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Rosie O'Donnell website

The following articles were authored by rosie


when parker was dakotas age –
a tad over 2
i took him to the palisades mall to get a crew cut
nick was the barber

old world italy
with a beautiful accent
that matched his warm wonderful soul
for 17 years he cut my sons hair

he died this summer
his daughter told me via twitter
– modern day obits

parker hasn’t had a hair cut since
not knowing where to go
he let it grow

sunday i took my 4 teens
to the mall
we agreed
it was time for a trim

all eyes in the place watched us
as we walked in
a family

there in nicks station was a new guy
with an empty chair
as joni says
“get a good grip on your grief”

some nodded
holding back tears
broken heartbeats
all around

we were nicks
he was ours
parker shook the new barbers hand
man to man

a 3 year old boy
with a blonde crew cut
walked up to nicks replacement
and said excuse me

he handed the barber his tip
his dad watched proudly
near the cashier
– as i had so many times

i took a photo
because i had to
parker trapped under the plastic gown
protested in vain

it was irresistible
my adult man child
sitting in the red leather chair
– rockwell poster perfection

there r moments of pure grace
when all u need
inside ur world

of all esther hicks says
we do create r reality
the law of attraction

joni mitchell called me tonight
and we spoke


i met him first in 97
on my show –
he was promoting 7th heaven
a show i watched

because catherine hicks
from ryan’s hope
the best soap opera ever on television
also starred in it

stephen was on my show many times
we spoke often about TM
he introduced me to it in fact
back in 97

i practice TM daily
20 mins in the am
20 in the pm
a mantra –

i pray

stephen is an artist
pottery – ceramics
we had a show together
my paintings – his pottery


the event was a success
stephen sent me a potters wheel
the week after –
so sweet

i learned how to throw pots
like him
i liked him
a lot

stephen collins
priestly – handsome – artistic – kind
stephen collins
married 29 years

and now here we all r

they showed me the clip in the morning
20 seconds
thats all i could watch
of his his apology tour

katie couric was r guest
i was sure she was gonna do 2 him
what she did 2 sarah palin
hit him with his truth

right between the eyes
expose him for who he was
“what newspapers do u read sarah?”
she saved us all then

this time
she didn’t


in 1973 –
he was 25 years old
i was ten
same age as his first victim

he took the hand of 10 year old girl
and used it to jerk himself off

as a child
who was used in similar ways
by a man i trusted
every cell in me remembered

“we both just sat there – we didn’t move a muscle”

uummmmm –
after u came on the kids hand – u mean?
stephen …

u are not equals
she was an innocent child
a baby girl
u have a daughter for gods sake

were u able to resist the urge to touch her ?
how noble …



in case u wonder
what ur man sized penis –
ur abuse of power
ur lack of impulse control did to that kid

i will tell u a bit about me

sex is not fun
not now
not ever
it is married to a lingering terror

joy evaporated

my body became my enemy
i would not love it
take care of it
treat it well

it had betrayed me
caused such pain and humiliation
i did not want 2 feel
2 know

like many survivors of childhood sexual abuse

i became obese
Obesity Action Coalition » Sexual Abuse and Obesity

i have struggled with severe depression
Effects Of Child Sexual Abuse: Depression And Other Mental Health Conditions

i have anxiety disorders
Effects of CSA on the Victim

shame confines me
Into the Light: sexual abuse – support info and resources

i bet stephen
there is a 52 year old woman – like me
sitting in her house
still frightened

her perspective skewed
by u
ur casual lack of accountability
for her and for me

has wounded us
once again
u –
stephen collins


u r an archetype
as is bill cosby
pedophile / rapist
how dare i

how dare i not ?

a hidden narrative none wishes 2 be part of
yet we all participate in


there is good news
we can heal r selves
RAINN | Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network | RAINN: The nation’s largest anti-sexual assault organization.One of “America’s 100 Best Charities” —Worth magazine

Love Has Many Faces: A Quartet, A Ballet, Waiting to Be Danced

“Not To Blame”

The story hit the news
From coast to coast
They said you beat the girl
You loved the most
Your charitable acts
Seemed out of place
With the beauty
With your fist marks on her face
Your buddies all stood by
They bet their fortunes
And their fame
That she was out of line
And you were not to blame

Six hundred thousand doctors
Are putting on rubber gloves
And they’re poking
At the miseries made of love
They say they’re learning
How to spot
The battered wives
Among all the women
They see bleeding through their lives
I bleed–
For your perversity–
These red words that make a stain
On your white-washed claim that
She was out of line
And you were not to blame

I heard your baby say
When he was only three
“Daddy, let’s get some girls
One for you and one for me.”
His mother had the frailty
You despise
And the looks
You love to drive to suicide
Not one wet eye around
Her lonely little grave
Said, “He was out of line girl
You were not to blame.”


by Joni Mitchell

Everybody looks so ill at ease
So distrustful so displeased
Running down the table
I see a borderline
Like a barbed wire fence
Strung tight strung tense
Prickling with pretense
A borderline

Why are you smirking at your friend?
Is this to be the night when
All well-wishing ends?
All credibility revoked?
Thin skin thick jokes!
Can we blame it on the smoke,
This borderline?

