evils of foster care? i feel so sorry for her… and all she wants to do is make the same choice i did… to eat the best foods she can, be nurtured by those around her and pray.

When it is a situation that is life and death. Why should the government have so much of a say. The individual with the cancer or illness should be the one to decide how to go about fighting for their life. It is family, friends and the creator ‘s place to guide that individual through the fight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Toddler Killed By Foster Mom, After Being Taken From Peaceful Birth Parents For Their Cannabis Use

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In Round Rock, Texas, the daughter of two peaceful young parents, was kidnapped by the state, after they admitted to someone that they smoke a small amount of cannabis at night. Sadly, the parents never got their daughter back, as her foster mother inflicted blunt force trauma to the toddler’s brain, putting her into a coma. Two days later the toddler, Alexandria Hill, died.

cps

Photo: Screenshot from YouTube

By Cassius Methyl
Intellihub.com

August 5, 2013

Because the state demands that people don’t smoke cannabis, the authorities will go as far as to kidnap your child to enforce this, and put him or her in a new, very likely more dangerous home. The bottom line is, there is almost no chance of a child ever possibly getting hurt because of his/her parents smoking cannabis.

Alcohol is legal, and parents can drink, therefore this kidnapping because of cannabis is absolutely dysfunctional, ridiculous, tyrannical, and in this case, fatal. This is a story of the state, at one of its most disgustingly dysfunctional and forceful points. It is abundantly clear that Alexandria Hill’s parents were average young people, in no way dangerous whatsoever. Joshua Hill, the father of Alexandria Hill, the 2 yr old girl who was killed, said “We never hurt our daughter. She was never sick, she was never in the hospital, and she never had any issues until she went into state ‘care’.”

Once she was forcibly placed in foster care last November, she began displaying bruises and injuries often, and appeared to live in unsanitary conditions. Alexandria’s father says “She would come to visitation with bruises on her, and mold and mildew in her bag. It got to a point where I actually told CPS that they would have to have me arrested, because I wouldn’t let her go back.”

The parents of Alexandria had her sent to a new home after the experience with the bruises and unsanitary living conditions, and this new home was the place where she received the fatal injuries. In January, for the second time, CPS made a mistake transferring her to this home, and that mistake was fatal.

They placed Alexandria in a home with 54 yr old Sherill Small, and she later either hit Alexandria in the head and killed her, or somehow inflicted a blow to her head, maybe dropped her , or threw her. Now this girl is dead, because the state can kidnap with impunity. Why should we ever allow the government to forcibly kidnap people’s children, for victimless crimes?

Why should we, the citizens, let them keep arresting people, hurting people, and letting people die for the controls they wish to impose on us? We have had enough of the dysfunctional, fake services they pretend to provide for us while they incessantly molest our lives from birth to death. Things seemed to be going alright according to Alexandria’s parents, when she was placed in the care of Sherill Small in Rockdale, Texas, at first.

The parents were about a month away from being reunited with their child, but then, Sherill beat the toddler’s head with a blunt object, or somehow inflicted severe force which resulted in blunt force trauma to the brain. The child sadly ended up in a coma, and she died 2 days later at the hospital. Sherill claims the child hit her head on a carpet when she was playing, but an investigation showed that the blunt force trauma means she was struck hard with something, and falling on carpet could never do that damage.

Sherill Small was arrested at her home for murder, yet revenge is not ‘justice’, as the ‘justice’ system would lead you to believe. This time, the dysfunctional and out of control, parasitic state has ended the life of a toddler. Punishing this psychotic old woman will not bring back the life of this girl. The only true justice that can be done, is to ensure that this doesn’t happen to anyone else, and the only way to achieve that, is to severely cut and limit the power of the state and federal governments. Our dogs will not be shot by police, our children will not be kidnapped by their parents and left to die in worse conditions, all of this would be okay, if only the citizens would demand that the government not arrest people for victimless crimes.

This is all a result of the citizens sitting back and watching TV, doing nothing, while these people continue to expand their own powers. The politicians and the people who control them like puppets, the corporations, and the police state they use to their advantage, are destroying us. It is time for the citizens to stand up, and have a peaceful revolution, clearing out the tyranny, taking people out of office, revoking laws.

We need to invoke the restoration of our true law, the Constitution, which doesnot allow the police to arrest people for victimless crimes, and kidnap children. Some very charismatic and corrupt politicians have manipulated our people over the years, convinced them that somehow the Constitution doesn’t guarantee basic rights, or that our safety is incompatible with freedom. They molested the loopholes in Constitutional Law until this was the result. It is now simply time to restore the true law- no more arresting people for victimless crimes.

We do need to solidify our rights that aren’t clearly outlined enough in the Constitution too, but it is a reasonable goal for freedom for today, to want to restore this true law. This is a reasonable philosophical solution to the problems we face today as a society. If you cannot see how much better off we would be without the government doing what they do, you need to learn about the crimes this government has committed. It is time to demand these people step down, and NO ONE restrict our rights to grow cannabis or smoke it.

This miracle plant that can be used to build homes, make paper and textiles, treat cancer and several other illnesses. Of course, it can even be smoked recreationally, being less harmful than almost any other recreational drug. You should know all of this, but knowing is only one step- now it is time to sway public opinion to a critical mass, and truly make the change happen. Go tell people about this, build up the support for freedom, the abolishment of all these government agencies, the revocation of laws, and the restoration of true constitutional law.

Please share this with as many people as possible, so we can simply gain our rights back, just so we can live in peace. This tyranny is getting bad- the scariest thing is how complacent and unaware many people are, of the crimes, dysfunctionality, and true nature of this government.

Writer Bio:

CassiusCassius Methyl is a journalist writing for Intellihub.com and a liberty activist who plays every instrument and vocals for an experimental metal-truth movement project called “Core of a Virus”. Find his music on Facebook. 

For media inquires, interviews, questions or suggestions for this author, email: cassius@intellihub.com or telephone: (347) 759-6075.

retrieved from: http://intellihub.com/2013/08/05/toddler-killed-by-foster-mom-after-being-taken-from-peaceful-birth-parents-for-their-cannabis-use/ on 09/03/2013 at 17:14 MDT

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and another

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UPDATE: Medical Marijuana Advocate Goes Public After Children Are Taken, Placed Into Foster Care

POSTED BY  ON MON, APR 29, 2013 AT 4:06 PM

UPDATE: April 30, 2013

The Boise Police Department released information regarding the April 24 incident involving Josh and Lindsey Rinehart, which resulted in the placement of the Rinehart’s children into the custody of the State of Idaho.

According to law enforcement, they were contacted by a local school official who said that an 11-year-old child had become ill, requiring medical treatment from a school nurse. Police said the child had eaten a substance which was identified as marijuana. Police said the marijuana had come from a home on the 2900 block of W. Malad Street. The child who became ill did not live at the residence but is acquainted with the Rinheart’s children.

Police said they went to the residence and found children, being cared for a babysitter while the parents were away. Police said they discovered drug paraphernalia and “a quantity of a substance that appeared to be marijuana in locations inside the house accessible to the children.” Patrol officers contacted narcotics investigators who secured a search warrant signed by a judge. Police added that their investigation has not yet resulted in criminal charges.

Detectives made the decision to contact Idaho Department of Health and Welfare officials who deemed that the children were in “imminent danger,” thereby putting the children into protective custody.

Police said typically they did not release information on cases that remain under investigation, but the suspects “in this case have chosen to identify themselves and the department believes it is in the public interest to clarify that evidence in a criminal investigation led officers to the Malad Street home.”

ORIGINAL POST:

Marijuana advocate Russ Belville, center left, is flanked by Lindsey Rinehart, center, and her husband Josh, center right.

