Brand Name Plans

The words that express,

swept approach,

the post of,

a dust pan coach.

Tourists came to the Cable Car fame,

each passed by with another guy,

the brake for sake allowed to skate,

a Conductor with a handle makes,

safety space in dividing place.

With each sentence,

the life it is,

brings a count to gift or sift,

the ample case to prevent demise regardless of Event!!

The blocks so built,

a pyramid in site,

the base is wide,

the height resides,

within the structure of the try.

Spread each phrase with what is caged,

the bird in hand,

a parroted plan.

The Vulture Hunt,

ability to see with the clarity of keep,

to unravel the embedded design,

that developed at only nine,

Nob Hill still a Sign!!

The paint brush strokes,

silenced folks,

the strange became a sign,

not 'All' at home were blind.

To regard the health of marred,

the witness did what's best as a re-mark,

beware of the bee hives nest,

the sting completes with rest.

This is the Emergency Broadcast System,

if this was a real emergency,

the following information,

would warn a Nation.........beep, beep, beep.

Who do you call when you are small?

or barely three feet tall?

on your own without a phone,

in the place that provides a trait?

I know....nobody at all,

you wait until you can know,

and learn as you go,

the numbers of said because of,

slip of tongue? or a cause to stun?

The reaction to action,

is that belief is a tablet,

to swallow? A habit.

I left my heart in San Francisco!!

A Prime Number

Rising lives settling sides,
churning past to brought.

A checkered flagged with marked appeal,
will you walk or route the conscious climb?

The venture worth a dollared risk,
the likened rare or fare to hist',
the common search reflected safety,
in a World of too much.

Piano plays with trumpets born,
the singer planted grounds,
the strum of the mere photographed,
a pre laid pact is a promised snap.

Bellowing lyricist,
echoed speech,
credits roll to 'no idea'
just a tempted state,
personalizing not to placate.

The wood stained floor,
masking taped marks,
the sticky venue,
a well-worked effort,
the walls will speak the truths,
Postered past Future cast.

Bread & Buttered

Pipelines or Vowels,

either sound loud,

the 'Letters' of been,

had an akin.

The language of,

a hashtag or boss,

a life or an albatross?

The Line of ink,

a writers leave.

The essay of the poems perceived,

a riddle or a rhythmic move of boarded cheese,

the mouse not trapped with the Rat removed.

Old or Past,

ancient in last,

Ages will add,

subtraction is tack,

the pin of the corked screw.

The sample quoted delivered sack,

a bread boxed approach,

to date, to sort, keep in line,

the Baker of Sourdough starts,

an Apprentice Park,

curbing saved lives in a confidence game running stuns.

Why be of purpose when it's a Race.

Why ask questions when you are told all the answers.

Why dream when reality is so perfectly served you're drowning in it.

Why face the Sun if it is meant to leave too.

Why try when all fails.

Why exist if all we do is die.

Why be responsible if you cannot be accountable.

Why issue hope when life is absurd.

Why stop anything.

Why remember.

Why read.

Why bother.

Why feel guilty.

Why get together if we all die alone.

Why are we here if we are not meant to meet.

Why speak when no one talks.

What's the point when your life has been driven in so deeply, that the World becomes a ghost and the shadow is dying.

Crisping Importance with tidy wipes,

dustpans,

a stitch in time saves Nine!!

Darning

The Evidence Of A Daily Chore

The gush of the Solar System, the deafening crash goes silent just like that.....it's over.  The ride of write, the listened tether, the ink in feather, to complete what only nothing proves, darkness intrudes.

As if the flush of aborted life, caused to much strife, the death was unbeknownst.

The violent struggle, a tangled web, the lies grew into disguised, a mask of survive, the rubble torn mind, a hiding fight, noise gave sound too might.

Taller one must know, forget their words enhance the form, the chain in barrel, a snake scare coiled fright, the repetitious began to balance better clarity, increased sight, no glass despair, the felt brought no dare, fifty-two pickup takes twice.

That proof? Never wait, double check, a safe distance will be provide to never dance and always know.

The cold concrete, the pebble burrows, in my back, I rack!!

