æpoʊˈfiːniə
To Whom Gets It;
This is not a pretty letter.
This is a letter out of desperation and disgust for the abuse of authority I have been a victim to for decades.
My name is Joel Brooks, son of KYW1060 morning anchor Brandon Brooks. Adopted son.
I was adopted at age 10 when he knocked my Mom up to convince her to marry him. At 12 he had begun beating me, breaking my nose so that I was to hide two black eyes at school. He beat me hard, with fists with no provocation and no remorse. Then it was my responsibility to keep quiet so that he would be able to support us. To this day my mother denies all of this, stating that it is my "mental delusions". I have friends who remember.
At age 15, while still collecting money from my Social Security "survivors insurance" from my deceased father (53 lung cancer), he decided first to charge me $400 rent, then to throw me out. My mother said she wished I "was never born", him, brandishing fists in his booming anchor voice "...fuck off you little shit, you are homeless!"
As a child and teen, my nicknames were "shitheel", "rat", "toad" and "idiot".
I spent the entirety of my junior year of High School living with friends while "B.B." lived it up on my Dad's money on the golf course.
Growing up til 10 it was just me and my mom. I was a gifted student, in accelerated courses, and didn't get a mark less than an "A" until eighth grade. Despite my parents, I graduated High School. I was a varsity football player, a varsity lacrosse player, a collegiate award winner in theater with leading roles, I was a gifted writer, and played first chair, first trumpet in the school band all the while.
Brandon got me started early as a caddie, but never respected my profession. I was given two old cars, but he sold them for his gambling debts and told me to "hitch-hike" to work.
As soon as my senior year was over, while in a band with such notables as Harrison Meyle (Golden Globe) and Alex Stiff (Grammy Nominee) he made sure I was left with no car and no home, nothing but a trash bag of clothes, making it clear I would never see help again.
When false charges were brought on me at 18, he forced my hand at a guilty sentence, and has used the rehab I was unduly made to attend as a weapon.
Brandon is a hypocrite. People make mistakes. His first heart attack was from cocaine, while at WTAJ TV10 in Altoona, PA. Mercy Hospital. No excuse for him to be cast out? Rather, I see his heartless acts as his eventual demise.
After serving my sentence, while caddying at Galloway National Golf Club in New Jersey, I tried to return home.
I was told, at Christmas, not to return for any more holidays (for no good reason) and that they offered me no help.
Had they decided when I was 18 to keep me and I could go to college (which I have pined for, for decades) they would have been funded to help me. My caddy career would have blossomed into opportunity at the doors of business leaders best.
This apparently was not the plan.
By March of 1998 I was in my first full fledged emotional disorder crisis. Due to abuse.
Here is the problem.
They have pawned me off on the system every day since.
Brandon had his insurance pay 400K to put me up in a rehab in the Poconos and then 28 days later, dropped me off broke under the Market Frankford El in the Philly ghetto where I listened to gunshots every night.
They have since had me in some fashion be committed 50 times to psychiatric wards, I have been through 50 homes, and have struggled across 50 jobs in various career moves. Those are real numbers.
This allowance for the abuse of the system to relegate a person's mental well being as subject to people who, well... they haven't known me across 27 years, yet their plea is some desperate struggle to make sure I am kept at bay for what they have done. It's a revolving door here folks, that I cannot keep up with.
Now I am 43, two kids. One they have brainwashed, my siblings along with him playing that I am "too dangerous" to see him unless it is on their terms.
One Thanksgiving a few years back they offered in between their Napa Hotel and flights round trip from Philly with reserved tables elsewhere to bring my son to meet with me, at a public park.
Apparently I am not too dangerous than to have a 7 year old daughter I have raised every day of her life to date. She's my one, my one they will never take away.
Oh and we are broke. 13,000+ hours building on blogger to try and elevate from where I have been cast out, I am at zero.
I am writing a book on this.
One that should start some hearts.
Mentally ill Anonymous.
Why should I have to live in fear that I could be taken out in cuffs to the State Institution by a family who never cared except that they were comfortable?
Stop system abuse.