  • ANDREW CRISP
  • Marijuana advocate Russ Belville, center left, is flanked by Lindsey Rinehart, center, and her husband Josh, center right.

Josh and Lindsey Rinehart believe the Idaho Department of Health and Welfare and the Boise Police Department erred in their decision to place their the Rinehart’s two sons in foster care, citing “imminent danger” because of the presence of marijuana found in the house.

“We’re taking issue with the ‘imminent danger’ charge,” Lindsey Rinehart said on the steps of the Idaho State Capitol. “I am a multiple sclerosis patient. The reason I had cannabis in my household is I’m a multiple sclerosis patient.”

Lindsey uses marijuana, she said, for medicinal purposes to treat her illness, which can cause violent muscle spasms. Boise Weekly readers may remember Rinehart from her testimony at the Idaho State Capitol regarding medical marijuana. As director of Compassionate Idaho,Rinehart has helped spearhead a petition drive to legalize marijuana in Idaho.

While the couple were on vacation April 23, she told Boise Weekly, Health and Welfare and Boise Police entered their home, confiscated marijuana found there, and ultimately placed her 5-year-old and 10-year-old boys in protective custody.

“We had just gotten cell service, and right when we entered Donnelly my cell phone kicked on and somebody had said the cops are at your house. And I knew,” she said.

The Rinhearts told media that on April 30 they will have supervised visitation with their children, and have begun the process of working with the Idaho Department of Health and Welfare to have their children returned to them. She said criminal charges have not yet been filed against her, but she anticipates they may be.

“Right now all I’ve heard is that they could be pending. There’s no warrant. I don’t know—it’s kind of this constant anxiety attack of when they’re going to come,” she said.

Tags: ,

retrieved from: http://www.boiseweekly.com/CityDesk/archives/2013/04/29/medical-marijuana-advocate-goes-public-after-children-are-taken-placed-into-foster-care on 09/03/2013 at 17:24 MDT

I could go on and on… what is wrong that these children are being ripped from their families? We have such bigger problems.

2013-01-12 0651 dark-angel edit 7 august edit

 

Words to the father of my son through his lover

 

  • Breezy Mental Ginsberg Kiefair

    • i will send the pics (meaning every digital photo of Westley I have). I understand. I really do. People just believe shit about me that is not true. Ever hear the term silvertongue? The guy who killed Westley, was one. Guess he must have chatted up my ex-husband & co. too. Well the very fact that the pathology report says i was clocked into work at the time science tells us Wes was injured says i did not kill Wes. I love Wheelchair Doug still. Mel had an abortion at the same time i got preggers. She hates me for herself, not for me or Wes. Wes touched a lot of lives in his short life. Honestly, Jason’s family was the biggest problem in our relationship, and he was never abusive except for when they had been torturing him to get me to change my mind about something.

    • i dunno if that clears anything up, but my motives are not what you’ve been told, i assure you. Was i a not so good person when i was with Jason, sure…. I was a crazy bitch at times. I can own that. The grief over Wes killed that selfish bitch. By the by…. I make that treatment i mentioned for your eyes. It’d be an honor to help you if you like.

    • Maybe he found me so his heart can understand the truth, place the blame where it’s due, & take a bit of responsibility. He was Westley’s dad, & he nearly never fulfilled any fatherly responsibilities. Had he been helping, i could have left & saved OUR sons life. I even went back to both Jason & the guy who killed Wes trying to decide who was less detrimental to Westley. I choose poorly with no good safe choices available. Even begged my bio father to get us out.

    • all of that is neither here nor there… I am sure Jason & i have both paid dearly for any karmic debt with Westley. I’m only saying this because as his partner, maybe the information can help you help him. I know well what the grief over an innocent can do.the images are at the other email address.

    • i hope it helps.

 

UPDATED POST: MOM AND DAD Remembering a Murdered boy: Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts. Happy would-be 13th birthday 7:47pm (birth minute)

UPDATED POST: MOM AND DAD Remembering a Murdered boy: Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts. Happy would-be 13th birthday 7:47pm (birth minute)

an update from Westley’s father at the bottom of the post. I am so very grateful.

Kiefair.com DIY cannabis and more

If all works out according to plan, this will be posted on my only child’s birth minute on what would have been his 13th birthday.

I have often said that we have a word for people who loose all family members but children (widow/widower, orphan, ect) partially because of historical mortality rates of children and partially because it is a loss so horrible there just isn’t a word to describe the feeling. I will never forget you Westley. You changed me as a person for the better & for this, I am forever grateful to you.

I named my only child Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts. I agonized in research for months looking for the right name. Westley and Keaton together means ~”loosely” man from the field where the Hawks go in Gaelic. Westley was also in deference to of my I don’t know how many great(s)-uncle named Westley O’Connor who…

View original post 1,725 more words

A mother’s grief 12 years later: Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts

It has been 12 years today since your light was snuffed out… I am still here on earth, lingering in a mother’s nowhere-land somewhere between life and death… I am still asking why. I am still lamenting the miscarriage of justice. I have already written extensively on this topic. I have provided my readers with “catch up” links. I don’t have the heart to say much more. I love you Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts. I will never forget you or stop holding the memory of your life in my heart.

This is a video of art I have created between March of 2009 and September 2010. It is set to a song written by a friend of mine in real life from High School after the murder of my only child, Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts (Westley Keaton means ~man from the field where the Hawks go in Gaelic)

Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts
born 10/24/1998
murdered 05/06/2000
Justice miscarried (murderer acquitted on a technicality Jan 2001)

for more information on Westley’s short life, please see the following blog post:
http://breedheenorilleykeefer.com/2011/10/24/remembering-a-murdered-boy-westley-thorin-keaton-roberts-happy-would-be-13th-birthday-747pm-birth-minute/

A grieving mama far from home needs her baby’s grave tended. In Hillsdale, Michigan there is a catholic cemetery. The link is to the parish.

contact info St. Anthony of Padua Catholic Church
11 N. Broad St.
Hillsdale, MI 49242
Office – 517-437-3305
Fax – 517-437-0034

They should be able to direct you to the cemetery. Just inside the gate by the fair grounds is a big pine tree. Seek out the gravestone of a murdered infant with a puppy on the stone. The name on the stone is Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts. Please clear away the leaves from his stone. Please tell him his mother still loves him and is still crying. If you can, please lay some red flowers there or release red balloons with seeds attached, so that love may grow at random for his memory. October 24, 1998 – May 6, 2000 gone far too soon, but my son, I feel your presence still. http://stanthonypadua.catholicweb.com/


http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?msid=208245905641388047753.0004bf5ff5a6760bf607c&msa=0&ll=41.90898,-84.626975&spn=0.001601,0.002411&iwloc=0004bf5ff944d0ce89eb1

“Howl” by Allen Ginsberg updated for the Occupation

Howl

Updated by Breezy Kiefair

For my friends, fans, and fiends

I

I saw the best minds of my generation valiantly struggling to destroy the madness, starving hysterical educated,

dragging themselves through the occupied streets at dawn looking for a fix to their righteous anger,

angelheaded hempsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating class warfare,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El train and saw First Nation spirit guides pale and staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with perscribed narcotic hazed eyes.. desperatley trying to conquer physical pain inside the dream of Ginsberg’s school whilst Debting Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war and peace,

whose doctors with the stroke of a pen excluded them from the academies for weak immune response & too many hospital visits and too much time off required…… and so retired to being a ghost in the machine publishing controversial essays on the benefits of cannabis therapy for the sick.

who cowered in rotten canvas tents in long dirty clothes, burning their resin, paying their land bills and heating canned goods on a candle in the absence of an indoor stove whilst listening to the Terror echoing still today and through the years,

who got busted for their sacramental pipes returning through Maine with a story of hope for Cleveland, Michigan and Colorado.

who grew fire out back of low end hotels in their RV or drank resin tincture on Paradise Mesa, dug in until death, conditions and the cold of hell in their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, cannabis and lack and endless wails,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Mexico and the whole prohibition world, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote spirits haunting the land of no halls, backyard green tree cemetery falls, canna-bliss blowing over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teapotparty joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusk’s of the valley, ashcan rantings and kind cannabis on compassion makes you light of mind,

who chained themselves to their occupation. for the endless ride from park to holy jail on love and hope until the noise of mace and sticks brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the fear light of the memory of the dead man from the Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of the capitol building and when riot police came floated out and sat through the stale beer/coffee house dawn in desolate 16th Street, reading the crack of doom scroll across their social media news feeds.

who posted information continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Twin Towers onto of the moon

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, gifts for the Sacred place just cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen horizon mirage above reality’s plane. leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of the beauty of the world.