The pain today, agony long lasts, moments ago, it shows!!

Beaten for price, belts buckled, across my back, knees go black, the bruises under skin of clothes, the nervous tension did have toes, curled -up in rooms with droves, congregations flack.

Story told, breakfast rolled, denial smug, no eyes to blight, just another bread and butter fork and knife,
the spoon did scoop, the restaurant napkin held my throat, the guttural reaction did not work.

This time had passed, older no wiser, just dumb to facts, that my stepfather never seemed to lack.

If I was given charge to do it, he spoke...it would be done.

Bitter chill of heard, alarms alarmed I also reared, directly out of place in sat, that face of hatred, red scathed, came from behind and choked me to the wood grained floor, the thread bearen oriental carpet snare.

All for one and one is done, breathing crazed, I blare!!!

Murder is murder, a statute of life, the scores of marked ravaged beatings, the slammings against bolted door, the misses, the hits, the aims, the strangling, you did what you did and it is just not right, this body will prove your guilty, whether I'm dead or alive or you kill this site.

March 18, 2006

March 18, 2006

Hello, my name is Karen; my mother is Melba M. Meakin the owner of Tal-y-Tara Tea and Polo Shoppe in San Francisco, formerly known independently as Waters Upton Tea Room and Tal-y-Tara Tack & Tweed. Hugh and Melba Meakin ran Student League of San Francisco and also founded the James S. Brady Therapeutic Riding Program, Horses in California, Inc., Golden Gate Park Polo Club, San Francisco Polo in the Park, Jumping in the Park and Dressage in the Park Show Series.  She also founded Christ Bearers Choral Congregation in San Francisco, currently known as Christ Bearers Bible Church.  My mother has always been the evangelical leader of the Christ Bearers Church.  All of these organizations are put forth as "nonprofits" and are still in effect currently in operation, with the exception of Tal-y-Tara, which is the only profit-seeking business that they own.

As Melba's third child from her first marriage, I have been privy to many different events and inner workings of my mother's organizations over the past 35 to 40 years.  I was born in 1965 in San Francisco to Edward and Melba Placek, parents of my two older siblings.  Melba divorced in the late 1960's, early 1070's, after a falling out about the Church that they had begun together with many others.  Melba then married Hugh Meakin after a lurid affair, which ended up being the nail in the coffin for her previous marriage.  Hugh and Melba Meakin continued on with the Church and had two more children.  Melba now had Five Children, with an age range of 18 years between the Oldest and the Youngest.  She currently has Seven Grandchildren it total.

I left my mother's home at the the age of 18 and ex-communicated myself from their Church.  I did not speak or have any contact with my mother and step-father or Church Members for approximately Five Years.  I had made a choice to never speak of my Family's Business  Affairs, in part because of the strict upbringing, which included "don't ask, don't tell" mentality.

Over the years I have tried to reconnect with my Family and have had conversations with my Mother and my Step-Father specifically asking them to put the past behind us and enjoy all the future has to offer.  I have never been successful in my endeavor to do so.  I have had to bear witness instead to the flagrant actions of my own mother and step-father showing no accountability of remorse for their actions, for the lives that have been lost.  Rather I have had to watch them openly gloat about the events leading up to this time in their lives, even going so far as to suggest or even state that they have not received enough financial gain for their perceived sacrifices.  At the same time they have continued to manipulate the truth in an effort to engage me, in order to see what I actually remembered.  I had to ask myself this question, when is enough, really enough?  I answered that question very quickly and just recently, when she shifted her manipulative manners and attentions onto my children for revenge against my defiant manner.  Her blatant disregard for the feelings and emotional well-being of my Four Children made answering this Question instant and without doubts.  This Time is Now, enough is finally, enough.  My shoulders are not big enough to continue to carry the burden of all the knowledge in regards to my mother's choices and actions and dealings with Jim Jones.  The accountability and responsibility lies on the shoulders and in the laps of Hugh and Melba Meakin and the off-spring that support this Con.  The knowledge of such crimes against Humanity have become in essence unbearable.

