The Buddhahood of Southcroft
Tenency began November 2020 – present. Currently on trial for frightening my neighbours and facing eviction. It is my Lived Experience that women MUST commit crimes in order to protect ourselves. Police Scotland fails women who report male abuse. We have no other option. Menopausal old dykes like me do not desire little white men yelling sexist and or racist comments at us, or our children.
I was born and raised in holy Ireland. An Old IRA man lived in a big house in the fields behind ours. He had swords and shields, a bomb shelter, a boat, matchstick cars and bells. As a child I waited in the bomb shelter for him to be ready. When I reached puberty he asked my parents if he could build me a house beside his. My Ma was tempted. I told the cops, they bade me whisht. In menopause I finally smacked a male predator. The cops are still wishing I’d wheesht. SSSSsssshhhhhh.
Stood in the dock on a Monday. Any Monday. Most Mondays. Imbolc to Imbolc. Solstice to solstice. Seeking justice. I chose to face my abusers as my accusers in Open Court last week. I self-represented to defend my Self against historical animus. The hun gleamed with malice again; from the witness stand under Oath.
I chose to self-represent upon realising the financial cost of decent legal representation. The hun would lie of course, ergo I could, would and should display how the course of justice has been perverted, abused. The hun’s desire to do harm or mischief is her predetermination to act with evil intent. My lists of questions became redundant. The hun took the stand and spewed toxicity. As did the minions, Creepy and Cruella.
Cruella’s lies were like explosions of fiery reds bursting out of her head. Like violent thrusts of rage. Like hot bombs full of pain. I shook from her energies. Her venom intoxicated the Court. A buddha in a black robe handed me a plastic glass of water.
Faced. I faced. Me My Self. I. Stood in the dock. I faced my abusers, hollow as a chicken bone – to let Light thru’ – and I was Healed.