Who found it better suffering sweats and bone-grindings and migraines of junk-withdrawal in an MMJ state’s bleak furnished room, with the comfort of a pipe in hand and the knowledge they could use as much of this as their pain required and not worry about an unintended death.

who wandered around and around at midnight in the occupied parks wondering where to go, and remained, leaving no broken hearts except for their own, and even it, scrawled across a bit of cardboard and peacefully expressed for all of the anger and stress madness within their breasts.

who lit hash filled cigarettes at truck-stops truck-stops truck-stops racketing through snow toward lonesome freedom Maine in grandfather night,

who studied St. Jude, astral projection, and bop kabbalah, Rastafarian, the Egyptian book of the dead, the epic of Gilgamesh, and more because the universe instinctively vibrated at their feet in Nebraska.

who longed through the streets of Ohio seeking visionary First Nation guides who were visions themselves

who thought they were only mad when they have every right to be mad and their righteous indignation gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in pig cars on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight small-town blizzard Maine,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through ‘Mosa seeking meds or heat or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to the safety of the horse-lands,

who disappeared into the underground leaving nothing behind but the shadow of dungarees and the rocks we gathered for the house and ash of my heart scattered on the land, self sustainable American dream in ashes because I cant fund it beyond the empty land, and even that is for sale for survival’s sake.

who reappeared on the East Coast investigating the medicinal cannabis programs in other states in purple pure gift scarf and with big pacifist eyes sexy in their pale skin passing out information and stories in exchange for housing like a true bard of old.

who cold turkey-ed cigarettes repeatedly protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism (and picked them back up again in PTSD coping mechanism to throw them back down again and again),

who screamed in favor of the Cannabis haze of capitalism…. who distributed Congressional Supercommittee petitions in Universal Online square weeping and exposing the secrets of their hearts while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the severe weather sirens also wailed,

who broke down crying in protest parks as if they had been left naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who used their whit to strike at detectives and shrieked with delight in police-cars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and duty to protest.

who howled on their knees in the igloo and were dragged off the sidewalks waving signs and screaming valid points,

who let themselves be maced in the face, and screamed with joy for truth exposed,

who believed in equality for all, caresses and hints of unconditional love

who occupied in the morning and in the evenings and sent messages to delegation rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their opinions freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a public forum when a small & vulnerable woman came to hear their wailing song.

who lost their loves to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,

who shared themselves ecstatic and insatiable and fell off the net, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate hope and prosperity eluding the last gyzym of consciousness, and a lighting a fire of self sustainability desire

who sweetened the minds of a million hearts trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but were prepared to sweeten the image of the sunrise, flashing truths under sad eyes and naked in the soul,

who went out traveling through Colorado in myriad stolen rides, A.G. secret hero of these poems, poet and activist of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable fingers given to censoring conformists and cigarettes shared with corrupted youth in Naropa writing work shop breaktime day. I sing to you on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside debates & especially quiet help in dreams.

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden nightmare, and picked themselves up out of heart sore despair… not drunk yet hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of Wall Street’s iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their souls full of dread on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the 1% to open to a room full of steamheat and and lack of worry,

who created great suicidal dramas on the appeasement of bankers of the Stock market under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of the Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build revolutions in their parks, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the acid rain skies surrounded by orange crates of theology wishing for wide open spaces,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, rambling and unpublishable without a proofreader’s eye

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for a banana,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for an Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next century,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were tortured alive in their innocent flannel suits on social security disability amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality, your government docs say your too sick to work, your government says your life is worth $17.42 a day. Make that work you sick lady in the wild all on your own.

who were trapped on the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of the protests, not even one tagline

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the dream’s window, jumped in the filthy Greyhound, leaped on haters, cried all over the street, danced on broken glass pipes barefoot..

who polar bear-ed it across frozen mesa to prove a point to psychopathic husband…. smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz screamed it was 1929 again, finished the joint and still stumbled down the hall just in time for their disease to make them throw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal auditory sensitivity.

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch a widespread panic incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loaned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to the social media class,

who retired to MMJ state to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or France to teach medicine or Southern border to live cheaply or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the feds of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw Knowledge at political pundits and gave lectures on history to representatives and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with the shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous reversion to the constitution,

and who were given instead the concrete void of mainstream media, refused electricity, cold-water hydrotherapy long before the dawn, applications for protest trademark names, occupational therapy in the for of police brutality & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic table, resting briefly in catatonia as the peaceful prepare their souls for pain.

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the corruptions and small-town censorship of infanticide in the East,

Pueblo State’s mountain views and Excelsior’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with bio-family finally *****, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger on the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination— yet in the mind hope still remains

ah, working class, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,

whose written dreams made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel citizen in Time, unknown, yet posting here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose incarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

Howl

For Carl Solomon

I

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,

dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping towards poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost batallion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon

yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak furnished room,

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railway yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St John of the Cross telepathy and bop kabbalah because the universe instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving nothing behind but the shadow of dungarees and the larva and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism, who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman’s loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but were prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver—joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’ rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open full of steamheat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the appartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of the Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts, who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for an Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steamwhistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisychain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturerson Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with the shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally *****, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger on the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time—

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soulbetween 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose incarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

II

Breezy Kiefair

What Harpy of regulations bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Inequality! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Inequality! Moloch! Nightmare of Money! 1% the loveless! Mental Moloch! State controlled Media the heavy judge of men!

Class Warfare the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Super-Congress of sorrows! Wall Street whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of war! Money for the stunned governments!

My country whose mind has become pure machinery! My Country whose blood is running money! My Country whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! My Country whose ear is an unknown and smoking tomb! My country who adopted me and is therefore my parent.

My parents whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! My parents whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovas! My parents whose factories dream and choke in the fog while paying down their carbon footprint as if the damage was undone! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities making my body ache!!

Moloch is My father whose love is endless oil and stone! My father whose soul is electricity and banks! My home whose poverty is the specter of genius! My home whose fate is an uncertain roller coaster based on regulations that keep shrinking my resources! Freedom’s only home now whose name is the Mind!

Moloch is My home in whom I sit lonely! My home in whom I dream angels! Crazy in Moloch! Crazy Bitch in Moloch! Lacklove and friendless in My home!

Moloch who entered and attempted to own my soul early! My home, in your information superhighway I become am a consciousness not bound so much by a disabled body! My father who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! My parents I abandon! Wake up in my country! Light streaming out of the sky!

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! Corporate Persons! invincible house or representatives! granite senates! Corrupt lobbyists! monstrous bombs!