Melba and Hugh Meakins sudden independent wealth and perceived Station in Life is, highly suspect and should lead any good citizen to question the Origin of such an Estate.  It does have one.  The actions and decisions made over this 40 Year long Con has made this Lifestyle possible.  Their simple presence and ownership of Real Estate in San Francisco, including their home, estimated at quite a worth, raises questions as to whom has afforded this life.  "Where did their Wealth come from?"  I know. "Who paid for all of what you see and now no longer exists because it has been sold by Melba and Hugh Meakin, specifically."  I know.  Neither Hugh, nor Melba Meakin has maintained or been employed proving a legitimate career that would or could even come close to supporting this rather lavish lifestyle which they have enjoyed for so many years.

With the support of my Children, I have chosen to write a book with my Mother portrayed just as she is. This book will be an accurate account of my life while spending all of my young life at my mother side, as it has been proven I am the product of an affair.  In the end, I believe that this will free me from the haunting memories that have plagued me each and every day of my existence.  I have faith and I believe that by exposing this Con as the lie that it is, I may have an opportunity, albeit slim, to bring validity to the lives of many people, both dead and alive.  I hope that in time that people that suffered these horrors will choose to step forward and tell their own personal story.

I am reaching out to friends and acquaintances alike that may have known my Mother through these tumultuous years in hopes that you may be capable of filling in the missing chapters before my birth to this Earth.  I would really appreciate it if you would write down your memories to help me write a truthful and accurate narrative to this atrocity.  I respect your anonymity and you may remain anonymous if you wish, I will respect your confidence.

Thank you for your time and input.

Sincerely,

Karen A. Placek

Oddly 'The Fillmore' Gives Apples Away ~ Venue Complete James Blunt Concert ~ May 2014

Here we go again,
the song of the apple bin.

Take a bite of delight,
back to 'the Fillmore'
I don't think so,
the Venue is a City fantastic,
but the idea just went splat.

Much like the apple sauced,
I ground to only know,
I'd rather have taken that bite,
than to never have shown,
my hand in a Site.

Glad to see the onward pull,
importance to what's best,
no regrets of making bets,
I took a leap of faith,
to meet and not disgrace.

I felt it odd to be so compelled,
so forward with my news,
the "I know you's" were so profound,
the why's were 'all' but bound.

Never burst the bubble,
much to much trouble,
the idea of such would only touch...
the rupture of the stay would never finish coming.

So strangely close in thought composed,
as if one followed predisposed,
the question asked the answer tracks,
the best control is always fold.

Imagination takes me out,
the date of never doubt,
no worry of disappointment there,
no need to think or to believe,
'cause he is he and I'm relieved,
it's the songs that really make it out.

He's never late and always spouts,
there is no doubt performance sound,
the time is more than a moment for me....
I just push replay.....oh!,  
I mean.... Repeat!! Repeat!! Repeat!! repeat..!!  help me.....repeat, repeat, repeat....oh wait!! I know, Don't Stop ......

Congratulations to reason,
cheers to doubt,
hugs to whom may hold their friend,
benefits come from a strange new win,
never met always send,
enhances dreams of endless let,
hose me down with only Set,
the denims, the t-shirt and the black boots kept.

Apple Cakes

San Francisco Classics ~ A Commercial Venture On The Horizon

San Francisco Classics is yet another business that I wanted to start a few years ago, 2008 to be exact. I had the idea that I wanted to pitch to the Five Star Hotels in the City of San Francisco.  Instead of outfitting the rooms with artwork that does not work for you, design the decor to be of benefit to your Hotel and your bottom line profits.

By hanging these one of a kind lithographs in each room you will be giving the wall space a value and it will no longer be dead space or considered just wasted dollars. By placing a beautifully hand-crafted or manufactured brass placard directly underneath these incredible framed penciled drawings stating,

One of the many San Francisco Homes and Mansions available to see on our 'Ring of Fire' Tour"  see the Concierge for details.  Also available for purchase in our gift store, framed or unframed.

Maybe someday it will happen, you never really know or do you?

Look What I Found on PandaHi ~ Apple Bites

The Secret of the Universe is Choice!