Fuck, end it.
Oh and, stigma kills,
creator of http://www.ozenozmedia.com
The word of the day for me is "pernicious".
per·ni·cious
/pərˈniSHəs/ adjective
having a harmful effect, especially in a gradual or subtle way.
"the pernicious influences of the mass media"
The whole defining major setback of my every day life is the effect of my hateful, spiteful, overbearing and viciously short sighted family. It has become defined as "total family estrangement" but it is, due to the nature of the beasts, still highly toxic, even when out of contact.
They have done so much harm to me, that the most of what constitutes the severity of my "mental illness" is from their abuse. It would be folly to assume that it was not possibly even the whole cause at its roots.
In a world riddled with the cruelest of circumstance, how can you not blame the evil events as the cause of emotional disorder?! It flies in the face of reason!
Now these monsters of game feel they can use my own writing, and their manipulation of my illnesses to control my life. The sad fact is, that though they may fall short at having me arrested, state hospitalized, put under law by them in any way, their efforts have continued to reach and destroy my day to day psyche.
Just because I have admitted to having used drugs before doesn't mean I'm an addict. I don't do drugs, and don't need the back talk. Just because I was forced to accept my own inner voices as "hallucinations" before doesn't mean I'm crazy without my own inherent intuitions. Once I was confused amidst the whole world abandoning me. I no longer need the stigma, thank you.
Just because my "mother" knows all of my information and has a degree now in psychology doesn't mean she has a right to access my records, but she does.
Just because my adopted Brooks "dad" feels threatened by his own abuse of me, doesn't mean he can make illegitimate claims to the authorities that govern over my freedom of speech, and serve well to protect from the people he accuses me of being.
Once, at age 22, returning home with a new love in my life having seen the whole U.S., I went to visit, out of love, my parents and siblings. When I got there I was beaten to the ground by ten cops and they tried to State Hospitalize me. They told the police I "had a gun and was coming to kill" them.
Didn't take much to eventually learn they would stop at nothing to get me out of the way.
I will no longer live under their thumb.
But I do.
That's what sucks. I have to deal with the 6th sense all about them dragging me down with agonizing anxiety day in and day out.
And when they reach out to my local community about my "aberrant" condition, it does hurt me emotionally, physically, and monetarily. It does harm, not good.
Pernicious.
The title of this entry in the weblogs of my life.
On the topic of homosexuality.
When I was young I went through the developmental phases of experimentation and later pubescent fantasizing to find a measure of understanding, and simply because the risky thought made it easy to get off.
But it always left a dismissed and somewhat ill feeling in the after, leading to repeated conclusion in my hypersexuality that I was a womans boy, man, God, shit.
Then it happened. I was raped by a man who I had hitchhiked a ride with from Eugene, Oregon. He was "...the second largest land owner in the United States," at that time and spoke with the governor of Montana about his "...fleet of trucks taking corrosion damage due to mandated oversalting of the roadways."
We also on this trip, were allowed inside of a twenty truck, tank, Humvee, and armed troop caravan moving a fully armed nuclear warhead to the west coast. It was a hundred plus feet in length, and got a flyby by Air Force One while we passed through very close and inside of the troop caravan's confines.
He told me of a young man on his ranch he had done this to who had hung himself after fleeing a lynch mob after him out of the closeted politics. He was threatening me. I was powerless.
He had picked me up at the truck stop outside of Eugene, being kind and attentive to my personal space and we went off, hiding "...for insurance reasons," my presence "hitchhiking a ride." He then drove me to a remote Washington rest lot where I could not get away. He said he would get the police to arrest me, and began the sexual predatory nightmare.
Our encounters left me feeling like I was covered in a deep slimy goo, and sickened.
He was great friends with Castro, go figure, and shipped cattle on seat stripped 747's to Japan. Nothing but steers and queers to talk of there in his tales.
The rape left me vulnerable and confused on how to handle homophobic behavior, and I came out as bi - sexual to take social and political safety.