They broke their backs lifting their country to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the American Dream river turned to flushing toilet!

Dreams! adoration! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of bill of rights constitutional BULLSHIT!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and revolutions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the the edge! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street! Were the 99%! This is what martial law looks like! As they are beaten back but do not submit.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminium bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagination?

Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!

Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!

Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgement! Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stunned governments!

Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking tomb!

Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless Jehovas! Moloch whose factories dream and choke in the fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!

Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!

Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!

Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!

Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisable suburbs! skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral nations! invincible madhouses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!

They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists and is everywhere about us!

Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstacies! gone down the American river!

Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!

Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on the rocks of Time!

Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the street!

III
Breezy Kiefair
Occupy Together! I’m with you on Wall Street

where you’re louder than I am

I’m with you in Oakland

where you must feel strange

I’m with you in Saint Louis

where you imitate the shade of my mother

I’m with you in Michigan

where you’re brother murdered a baby so you covered up the archives and put him to work as an administrative assistant.

I’m with my regulars

who pick apart and you laugh at this invisible humor

I’m with you in Denver

where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I’m with you in Colorado Springs

where your traveling protester’s condition has become serious and is reported on the radio

I’m with you in my heart

where the faculties of the skull admit the worms of the senses but only in shades of pain

I’m with you in Nederland

where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Indica

I’m with you in Facebookland

where you sell nugs with the bodies of your nurses

I’m with you in Facebookland

where I scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of actual chess of the abyss

I’m with you in Facebookland

where you bang on the catatonic newsfeed

What’s on my mind? “the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse”

I’m with you in Facebookland

where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void

I’m with you in Facebookland

where we accuse our doctors of cruelty, insanity and plot the revolution against the bankers influence and unequal distribution of wealth..

I’m with you in Facebookland

where you will split the heavens and find the beauty where you are, resurrecting your living human freedoms from the superhuman tomb

I’m with you in Facebookland

where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the songs of their youth all saying there is hope and we rebel.

I’m with you in Facebookland

where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and whose problems won’t let us sleep

I’m with you in Facebookland

where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ chemtrails roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop censorship bombs the digital hospital illuminates itself   imaginary walls collapse   O skinny legions run outside   O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here   O victory forget your underwear we’re free

I’m with you in Facebookland

in my dreams you drive from the story of your-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night to build a life here with me away from such woe.

III

Carl Solomon! I’m with you in Rockland

where you’re madder than I am

I’m with you in Rockland

where you must feel strange

I’m with you in Rockland

where you imitate the shade of my mother

I’m with you in Rockland

where you’ve murdered your twelve secretaries

I’m with you in Rockland

where you laugh at this invisible humour

I’m with you in Rockland

where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I’m with you in Rockland

where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio

I’m with you in Rockland

where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses

I’m with you in Rockland

where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica

I’m with you in Rockland

where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx

I’m with you in Rockland

where you scream in a straightjacket that you’re losing the game of actual pingpong of the abyss

I’m with you in Rockland

where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse

I’m with you in Rockland

where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void

I’m with you in Rockland

where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha

I’m with you in Rockland

where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb

I’m with you in Rockland

where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale

I’m with you in Rockland

where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won’t let us sleep

I’m with you in Rockland

where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls’ airplanes roaring over the roof they’ve come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself   imaginary walls collapse   O skinny legions run outside   O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here   O victory forget your underwear we’re free

I’m with you in Rockland

in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

Footnote To Howl by Allen Ginsberg

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!
The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand
and asshole holy!
Everything is holy! everybody’s holy! everywhere is
holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman’s an
angel!
The bum’s as holy as the seraphim! the madman is
holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy
Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas-
sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering
beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the cocks
of the grandfathers of Kansas!
Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop
apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana
hipsters peace & junk & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy
the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the
mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the
middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell-
ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria &
Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow
Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the
clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy
the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the
locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina-
tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the
abyss!
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours!
bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent
kindness of the soul!

Remembering a Murdered boy: Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts. Happy would-be 13th birthday 7:47pm (birth minute)

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This is the pamphlet from his funeral.

This is the pamphlet from his funeral.

Westley Was premature. this was his first day home from the hospital. — in Fairfax, Virginia. October 30, 1998

Westley Was premature. this was his first day home from the hospital. — in Fairfax, Virginia. October 30, 1998

Westley and I moved to Hillsdale, Michigan where I had attended & graduated from Hillsdale High School in 1997 — in Homer, Michigan.

Westley and I moved to Hillsdale, Michigan where I had attended & graduated from Hillsdale High School in 1997 — in Homer, Michigan.

Here he is with his favorite rattle in the shape of a guitar.

Here he is with his favorite rattle in the shape of a guitar.

I'm gonna stand up and start walkin soon ma... just you wait... just gotta do a few more strenght building exercises to get in shape... come on E'ore lets do it!

I’m gonna stand up and start walkin soon ma… just you wait… just gotta do a few more strenght building exercises to get in shape… come on E’ore lets do it!

Westley's 1st birthday party. he loved this toy. its a rocker with a plastic book on top. each page has different sounds on the buttons & that red paddle goes "broinggggggggg"& stays in motion for a bit every time you "broinggggggg" it... it was so cool to watch him giggle with this.

Westley’s 1st birthday party. he loved this toy. its a rocker with a plastic book on top. each page has different sounds on the buttons & that red paddle goes “broinggggggggg”& stays in motion for a bit every time you “broinggggggg” it… it was so cool to watch him giggle with this.

We lived between Hillsdale, Michigan and and Homer, Michigan in Southern Michigan

We lived between Hillsdale, Michigan and and Homer, Michigan in Southern Michigan

On May 6, 2000 Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts sustained injuries in this bathtub. He suffered a blow to the abdomen so severe it ruptured his intestines. It took him 12 hours to die. He died while I gave him CPR just after getting home from work. He was Dead on arrival. they never got a pulse.

On May 6, 2000 Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts sustained injuries in this bathtub. He suffered a blow to the abdomen so severe it ruptured his intestines. It took him 12 hours to die. He died while I gave him CPR just after getting home from work. He was Dead on arrival. they never got a pulse.

If all works out according to plan, this will be posted on my only child’s birth minute on what would have been his 13th birthday.

I have often said that we have a word for people who loose all family members but children (widow/widower, orphan, ect) partially because of historical mortality rates of children and partially because it is a loss so horrible there just isn’t a word to describe the feeling. I will never forget you Westley. You changed me as a person for the better & for this, I am forever grateful to you.

I named my only child Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts. I agonized in research for months looking for the right name. Westley and Keaton together means ~”loosely” man from the field where the Hawks go in Gaelic. Westley was also in deference to of my I don’t know how many great(s)-uncle named Westley O’Connor who family legend says worked with the first pine-bark beetle infestations in Colorado. Thorin was for the character Thorin Oakenshield in J. R. R. Tolkien‘s book “The Hobbit” and also because his biological father had requested that “Thor” be in the name some where. The other hidden joke in Westleys’ Name will already be seen by fans of the movie “The Princess Bride” whose main character Wesley becomes “the dread pirate roberts” later on.

Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts
born 10/24/1998 7:47pm Fairfax, Virginia in Fair Oaks Hospital

murdered 05/06/2000 (finally passed late around 11:59pm) Homer, Mi

On May 6, 2000 Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts sustained injuries in a bathtub. He suffered a blow to the abdomen so severe it ruptured his intestines. It took him 12 hours to die. He died while I gave him CPR just after getting home from work. He was Dead on arrival. they never got a pulse. His death was ruled a homicide. The only person with Westley that day was my fiance. I will not say his name.