Posting ID : B1010889653
Date Posted : 2012-11-12
Group : General Community

I have been telling my story on my Google Blog. I began the blog in 2008 and the full name is The Secret of the Universe is Choice! A malignant narcissist can make one. However, due to the fear of what my family told me they would do to me should I ever speak about what had happened I did not begin to really write on the blog until March of 2011. Since this date I have had an enormous amount of support, over 46,000 reads to date, which to many may not be a big deal, but to me it is overwhelming and I want to make sure I say thank you. I receive anonymous emails thanking me for writing, stating that it has touched their lives in a very personal way. It seems that many people have been hurt as children and I worry that abuse like that still is going on because nobody seems to talk about or expose the perpetrators. My abuse happened with the Church as their protector, it seems that you can do anything, to anyone if God approves. 

I would love to have you look at my Facebook Page and should you like it that would be even better. It seems there are so many people reading my blog but when it comes to putting yourself out there where your name may be seen, people stall. I don't really blame them, it took me years to tell my story because I was embarrassed and in truth had a problem with people knowing how severe the abuse really was. Due to the Suicide's of friends, members of the Church, this is what pushed me to speak. 

Gaining support for Severe P.T.S.D. is difficult, but I hope that I am able to support you should you just hear me say today, "I believe you."

Courtesy of: http://www.pandahi.com/1010889653.html 

~

It is funny what you run across that you may have forgotten that you have written.  A big thank you to PandaHi!! It is a fantastic reminder of myself, my thoughts and of the fact that everything is recorded somewhere.  I guess it is that big 'cloud' that I spoke of in yesterdays post.

The Posts On Google Are Apple Bites : A Square Life in a 'round Whole!!

Find your Voice....write on Google,

begin a blog and speak,

no one will listen as it is read,

remember silence is gold until you go platinum.

Lost your self in this World of...'oh well'

write a Google Blog,

tell your story,

google does not edit nor erase,

'the cloud' is a perfect dynamic to perfect what needs to be addressed.

Do you have P.T.S.D.?

Are you suffering Flashbacks?

Write until you have enough to read,

each post is the story that will be a road map back,

back to where you may ground yourself in the present,

not be swallowed by our past.

Even if you write the word 'bleep',

it is a start to begin this process,

not called healing,

called "GO."

The path to conquering P.T.S.D. is knowing that there is a road to be traveled,

it is up and down,

you go 'round and 'round,

stop yourself today and say,

I would like to build a granite road,

and I can because I am the rubble that the rock is made from.

Think of Cobblestone,

than a Quarry,

remind yourself of what is and remember what isn't.

Bring your hurt to the table,

ink in hand....write don't worry,

that is the one that tortured me,

or worry, worry, worry than blink.

Open your eyes and say....whatever you may,

let it flow with the keystrokes as your road,

hit spell check (I have often forgotten)

find a picture (if you want) it helps me in the connect,

hit publish....walk away.

Panic, worry, look,

if you are brave enough,

read-it,

if not let it ride and know that this is one story at a time,

one Post uninterrupted,

the only person that needs to make sense of it,

is You.

The map?.....Your very own Google Blog,

do it today!!

Court Of Iron Maid Paved

Sea clamp muscled waves,

the shores of sanded shells,

the frothing curtain crest,

tops the mist a floating stick lumbers.

Pebbled rolls of vacant calls,

the brine of salt not taste,

communication tumbles pixeled reels,

movie forms of speed four beats.

Mountain swept valley depth,

the creek does know the stream,

a guarded running theme,

a film of every thing.

The rush of what before its done,

the balance tries to need,

not past measure present dues,

the valance is the horror.

Checkered mates in complicate,

the game of moused in prequel,

a listened view of this days proof,

a photo with a negative set,

within the brain of kept.

Mechanics clocked a purposed walk,

robotic types response,

grand in vast of lakes in rips,

snapshots of pictured clicks.

Compliant life a mirror of tilt,

the cracking clam of stinging wipes,

quick-sand missing so fast in plans,

smothering plastic bags of crumb.

The garbage canned in puts,

the duvet holds my knees,

bended fold in half of self,

I hold to grip of keyed.

It Changed Me

The other day something said,
so random the words did roll,
off the tongue of whom should know,
know better than to just plain hurt.

