LEGAL RAPE

There I sat, the two attorneys and their staff, grilling me.  It took hours and hours.  They threatened with more to come.  Edith, as I see her, who is me, held up.  She held up with the classic accuracy and intricacy of truths without tarnishing them.

It was clear then as it is today.  Neither had one bone of honesty in their composite human figures.  They appeared just as any other human being does.  They were neither fish nor amphibian.  They were clearly mammalian.  All outer appearances--the symmetrical anatomy, the pair of occular organs in the upper quadrant of the face, and were bipedal, that is they had two legs each that they used to tread across the floor.

It was where they placed their forethought that distinguished them from other people.  For they, much like the literature faculty, were agents of a vacant, wasted, and wanton set of partial sensibilities, thwarted cognition, and absent discerning.  They were nothing but the flesh-moving instinct of brutal blunt instinct.

Against my pacifism, they festered with an oozing and bellicose supremacy.  Two hired guns who violated my confidentiality in the process of sating their viciousness and mutilating commodity-- two shallow and defunct souls for the mating of terror--we spent day after day in a waltz dancing in disgust.  They would be compensated.  I would have the last word.

Last week, I wrote to the California State Bar Association for a full investigation of the botched legal procedure.  But as I don't put faith in the state nor does it concern itself with me, I intend to tell the story as though it told itself and the court records illustrate.

A 2-second arm twisting is nothing!  Try it again!  

MENTOR RAPE

It's common practice, indeed, even an academic standard, to institute mentorships for untenured professors.  While I had little use of advice from the highly unstable, toxic, revolting, and mediocre English and World Literature faculty --their morals were absent and horrors were forms of daily entertainment--I did everything fathomable to enforce high standards, create an ethical environment where only haunting was permitted, and shepherd my students toward their goals--that is, I had to do without adequate, professional, and appropriate collegiality and my gender/sex/ability identification was in fact the sole fixation on which these "mentors" would fixate. 

Never could I expect that they would engage in enlightened or polite conversations on the latest theories, new methodological advances, or best practices in instruction.  Far more remote were chances my own particular practices in manuscript analysis, translation, philology, and archival projects, would distract them from the single obsession they placed on my anatomy--moral, physical, ethnic, and intellectual.

The marring of my atmosphere, the squelching of my student research products, and the continuously-nearing proximity of their menacing mendacity, administered at an intensifying frequency. The hazing was acute, repetitive, and grew to include officers of the college, its board, administration, and faculty committees. This experience was a nightmare of insomniac persistence.  

It began with persistent propositions from another professor and the spouse of the President Trombley both of whom I rejected vociferously and to no avail for Trombley took it upon himself to ignore my rejections and sexually assaulted me.  He groped my ass with a disturbing and horrifying claw that traced the entire length of my spine just before it found my glute muscle and demonically squeezed me as though I were an animal about to be butchered.

This pattern of atrocities would follow the hierarchy of command from the sordid President's office down to the two professors just below her on the scale of salacious ambition.  The ominous perversity paired with abysmal intellectualism grew closer and closer to what I call mentor rape, a term I will define in a series of blogs on the topic. Rape on sexual grounds commuted to intellectual ones. This form of rape demands not only the excessive use of power to acquire forceful consent, but also, the farcical defeat of knowledge by racial and ableist fantasy forced sex.

Sex was the single fascination that presented itself in their imagination, collective and individual.  As a scholar, these regularly occurring group rituals of humiliation based around my biological being, were so shocking that they inured me to a state of "numbed terror"-- a phrase I borrow from the poet, Dr. William Carlos Williams, who, after all, had never grimaced at or demurred to, the sensuality of an aesthetic life.

The scenes in which the mating of my scholarship with the obsessive sexual predation of the literature faculty--are as clear in my memory as they day they occurred.  I can still see Laura Harris slithering on the open door of my office as she asks me for a lunch date after several bullying incidents in which she laid bare her agenda to discredit me for rejecting her inculcation in what was clear to me was an exploitative pecking order. 

Though she claimed she was a lesbian, it became clear she was merely marketing herself, for she is a four foot tall Napoleonic macho midgit without even a shred of femininity. Her emasculated omnipotent butchy hysteria she tried with the might of an infantile ego complex, to sate by annihilating any appearance of beauty, wisdom, or education in her realm of treacherous perversity.

 Given that she passes as white with a ludicrous theory of herself as a radical black woman who pulled down welfare while borrowing money for student loans, all of which she boasts in a laughable track record of feminist quasi-confessions regarding her femininity, femme claims, and feminist ethics, her proclivities are particularly bizarre.   

And in her case, the Pinocchio effect has had its full epidemiology expressed.  A nose larger than the size of a padded CV added to her height, may have been the cause of her dire tactics. Altogether this assembled puppeteer holds to the reins with a debased career in letters, the supplicants of her macho command structure using it to recruit to her "tormentorship."

Yet, she was not alone in her racial masquerade.  But teamed up with her as her own best frenemy--was Masilela Ntongela, a South African who promotes the benefits of English colonization of Africa and even of apartheid's ultimate helpful legacy on the enemy of his fathers, the Indigenous African cultures, expounds upon a comprador sentimentalism for the black plantation, its righteous antecedent and legacy in his view, and the dire picture of any innocence that will have to be dismembered by a precolonial brutal fantasy he sees and both desires and abhors in the African village, the African tradition, or its African philosophical heritage which he converts to what he sees as basely superstitious and laughable. He annihilates Africa and with that power, seduces through "mentorship." 