Justice miscarried (murderer acquitted on a technicality Jan/Feb 2001) Battle Creek, MI

This is a video of art I have created between March of 2009 and September 2010. It is set to a song written by a friend of mine in real life from High School after the murder of my only child, Westley Thorin Keaton Roberts.

the below link will take you to where this video was first posted on facebook.

http://www.facebook.com/v/150854724934545

On October 23, 2011, I went looking for the online link for my son’s obituary. I have seen it online in the past. It should be on this page:

If you think I am being paranoid about my kid’s obituary being erased, please view the link. Yet the little girl who was raped & murdered & her body burned a few weeks after Westley is still there….. relevant excerpt below:

April 26, 2000

Robert Keith Rice, Sr.
Robert Keith Rice, Sr., 72, of Litchfield, died Thursday, April 20, 2000, at home.
Mr. Rice was born November 21, 1927, in Northwest Township, Ohio, to Ross O. and Belva (Seely) Rice. He married Hazel I. (Coats) Dickinson January 14, 1989. She survives.
Mr. Rice had been a machinist at Adwest in Hillsdale, as well as several other area shops. He was a WWII Army veteran and enjoyed membership in a motorcycle club. Mr. Rice was an avid hunter, fisherman and woodworker.
In addition to his wife, Mr. Rice is survived by two daughters, Tresia Moon of San Bernardino, California, and Laura Ann Johnson of Litchfield; a son, Robert K. Rice, Jr. of Bronson; five stepchildren, Diane Ely of Jacksonville, Florida, Doris Isaac of Westland, Esther McPherson of Marshall, Mary Dickinson of Hillsdale and Mickey Dickinson of Homer; a sister, Mildred Crawford of Camden; 16 grandchildren; and seven great-grandchildren.
He was preceded in death by a sister.
Funeral services were held Monday, April 24, at the Camden Missionary Church, with Pastor Jeff Truex officiating. Interment followed at the Camden Cemetery.
Memorial contributions are suggested to the family.
Arrangements were handled by the St. John-White Funeral Home in Reading.

Frederick “Fritz” Lincoln
Frederick “Fritz” Lincoln, 76, of Litchfield, died Saturday, April 22, 2000, at his home.
Mr. Lincoln was born September 1, 1923, in Wayne County, to Zara Byron and Ada (Gladding) Lincoln. He owned and operated a service station in Litchfield for 17 years and was a foundry superintendent at Gale Manufacturing for more than 20 years. He was also a farmer.
Mr. Lincoln was a World War II army veteran, serving in the European Theatre, where he participated in the Normandy invasion. He received four Bronze Stars and the Purple Heart. He was a former member of the Homer American Legion, and enjoyed deer hunting, gardening and harness racing.
Survivors include a daughter, Bonnie Ament of Big Sandy, Tennessee; a son, Fred Lincoln of Reading; a companion, Betty Tervol of Litchfield; two sisters, Laura Doman of Horton and Zarena Coates of Warren; four grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren.
He was preceded in death by two brothers, two sisters and a grandson.
Funeral services were held Tuesday, April 25, at the George White Funeral Home in Litchfield, with the Rev. Clyde Wonders officiating. Interment followed in Burlington Cemetery in Calhoun County.
Memorials are suggested to the Hospice of Hillsdale County.

May 3, 2000 – No obits

May 10, 2000

Charlotte May Merica
Charlotte May Merica, 83, of Homer, died Saturday, May 6, 2000, at Branch County Health Center in Coldwater.
Mrs. Merica was born August 18, 1916, in Walcottville, Indiana, to Franklin and Wilma (Keck) Slagle. She married Marion McVee Merica July 11, 1932. He preceded her in death in 1973.
Mrs. Merica came to the Homer area in 1936. She was a homemaker, who loved to cook and sew.
Survivors include two sons, William F. Merica of Montpelier, Ohio, and Walter L. (Annabelle) Merica of Homer; three daughters, Marjorie Robinson of Homer, Mrs. George (Joyce) Stanley of Quincy, and Mrs. Eugene (Mary) Ballinger of Homer; 17 grandchildren; 33 great-grandchildren; two great-great grandchildren; and a sister, Gladys Pauline Tech of Litchfield.
In addition to her husband, Mrs. Merica was preceded in death by a brother, Leroy Eugene Slagle, and two sisters, Winona Stull and Dolly Slagle.
Funeral services were Tuesday, May 9, at the Homer Chapel of Tidd-Williams Funeral Chapels, Inc., with Mrs. Teresa Bonifield leading the service. Burial was in Westside Cemetery in Colon.

scroll down and you will see
Ashlee Linnabary
Ashlee Linnabary, 4, of Homer, died Monday, May 22, 2000, at home.
Survivors include her mother, Jessica Moyer; her father, William Linnabary; a sister, Abagail; a brother, William; grandparents, Dale and Becky Andrews, Doug Moyer and Vernon and Carol Linnabary; and great-grandparents, James and Edith Dun, Andy Andrews and Margaret Linnabary.
Funeral services were held Friday, May 26, at the Charles J. Burden & Sons Funeral Home in Jackson. Burial was in Hillcrest Memorial Park in Jackson.
Memorials are suggested to the Council for the Prevention of Child Abuse and Neglect.
http://www.homerindex.com/obituary_archives.sml?send_year=2000

You can read more about her and her tragic story as well as many other stories of lost angels by clicking this sentence.

so, if to want to erase a baby’s name from history you probably have a good reason…. right? well it just so happens I know who has both motive & power to make such a thing happen… why? The sister of my fiance at the time was then/is now the head of the chamber of commerce a town or two over. I rented the trailer where he was murdered from her. She wanted this little “fiasco” with her brother to disappear…. and I guess she thought it did.

my son’s obituary has been erased from history apparently…. in a town as small as Homer, Michigan… i find it highly suspect. especially when the guy who was acquitted on a technicality in my son’s death has a sister in a nearby town who is the head of a chamber of commerce…. really respectful of them to erase his name from history…

more pics of westley

View all

When he went on trial, they spun it like I was a horrible mom who didnt care about my child and faked being sick (two years after wes died, I was placed on SSD/SSI because of my chronic pain, five more years later I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia) ….. they did a good job of smearing me then & i nearly killed myself over the way they blithely lied repeatedly in court and got others to do the same……. in the end, there is nothing I can do…. he cannot be tried twice for the same crime & he was acquitted because the DA made an error.

The near suicide attempts were 10 years ago during the trial. I haven’t been at that point in a long time. Keep in mind my heart/mind were utterly destroyed by that point. I’d been in the mental hospital for 1/2 a year trying to cope with losing my only kid… in court they were attacking vehemently, even using my own writings about my abuse committed on me to make it seem that I was having FANTASIES OF HURTING MY CHILD……. there really isn’t anything to be done but talk about it, get it out of my system, then let it be…. statuate of limitations for a civil suit expired long ago. I didn’t have the bank or a lawyer willing to take the case at the time.

who really cares that wes is gone? you who made sure his name disappeared? or me who went looking for it 11 years later to be sure it was still there…. all the news reports of the trial seem to have been “sanitized” as well. I dug a bit further and found out that he is working for his sister at the chamber of commerce.

How the does a child murderer guilty as sin but acquitted on a technicality get to work for a city chamber of commerce? 2 words Corruption & NEPOTISM. I have further proof of this, but do not want to set into action anything that could get someone physically hurt, so I have left their names off this page. email btokeefer@gmail.com if you would like further information.

I remember you WESTLEY. I wont forget you.

UPDATE, May 11, 2012 a Remembrance by Westley’s pa.