"Oley", as he called himself, tagging another truckers identity, offered to pay my rent at the West Chester University Hockey house where I landed, partially, only after a nun in Michigan at St. Andrew's in Ann Arbor took pity and sent me home via Grehound. He wanted pictures, a further entrapment.
My friends at AGC, they called me "Cracker" and took pity.
The confusion in me led to other meaningless encounters due to blackout intoxication and being taken advantage of until I found a way to stand firm. I didn't like it. I was, and am straight. My choice.
Often it seems to me that there can be a lot of sexual advances that go repeatedly overdone even after rejecting these members of the gay community which, I would guess to be seeking false comfort in sex, rather than love.
I don't feel torn up about homosexuality, as I am not gay, and hold no sexual desires in this way other than normal curiosities which I have found don't leave me feeling good. It seems to me that in modern day people get trapped by liberals into gender identity crisis which is driven by gender equality issues that shouldn't be and aren't relevant.
As for those who wanna label me, if I were gay, why would this even matter?
"That's all I have to say about that..."
Straight up.
"Stoop id is as stoop id does."
I rarely write these days. I'm more often found wasting my vlog or podcast minutes filling the air with an unactivated mic, or blowing away my retentive neighbors with an unrecorded 2 1/2 hour acoustic setlist in the garage. As of late, though I have begun to spit venom.
I don't trip, no crys, no crack (?), no yayo, no pharmies, hell even caffeine seems antithetical to my conscious. At all hours some nipping and buds do seem to put the even on the wheel steering the North Star guided keel, but only when not to outshine but only subside the tide.
But I see him as of late. Who? Death. Him.
He has shown up at all sorts of times in my life.
Strung out in a meth house boarding residence where many had passed but not passed on, he guilded me to help a lost spirit who died before 1000 B.C. who he made clear, you see, and will unless you help TO PASS ON...
A demon old enough to have pacted with Satan in Rome many millennia ago had been his fascinated company for three thousand years. He was dead, but this made it so he could travel anywhere and everywhere by a skill set the demon provided, offering other tormented souls under his guise as company.
Death, he came to me and pleaded his case. "Help me to help him die to himself. God willing."
Two hours later, the vortex thousands of years in wait to lead to the pearly gates lifted fair spirit, the late, to the pearly gates and heaven, as such.
My cost? I angered the demon.
Everything happens for a reason... I left the boarding home for good.
Long absolution tale straight, Death comes to see me still when it is nary wanted by either of us, but likely events come to pass mean I may come to a fork in the road soon which will tell my tales end possibly.
Tonight in non jest, stark in absolution of bearing no greed on his archetypical occupation, he showed me I may make Ozenoz happen.
Freestyle beginning, like metronome scalework on guitar, passing to pre written lyrics.
He said simply, and he has nary spoken another word, "Meter..."
<My formula: 5:8 (4) 2:2 (3) 4:4 (1)... "'Pac, man...">
Wish me luck. Either way, I will see you on the other side.
-Ozenoz
💀COMING SOON?💀
🌞OZΞИOZ:OИΞ🌙
Death, he came again.
As I thought of it, he let me know he would envelop me in darkness, but that my soul would live on.
"Puny sight," he chuckled innocently "it is just the beginning!"
She kissed him, the next door neighbor who rallied his friends to a posse fit to kill me back when. Exactly two years ago.
Not the kiss, the lynch mob.
No, the kiss, it was in the minds eye. He is her "type", and I am the cat sleeping on her lap she dare not wake to shoo; her legs now numb.
Tonight, I told her, life is like this.
"Cause I just couldn't open up, I'm always shiftin'. Go find yourself a man who's strong, and tall, and..."
-Matt Maeson/"Hallucinogenics"
The most painful part of life is when we cling to it, to beg it not to change, and with it, us.
"The only constant in life is change"
- Anonymous
Like the time an EF-4 tornado landed on my car, pushing it from 5mph - 55mph in neutral.
When I saw it coming, I didn't know what to do. So I did the thing my Buddhist teachings most prominently demanded. I "let go of letting go".
I put it in neutral, and then as the car slowed to 5mph, it was on me.
In a fury of hail, sleet, sticks, rain, and Lord knows what else twisting by the windshield, me in its center, I threw my hands up in the air.