The sting of what was done,
the pain brought on was berserk,
primal nature came to protect,
the downward spiral was at such a depth,
the pain was deathly.

Who would have thought that sharing fun,
would leave you feeling over-run,
the instant of was like a hammer,
driven deeply with words of slammer.

Up I got and off I went,
tried to recover this horrid thought,
I know I'm far from beautiful,
I understand I'm ugly,
I know that I'm a billion and a half pounds.

My older sister use to tell me to claim my obesity on my taxes,
my family told me that I was so ugly I should die,
I've heard these lovely things since birth,
why must people drive them in again and again.

Self-esteem what is that,
I thought it would be safe to help,
even though I know that my face is offensive to everyone,
the way I look seems to repulse,
and my body is so disgusting it makes them run.

I am aware that my past has left me beat up,
I know it shows,
but to repeat the same things from when I was young,
I'm stunned in how exact.

The smile ripped from me,
I was feeling good about getting back on my feet,
the pain has been tolerable although it gets bad,
but to be wiped-out for what,
for things I'm working on,
made me feel dead on the ground.

Primal wounds brought on by chance,
I wish to bury my head with my hands on my face,
so that no one will ever have to look at this disgrace,
reminding me that I'm so gross I should be erased.

The Wait So Placed

The belief that was needed,

never given.

The relief that was looked for,

never there.

Hiding became a way,

to survive.

Learning to be quiet,

silent stares.

Incredibly sensitive,

saved my life.

Taught myself to be wise,

forever patient.

Strength to stand and speak,

terrifying.

Things that come from nowhere,

always aware.

Living with all that has happened,

keep it simple.

Holding to fact,

important.

Breathing in, breathing out,

taking it slow.

Realizing nobody cares,

shocking.

Second thoughts,

none.

Left For Dead

Countless times did add-up,

people left me on display,

laying still on ground of done,

I just stared and said........ nothing.

There I was in simple sight,

left for dead without a hope,

offenders would walk off,

into the darkened path of long.

Each moment that I'd hold my breath,

easy self I can be bold,

do not fight or kick in plight,

roll your eyes in back,

show demise.

Fix your stare relax your bare,

let it go and empty body of any pull.

Relax, relax, relax, relax,

allow these monsters time to go,

oh no, don't panic the listened show,

still your self and look the sign.

Fear please drain from this lane,

here he comes to double-take done,

don't panic, don't panic, don't panic,

just release, don't move, don't move don't move,

he'll leave this sting.

He's leaving, he's leaving,

breathe with ease,

don't show chest moving,

slow, slowly, slower, slow.

Listen, listen, listen carefully,

the creek of the hinge,

the door will lend,

listen, listen, listen,

the handle turning so quietly,

the whisper of the footsteps on the floor,

he's coming.

Hold, hold, out with rolled,

again double-checking what has been,

don't panic, don't panic, don't move yet,

eyes have met don't move the set,

fixed, fixing, fix stare, don't ..

twitch, twitch, he's suspicious rare,

twitch...twitch, violent twitch,

life not fighting, natural response.

Fix eyes leaving open,

dead eyes fixed point over-head,

closer, closer here he comes,

don't move you fixed stare or you'll really be done.

Last check to make sure you're dead,

don't blow it, can't hold my breath longer,

don't panic, relax, he's turning his head,

don't move it's almost over,

the door, please door I hear you,

are you shutting?

Silently I heard it click.

Breathe, breath, breathe,

I'm not alright but I am still here,

sit slowly just in case,

is he hiding to see disgrace?

Stay still I feel his hot breath....

dont' panic he is still very close,

listen, listen, don't move, don't move...

KICKED air escapes my being and death still looks complete,

I'm not going to make it through this one,

don't panic he's not crying, angry, hot, he's walking not,

sitting... thinking.... wait... he's leaving,

gone.

Oh my god !!!!

Don't shake, don't shake,

he thinks I'm .....dead,

let it go, let it go, get up slow.

Breathing shallow,

wait,

one of these times ..

one of these times...

one of these times will be the last time,

either way at least I know I tried so hard to get away.