Westley’s father, Jason William Roberts, was kind enough to provide me with these two images. THANK YOU! many of the youngest images of westley have been stolen by my family and are likely in a safe deposit box. I really do appreciate seeing this. I really am not angry at Jason in the least. Things were what they were, and neither of us can change the past… It was a long time ago. We have both paid dearly for whatever we did in the past. I understand that these two images are all that Jason has to view. Therefore, I will do my best to provide him with each and every image of Westley I have that still exists. It’s only right. If i have more than Jason does, and he will share with me, I can share back

Who We are, How We Came to Be, Why we Give back

Article I wrote that was published in Cannabis Health news Magazine February 2010

need proof that it was published (i know many of you do…http://cannabishealthnewsmagazine.com/PDF/CHNM_Feb2010_small.pdf )

The below piece is to be published in the next issue of Cannabis Health News Magazine whose editor is Jason Lauve. Jason was acquitted of all charges by a jury on August 6, 2009. He has been a tireless advocate for Medical Marijuana patients in Colorado before this date and since.
Kiefair Keepsakes…. How we came to be, Why we give back

Copyrighted material All Rights Reserved see message at the bottom of essay

I tell you this story, not for myself, but for those in similar situations without the strength or ability to speak.

The government of the United States and the State of Colorado (as well as other states) are all saving a ton of money due to the growth in the medical marijuana industry and so are the dispensaries and caregivers. As a patient caught in the middle, I decided that I may have a unique perspective on this issue and have decided to throw my two cents in on the topic.

If you listen to the news, it seems to be the government officials vs. the dispensary owners. here in Colorado. This should not be the case. The patients needs should be at the heart of this discussion, particularly the needs of low income medical marijuana patients on Social Security Disability and Social Security Income (SSD/SSI)

I posted much of the content you will read here all over the internet in an effort to help myself and others in my position. I sat in the online forums begging:

“Is there someone, anyone out there who hears my plea and wants to help me actually do something other than sit in online forums and complaining about the problem and hope someone does something”

I was heartbroken to find little positive response and a lot of negative/cruel responses by persons who clearly are recreational users and not medical users. The treatment of women in some of these cannabis forum rooms was often appalling. I finally decided to stop beating a dead horse and set up a store front to help me get the funds I need for my own medicine, food and other needs and to donate 10% of our profits to provide medical marijuana for free to low income patients in need. Currently we have only one dispensary signed on with us, GreenBelly Co-op LLC in Eldorado Springs, Co.

We encourage other dispensaries and caregivers to join with us in this effort. The funds to be donated will be held in trust and dispensed when/where they are needed according to the needs and location of the patient in question. A patient from your area would contact me, then I would contact you to confirm you have the stock necessary for the patient and to confirm availability of time, I would then deposit money for their medication into a paypal account owned by your dispensary. The patient could then come in and pick up their necessary medicine. I require no investment on your part. Patients would report on the quality of your medicine and I would then write their reviews and forward their recommendations (no names attached) on the net. Everybody wins. People who wish to provide money for the trust can purchase anything in my online gift-store or my personal catalog. 10% of my profits go to this fund. Hopefully a larger and larger percentage of profits will got to the trust when my personal finances allow me.

When I began to write the essay that I posted in the online forums, I decided that my joining the Medical Marijuana Registry was my Christmas Present to the American Taxpayer for the year 2009. And posted the title as “My Personal Christmas Gift to the American Taxpayer.”

Now, you may imagine me as the stereotype of a “stoner” that has been created by the media. Let me correct you
First of all, I am a female over 25 and under 40 with severe and debilitating Fibromyalgia, the kind that forces doctors to shake their heads and prescribe one ineffective man made medicine on top of another while I waste away and my quality of life diminishes. The onset of my symptoms began almost instantly after my birth in Canon City, CO and I have been fragile ever since. I’ve even been told by a doctor or two that may well have one of the worst Fibromyalgia cases on record. I was a ward of the State of Colorado until I ran away when I was 16 due to horrid abusive conditions within the state foster care program and completed my high school in another state.

My sole health insurance is provided to me is under medicare/medicaid. This is because I am completely disabled and the doctors do not allow me to work, or even to attend school. I assure you that this is only for the time being… I am getting stronger all the time!

In 1994, I was awarded Ginsberg Scholarship up at Naropa during the 20th anniversary festival. I dreamed for years of attending, but my health prevented it. I finally got stubborn and bullied my doctors into letting me go. I was accepted into and attended Naropa University for two semesters in 2007-2008 school year in an effort to get a degree that would give me access to jobs more suited to my bodies abilities, and was pulled out by my doctors both times. Naropa wanted me there, I wanted to be there, but government programs required I be enrolled a certain amount of credit hours (beyond the abilities of my body) in order to keep my funding. I attempted a semester at Grand Canyon University online in Fall 2008 to the same effect. Now I have many thousands of dollars in student loans I can’t pay because I attempted to get a degree so I could get a job my body could handle.

I was forced to be on government programs like Social Security Disability and Social Security Income (SSD/SSI) at a young age. I was in middle school when I was put on SSD/SSI for the first time while I was a ward of the State of Colorado.

Let me clarify, the first time I was put on disability, I was a minor and the State decided as my sole legal guardian to place me on disability. The state “adopted me” in a sense.My name was changed legally and my parents rights to me as a child were formally, legally and permanently terminated. None of it was not my choice (except the name change after years of foster care), it was not discussed with me, I was a child. My medical care as a child was much as it is now, with the exception of the fact that kids get a bit more coverage. Being on the program at a young age, I did not accumulate much in the way of work money in my SSI account, although I did attempt to work several times. Unfortunately every time, an employer or doctor would get tired of me being sick and put a stop to it one way or another. That is why my monthly amounts from SSI/SSD are so low, not because I am disabled, but because I couldn’t work to pay into the system like the people who receive these benefits only when they reach retirement after a full life of paying in. Also did you know the government actually Penalized people for getting married if you are both on disability? They treat you as one person and give you one person’s pay! For love, and for spiritual reasons I decided that was a risk I would just have take. So, I married my love who happened to be on disability also anyway.

Now I ask the members of the Government of the Great State of Colorado, if you had an adult child who was sick and suffering would you leave them to languish in pain and poverty just because it was no longer your legal responsibility? Of course you wouldn’t. You would do whatever was in your power to make your child as comfortable as possible.

As an adult child, I now boldly but humbly step up to my adopted parent, the Government of the State of Colorado, and ask, “Guardian Colorado, do you it intend to focus on the dispensaries who are the money in this discussion, or do you intend to focus on your citizens whose LIVES are being saved by this plant? You discuss care giving so much in this debate, but the treatment of patients on the part of many in this debate has proven differently. I know you have hearts, please use them as you consider these policies. This shouldn’t be a partisan issue. This should be a people issue.

Before I was placed on the Colorado Medical Marijuana Registry in June 2009, I would have to visit a doctors office several times a month, sometimes several times a week, sometimes with several appointments booked the same day with specialists and tests, painful and difficult physical therapy that seemed to harm more than hurt, etc., and there were to many trips to the emergency room to count.

I went to the ER out of sheer desperation, I went just so I could get comfortable enough to have a bit of sleep after a week or more of lingering in a painful place that seemed to be located in deep within the realm of a narcotic distorted pain haze, a no-where-land that seemed to be somewhere between life and death. The doctors in the emergency room and elsewhere often treated me as though I was an addict, and not a pain patient, AND I WAS MISERABLE!

Since I was approved for the medical marijuana registry I haven’t needed near the amount of services from the medicaid/medicare program. In fact, I’ve had to see a doctor twice since June 3, 2009 when the doctor signed my forms.