I laughed out loud. And I said, half screaming, "God, I'm gonna die right now, and no one is ever going to know just how COOL this LOOKED!"
The speedometer drew my attention, and it climbed in three or four seconds to 55mph, and then, it let go of me.
It then demolished 70 some houses, with untold left dead, or worse.
When the time comes to face a real event, there is little we can do, but let our attitude towards the "Death" of that time be uplifting to ourselves and others.
The rest is, well, life.
So dear neighbor, drawn in by the red thread imagined and pulled towards my wife you covet, I reckon of this.
I am going to stay in neutral.
What element are you?
I am a Scorpio, with the Sun, Moon, Venus, and Uranus in my first house, Leo rising.
I bear the Crest and Arms of The Ayers Family, and "The Rising" tide of my namesakes.
Do what may, time what will come, day that shall shine, tide that does pull, love that has been, and father of the sky itself... "put the wind to my back."
"Peace by Peace."
-J.E. Ayers Brooks
To Whom This Doesn't Concern:
Lillian Jean Heidler Ayers Brooks Prilutski Berger:
You grabbed a sugar daddy at 17 to leave Amish country. You had me. He died at 21. You fucked me over for your comfort wherever possible. Kept me alive only to take credit.
Brandon J. Brooks:
I am your adopted son. Your middle name is my last name I ever fucking cared about. Die choking on your own arrogance.
Beat me at 12, threw me out at 15, bribed me to your side at 18 cause you needed to save face, fucked me over every day since. Fuck you with never, not once ever called me, literally, and threw me under the bus with "mom" every day since. I hope your past life review in the afterlife your cocky cynic atheist ass doesn't believe brings you through the thousands of hours of physical pain, exhaustion, attack and terror I lived. Because you and your three private planes, million dollar home, and private family vacations were more dire than this wolf.
Your fucking rich prince brother in law "Uncle" Chris was proven right by your sick petty need to fulfill his prophetic shrink wisdom, that I would want to kill you. You sure are a fine specimen, you rot filth piece of shit.
Jessica Ruch:
Slut fucking mental whore. Shares bi polar with me, former high class prostitute heroin addict. One night stand. Said "take the condom off" when I asked she was "...disease free. On birth control." She had Hep - C and got pregnant there and then and refused to leave MY HOUSE… the only one I have had an offer to own.
Had my son. Worked her magic with my family, and forever kept me (he is 16) from ever being a part of his life. Due to "my bi polar".
How about
Asher Brooks:
Tutlie. Japanese Breakfast trumpet. Multiple recording studios entreprenuer. Mrs. Marty's Deli. Fuckface.
You talked shit all the way through my forced estrangement, played a song ridiculing my homelessness in Venice, CA, might I add at the TLA, winning the fucking show contest. Then you singlehandedly took all of the money from our parents divorce possible to go to solely you for a BMW Mini Cooper. I got a $75 particlewood guitar. You raped me of my dignity to my son. You buddies up to him while I was demanded, and to this day reproach me as being anyone who should be around him.
He was a groomsman at your wedding, his mother (*Jessica) and her boyfriend and his siblings guests. I was uninvited.
Your a ginger head fucking prick. I hope you never have a natural child, and karma has it, your adoption will give you a defective fucking marriage.
Fuck off.
Carly Brooks :
I am not going to go into it. Just stay away from me.
Shane:
My son. You have it easier without me, so just keep it simple.
Mike Brooks:
My daughter shares a last name. My son has your first as his middle. Just be kind and leave me alone. Tell Abby to let it "B", and Ivy I hope her dementia is relieved.
As for the rest of you.
I miss you fucks.
The friends so missing:
Melvin Dewayne Smith
Bobby Greene
David Welty
Brad Bungo
Stephen Schwartz
Alan Silver
Robert Naughter
David Green (R.I.P.)
Alex Cabrera
Erik Gray
In reverse order lol.
I miss you all. Except for you. You know who you are.
Wish You Were Here.
"Ozenoz"
▪︎The End?▪︎