He refers to his own minstrelsy as "Modernity."  I recalled the horrific grimace a European scholar expressed at a conference at the annual conference of the regional Modern Language Association, held that year in Riverside,  when Ntongela Masilela assured the European scholar that there were no lingering feelings of dispossession or dismay of Africans for European colonization. 

The young slattern who had flown from Vienna to present his research, was left with a staggering jaw-drop -- a below-the-belt blow for the blond and blue-eyed research scholar.  Clearly, he had never fathomed that he'd find a supporter of colonialism in Southern California. But it must have been the sight of him that must most perturb him today: for he looks like a vile spider-bellied house servant of hell's ugliest creatures which in itself may have been the cause of his dire tactics.

More to Come

DOT DOT DOT : VENGEANCE OF ONLOOKERS

When returning to the classroom in a sexually hostile environment and while most professors quip, "I need to finish my syllabus, " or "my books aren't in the bookstore," my concerns were identical with theirs but went far beyond the normal anxieties.  My genuine fears included sizing up the perpetrators, their alliances, and their silent observers, meanwhile teaching as though my days in the classroom were numbered.

I soon gained enough perceptual acuity and ease with omni-vigilance that I could soon see around corners and distinguish shadows by the figures that cast them.  I could sense but not necessarily process these phenomenon as they occurred.

One by one any semblance of a higher moral authority, from "friends" who watched my mobbing without relinquishing any shred of protection or intervention, to state and federal authorities, courts, agencies, and ultimately a set of lawyers, all attuned to the sound of my misery, cruelly and sadistically turning the tables on me.

I became the target for a growing army of vengeful, angry, and undoubtedly weak moral characters.  They covered their ears to the sounds of my misery, averted eyes at the sight of their colleague, neighbor, or fellow human being, never to consider what the toll might be on one so outnumbered.

Indeed, there were women who resented the "attention" I received albeit the attention a cow may receive while being fed to the slaughterhouse.

So too, there were men whose research had long floundered in the provincialism of a disciplinary trend torn asunder by the globalization of fields in which they perhaps felt they'd been antiquated.  The brute competition for ideas, methods, and techniques had only a dulling effect on them, privileged as they were above women, by the masculinity they perceived they possessed as a natural outcrop of their biology.

Were I to describe it, this was a world where bench warmers festooned their dreary dilemmas with the avarice of wouldve's couldve's and shouldve's.  If they only had a brain.

WHEN PROFESSORS VOID STATE LAWS FOR SEXUAL HARASSMENT

The Administration was finding that the more you allowed students to write at larger volumes the more profound their education. 

I was crazy for my student writers. They taught me more than my own teachers about going off the page. I read their papers with profound jealousy for the world that did not that could not know the pleasurable passion of these writings. I felt great pity and compassion that whatever nearby human being I passed in the store or the lane of the freeway, did not have what I had: access to the writings of my students. So, I could never -- was not able -- to betray that love by acquiescing to sex by my employers. I was also jealous of their writing as the focus that my pursuers had for me because I felt my soul was now equal to their writings, and that I, only I, had the right to that love.  I love my Students Jealously and I love their Writings Jealously.

This terrified the Administrators and Professors in a perturbingly irrational manner. Nothing would alert them to their own conduct. They lost their moral discernment.

I began a war of dissent and moral deprecation of the entire milieu and at times it included friends of friends or what have you, neighbors, everyone, all my human shields--as I had been a human shield for my students-- and my combatants. I would make them suffer as they had defamed me: in general, by random attack, in strategem with tactical efficacy, in eternal terms, in present tense, in hyperbole, I would appease the soul they tortured. 

Once they all agreed to reject the state law on sexual harassment training, the English professors began canceling and cutting the degree into easier requirements which most affected me and my students. We were working on original theses that would no longer be required or offered.  But more than that, these works were excoriated, made as though "illegal" by professors who voided state laws.

My War was Waged by my Enemy against my Entropy. Soon magnitude was just a square away. There is no secret to success but doing it. Which can only come once in a Lifetime. Hate is UnderRated my friends, it is a Powerful Passionate Agent and it is never Sated. I try to Forgive but... ah... then I FOrget.

In fact, these are emotions long placed aside for the purpose of which is the following: to admonish and to teach, to instruct and to illustrate.

At Once they all agreed to reject the state law on sexual harassment training, I was raw meat in a shark's mouth. 

While this did not stop us, and my students and I continued what we did, whether or not there was "credit" for it, the attacks would continue. The censorship was enforced overall and by increasing degrees, would eventually be administered within the very courses themselves and against my research by procedures including faculty votes and faculty rumors.

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I had a look of terrific outrage on my face as the Dean told the faculty that though the state law required it he would not enforce the requirements for sexual harassment training. All of those who agreed, including everyone, should sign the sheet in agreement.

The Professors agreed to break the law together and I would bear that weight alone on me as the living example of what happens to they who refuse to break a law designed to protect me and others, my student writers.

I overreacted in moments. Due to an alarm my son who had been at a party that later turned out to be a CIA academic writing on the arming and organizing of narcotics cartels, 

I quickly defriended and broke ties with mutual acquaintances which affected things at home. 

I overreact to the Gov when it comes to the Kids. 

Otherwise I laugh in its Orifice!