Once to have 14 teeth pulled, a little bit of dental work made necessary by a combination of years of no dental benefits unless my teeth couldn’t be saved and needed to be pulled, being on narcotics for almost a decade, and dealing with severe nausea/vomiting/malnutrition.

The other doctor visit (and medications that followed) were for a bad cold that I caught at the dentists office. I haven’t seen a doctor at all otherwise, although I do call my family doctor to check in and let her know I am doing well.

Before I was on the MMJ registry, I was on so many medications (20 plus medications taken at various intervals though the day) that I felt like I was taking a pill every 2 minutes…. Number of traditional prescriptions I take daily now – ZERO.

Now the government was paying for all those medications I was on before through medicare/medicaid, plus all the doctor visits to get, maintain, and change dosing on those prescriptions right? Some of those medications by themselves cost the government thousands of dollars a month! Many could not have refills on them by law and required a doctor visit every time I needed more.

I always felt guilty about my personal burden on the American Taxpayers. But now I don’t have to feel guilty cause I have given a present to the American Taxpayer. I got on the MMJ registry. Now I do not go to the mainstream doctor unless I need antibiotics. I am off all prescriptions. I had tobacco quit (been trying for 20 years to quit) until I was without medicine too long and got stressed out, but I plan to quit again.

I and am well enough to manage a website as well as volunteer and be an advocate for others in need. I have regularly traded my services in clerical/computer work either from home or in the GreenBelly Coop LLC office for medications when I am strapped for cash. All of these things would have been impossible for me nine short months ago when I was all but bedridden and and in so much pain I had to keep myself from overdosing.

The government is saving many thousands of dollars a month on me alone, and yet I have to struggle to obtain this money saver for the American taxpayer. That much cut in government spending on the part of an individual… I should get a medal or something. Now think how many individuals are saving the government this money in the State of Colorado alone…. Let alone the other 13 states and the District of Columbia! We all need medals or medicine at the very least!

How many others are there like me? Meanwhile, the price of my medicine increases as the MMJ movement grows. My family and I have been stuck having to make really hard decisions like, do we pawn our wedding and engagement rings to get my medicine? Or do we pawn them and buy some food? Or do we keep the rings for sentimental reasons, lay here and just starve and have seizures from pain and lack of medicine/food.

I ended up pawning all the rings, having already sold else of value to the pawn store and bought both medicine and food. The money I received for my treasured bands did not buy nearly enough of either medicine or food. We promised ourselves we would get them back, but I ended up crying my eyes out when I realized I just can’t afford to get them out of hock. The deadline to get them back passed weeks ago. I live in a Winnebago and have been in real danger of starving to death at times. Now don’t get me wrong, my life has been profoundly changed by this medicine, and any hardship I may have to endure is truly worth the benefits of this plant. I will not compromise and go back to the narcotics and other prescriptions just because I can get them paid for or for any other reason. I would rather be in pain when I am without my medical marijuana than take a morphine and get sicker.

Sometimes family members and the community can make it very hard to be a low income medical marijuana patient too. I have heard many stories of people not living with family/friends any longer because they are shunned for their medicinal use. I’ve experienced this shunning first hand myself. The stereotype of the “typical” marijuana user is further damaging these people with no where else to turn!

This herb is profoundly changing lives! It is healing people, body, mind, and soul. Yet its legal users get treated as if they are using it for recreation. I believe recreational use is a VALID use of the plant, further I feel it be legalized and would be an important source of revenue for America if it were to be legal once again. However, that is not why I personally NEED this plant.

This plant allows me to eat, to sleep, to get out of my bed, to manage my pain enough to have a job, to be involved with life instead of living in a nightmare world just praying for the end to come soon. If you happen to be a Fibromyalgia patient praying for the end, you can be praying for a long time as this is not a terminal disease.

The Mayo clinic website (see footnote 1) describes symptoms of Fibromyalgia as including

Signs and symptoms of fibromyalgia can vary, depending on the weather, stress, physical activity or even the time of day.
Widespread pain and tender points
The pain associated with fibromyalgia is described as a constant dull ache, typically arising from muscles. To be considered widespread, the pain must occur on both sides of your body and above and below your waist.
Fibromyalgia is characterized by additional pain when firm pressure is applied to specific areas of your body, called tender points. Tender point locations include:

Back of the head, Between shoulder blades, Top of shoulders, Front sides of neck, Upper chest,Outer elbows, Upper hips, Sides of hips, Inner knees

Fatigue and sleep disturbances
People with fibromyalgia often awaken tired, even though they seem to get plenty of sleep. Experts believe that these people rarely reach the deep restorative stage of sleep. Sleep disorders that have been linked to fibromyalgia include restless legs syndrome and sleep apnea.
Co-existing conditions
Many people who have fibromyalgia also may have:

Chronic fatigue syndrome
Depression
Endometriosis
Headaches
Irritable bowel syndrome (IBS)
Lupus
Osteoarthritis
Post-traumatic stress disorder
Restless legs syndrome
Rheumatoid arthritis

And a whole host of other conditions not on the Mayo clinic list.

Moder Western medicine can’t even agree on the causes/mechanisms of this disease because they don’t understand it.

It has been suggested that this is a psychological disease only, a psychosis created when a hypocondriac hears about fibromyalgia. The advocates of this theory say that the symptoms of this diesease are all in the patient’s head. I do not personally believe in this theory, but even if this disease is all in my head, the medical marijuana still helps.

Other sources on Fibromyalgia suspect that this disease has been around for all time, a genetic disease with a trigger, and its symptoms are found even in individuals of remote tribes of Africa and the Amazon who have no contact with the west. So why should I use new untested man-made medicine created by people who don’t understand my disease and possibly believe it doesn’t exist? Especially when that disease has been treated with herbs known to posses pain relieving qualities for many generations of humans?

Personally, my last completely “pain free” moment was around 3:30 PM on August 21, 2002. I know because I keep a detailed pain/medication journal in an effort to regulate my condition. I am confident that If I had the proper medicine, I would have pain free moments again. This herb doesn’t just treat pain sensations, it helps correct causes. Perhaps with the right regimen, daily pain could be a thing of the past for me.

This disease itself may not kill you, but it can certainly make you wish for death. There are near epidemic levels of Fibromyalgia patients and pain patients in general who are hurting so bad they are suicidal, or worse succeed in taking their own life. I have a brother who died as a result of a doctor who wasn’t paying enough attention with his pen and prescription pad. After years of pain and suffering following a head injury, my brother died of a drug interaction prescribed by his doctor.

Dispensaries are necessary, but not without a social conscience
Now the other side of the coin. It is no secret that the people who own dispensaries are making money on patients like me too.

We need these dispensaries for a variety of reasons.
1)What would a patient do if their caregiver had a bad crop and was without medicine? If that paitent was restricted from seeing other caregivers they would have no where to get their medicine but the street.
2) Our caregivers are restricted to a number of plants they can grow for you, thus if you become tolerant to the genetics of one strain of medicine quickly and need to change the genetics of you medication often, it may be difficult for your caregiver to have/maintain the variety you need.
3) Competition strengthens customer service and prevents patients from being in a form of bondage by their caregiver. If we restrict patients from going to other dispensaries, how are they to know if the medicine they are receiving is the best quality available for them. If we restrict the number of persons a dispensary can serve to a tiny number and prevent patients from seeing other medical marijuana providers, and in addition the number of times a year they can change their caregiver, then patients must settle for whatever medicine a particular caregiver is giving them whether it is effective or not.

We need a program to help low income patients get their medicine!
If you are low income and can’t afford your “mainstream pharmacy” medicine, you can go to various organizations and they will help you to buy your medicine, sometimes even on a regular basis if they are necessary and not covered by insurance, but that doesn’t include medical marijuana.

If you are brave enough to speak up and ask for help getting your medicine at these organizations, you will probably find the door closed firmly in your face. You may also find that other services from the organization become difficult or impossible to obtain as well. This is out and out discrimination in my opinion. If your medicine is MMJ no one is willing to help you unless you happen to be lucky enough to find a care giver who actually gives a care if you have medicine or not! I just put my medical costs on a new food stamp application mailed 1/13/09 to Boulder County. We shall see what happens.

“So what,” you say? Well let’s look at this… The high price can force a person in my position to go back to buying their medicine off the street where it is less expensive, but also less potent, less safe.

1)You never know what has been added to you herb to increase the genetically weak herbs potency artificially with other street drugs or various substances to make it seem as though there is more weight to the medicine.

2)It is much more dangerous to obtain, and the process of obtaining it can be a risk to your health in many ways. Long periods in the cold and encounters with strange germs can put a person right back in their sick bed or the hospital.

3) The money spent on street grade medication often goes back to fund gang and criminal activity. This is something that most medical marijuana patients do not want to support and got on the registry to stop supporting. I personally counted avoiding purchasing on the street as one of the largest pluses to getting on the registry, and yet I see people like me being forced back there.

4) The price of cannabis on the street directly influences the costs of Medical Grade in the Dispensaries. In this respect, Cannabis is a commodity like any other, and as such is subject to price fluctuation when artificially influenced. It doesn’t really have anything to do with how much it costs to grow it and transport it to the patient. It has to do with how much it costs on the street.

What is to be done if you have no medicine? Where can you go?

There are few funds or organizations willing to help people like me get my medicine when I can’t afford it, and you have to really dig in your need to find them. When I did find them, they could only help once or not at all due to the demand. Many patients do not have the strength for this search when they are lacking appropriate medication. It took me months of daily web crawling to dig any up organizations up. Now people who wish to help provide medicine to people in this position can buy something for themselves or someone else, something they may have bought anyway and someone gets medicine.

If someone who has medicine/money wants to help a person in my position, likewise there is no way for a person who wants to help to donate money to people in a position similar to mine. Right now low income persons only relief seems to be individuals/churches/caregivers being kind. So I created this gift company, and here we are.

One church I know of is greenfaith ministry. The Reverend of greenfaith ministry is also known as the 420 Reverend. I have had contact with Reverend Brandon Baker from this organization who is a great man. He drove over 50 miles to get me some medicine for free. Unfortunately he is one man and the demand is high. Rev. B Baker is quoted as saying, “Tell the (Denver City my edit) counsel a majority amount of local churches support un-regulated access for all needy mmj patients, give them my name and number if they say they want to meet with any of the spiritual mmj community church leaders!”

Meds for free? What about Caregivers and Growers needs?
Now, I have no problem with the idea of paying for my medications… The person who grows it provides a service that a dollar amount really can’t be placed on and should be compensated, and so should everyone involved in getting the medicine to me. That is only fair. But I want know the money I spend helps others like me or at very least the movement in general. I also don’t need to be paying 50+% of my income to stay barely comfortable. I’d like to be able to pay a reasonable percentage of my income and have all the medicine my body requires. I know that may seem a little unrealistic, but a girl in pain can dream. lol

Here in Colorado it is the wild wild west right now. If I happen to have to go somewhere other than my primary caregiver, my $ will probably end up in a growing bank account of some green gold rush eyed caregiver who could really care less if I have effective medication or not. In fact, it seems like the only green anyone cares about is dollar bill green and the green of greed. Yet the right to visit a dispensary other than your caregiver is a necessary one. What happens if your caregiver loses a grow? What do you do if you need a different strain of medicine than what is available that day? What if they are out of the product that helps the most? Would you refuse to let me go to W@(m@rt if W@lgr33ns was out of my prescription?

So the government ignores the money it saves, and many (not all) of the dispensaries in the area seem to have little social conscience about the price a person like me can pay to have their medicine.

A Big social Problem, and Yet We aren’t the Issue, money is.
When your total family income is at or below poverty levels, you can absolutely be forced back on the streets to get your medicine. My medical condition requires a minimum of 1/8 oz of smoke-able every 2 days to just to keep me off narcotics and other prescriptions that do more harm than good, not crying, not having seizures caused by pain, and not be stuck in bed.

This dosing by no means keeps me comfortable it is important to note.
I have NEVER had the pleasure of having enough medicine on hand to decide on what a good “comfortable” dosing schedule would be, even though I do have a compassionate caregiver. I just don’t want to put my poor caregiver out of business taking care of my needs.

What I am trying to say is that there is something fundamentally very wrong with the fact that there are so many people who are to poor to even know what the appropriate dosage of medication for their amount of pain, yet the government is saving a bunch of cash and the Medical Marijuana industry is getting the “lion’s share” of the rest of their income.
It is frustrating to feel like you and others are falling through the cracks even further. Many in my position were barely hanging on before the economic downturn, and now see no light at the end of the tunnel. SSI/SSD keeps you far below the poverty line if you have been unable to work enough many living on $1000 a month or less for their whole family.

It is frustrating to see others get wealthy off of you and others while your tier of society starves. Sometimes I feel invisible, and I know for a fact I am not the only one out there feeling this.
Why do the out of state interests get a louder voice than ours?
I was born in the State of Colorado. My family has lived in this state for 4 generations (or more.) My grandmother owned and operated the Historic Stirrup Ranch near Canon City, Co. for many years. I love Colorado, but I live in an RV and am so desperate to be in a place where I can have food and medicine that I am willing to move to any state with a registry because the climate here is so difficult for patients right now.
I have a plan so that if I were able to obtain some land, I could be self sufficient (NO MORE SSI/SSD and I could actually contribute to charities instead of needing help from them!) and never have to worry about being hungry or without my necessary medicine. In time, many others could be helped with food and medicine grown on the land. I could be fulfilling needs rather than begging to have my needs filled.

Kiefair Keepsakes, stepping stone to a dream

My dream is to be able to get some land and set up an initial grow op in earth ships (a growing movement of building practices with an all environmentally friendly building/management philosophy.) This initial grow op would end up growing into a Nonprofit Medical Marijuana retreat/community/caregiver for patients like me to be able to get their medicine and/or live in a more affordable and kind setting, using their personal talents and abilities to benefit the community. I want to focus on what a “disabled person” can do, not their limitations. I want to create a place where it is safe to be sick on a daily basis with no fear of hunger, lack of medication, or fear of the loss of a job/home due to illness.

While I have the heart and the ability to do this work (given time and medication), I unfortunately have no capital for such a venture and am praying the universe will see fit to make it happen.
I have researched many aspects of this and it is very feasible, however getting investment in such a venture is not my forte. This kind of setting would be great tool for a “for profit” dispensary to use. It would be publicity, demonstrate social conscience, and you could also offer my nonprofit medications cheap to their own low income patients. inquire further at kiefair.keepsakes@gmail.com

I just wanna say Thanks to all the people out there helping to make it possible for people who need this medicine to have it. Whatever you celebrate this or any season, may it be meaningful and may Blessings come to you all!

footnote 1 Retrieved from the Mayo clinic website 1/12/2009
http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/fibromyalgia/DS00079/DSECTION=symptoms

Copyright 2009,2o10 by Breezy Keefer, owner Kiefair Keepsakes All Rights Reserved
Please copy and redistribute with attribution of source!

hey, vote me up on miss high times please!!! 10 is high, 1 is low

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