Every bristling shaft of pride
Church or nation
Team or tribe
Every notion we subscribe to
Is just a borderline
Good or bad we think we know
As if thinking makes things so!
All convictions grow along a borderline

Smug in your jaded expertise
You scathe the wonder world
And you praise barbarity
In this illusionary place
This scared hard-edged rat race
All liberty is laced with

Every income every age
Every fashion-plated rage
Every measure every gauge
Creates a borderline
Every stone thrown through glass
Every mean-streets-kick ass
Every swan caught on the grass
Will draw a borderline

You snipe so steady
You snub so snide
So ripe and ready
To diminish and deride!
You’re so quick to condescend
My opinionated friend
All you deface all you defend
Is just a borderline
Just a borderline
Another borderline
Just a borderline

my sad saturday

while i was in LA last week –
my wife Michelle fell off her horse
she fractured her sacrum

her horse is big and beautiful
and supposedly “bomb proof”
meaning he won’t spook
no matter what

apparently that’s not true
as he saw a chipmunk and bolted
all 16 1/2 hands of him
thru the gate in the outdoor ring

heading toward farming equipment
the world spinning past
no longer in control – she closed her eyes
and let go

she saved herself

the pain is easing
4 more weeks of rest
including NO picking up the baby
which hurts her new mommy heart – the most


on monday brooke shields –
triggered a panic attack in me
“oh my god – she’s dead? “ she joked
after my clumsy question about her mother terri

roller coaster core drop
inside my insides
what is real?
am i perceiving correctly

i wished for i dream of jeannie powers
to blink the world frozen
a time out – 2 re focus
brookes laugh snapped me back –
into the now

an IED on an occupied road
a step away from imploding
be still
the pin back in the grenade


i have watched it six times
i see my confusion
as my cortisol overflows
my movements rigid

what’s real?
am i perceiving this correctly …
focus and survive
fight or flight

be still
don’t react


i have a new therapist
as my last one retired
which felt like abandonment –
cause it is – in the end – all about me

the new therapist is very good
together we til the soil
unearthing all the past
trying to trust

we r working on my sexual abuse
again – at 52
it doesn’t end
as too many know

bill cosby triggers me
and millions of others
even typing it now –
gets my heart racing

u never stop feeling
like u r in BIG trouble
if u talk about it
still – at 52

it breaks my heart
to see BC so old – fragile
a bumbling grandpa

his angelic wife – camille
radiating light
with a smile that seems pasted in place
a stunning beauty

the women talking now
were teenagers when he raped them
some r senior citizens
i believe them

i don’t know how to talk about BILL COSBY
while completely avoiding the rape charges
as part of the conversation
i can’t – i won’t

healing is the hope

4 u
4 me
4 them
4 him

R new war…It’s more than I can stand

anne lamott on robin williams

This will not be well written or contain any answers or be very charming. I won’t be able to proof read it It is about times like today when the abyss is visible and we cannot buy cute area rugs at IKEA to truck out the abyss. Our brother Robin fell into it yesterday. We are all staring at the abyss today.

I called my Jesuit friend the day after the shootings in Newtown, stunned, flat, fixated, scared to death: “Is there any meaning in the deaths of twenty 5 and 6 year old children?”

Tom said, “Not yet.”

And there is no meaning in Robin’s death, except as it sheds light on our common humanity, as his life did. But I’ve learned that there can be meaning without things making sense.

Here is what is true: a third of the people you adore and admire in the world and in your families have severe mental illness and/or addiction. I sure do. I have both. And you still love me. You help hold me up. I try to help hold you up. Half of the people I love most have both; and so do most of the artists who have changed and redeemed me, given me life. Most of us are still here, healing slowly and imperfectly. Some days are way too long.

And I hate that, I want to say. I would much prefer that God have a magic wand, and not just a raggedy love army of helpers. Mr. Roger’s mother told him when he was a boy, and a tragedy was unfolding that seemed to defy meaning, “Look to the helpers.” That is the secret of life, for Robin’s family, for you and me.

I knew that those children at Sandy Hook were caught in God’s loving maternal arms at the second each crossed over, and the teachers were, too. I believe the shooter was too, another child of God with severe mental illness, because God loves, period. But this is controversial.

I know Robin was caught too, in both the arms of God, and of his mother, Laurie.

I knew them both when I was coming up, in Tiburon. He lived three blocks away on Paradise drive. His family had money; ours didn’t. But we were in the same boat–scared, shy, with terrible self esteem and grandiosity. If you have a genetic predisposition towards mental problems and addiction, as Robin and I did, life here feels like you were just left off here one day, with no instruction manual, and no idea of what you were supposed to do; how to fit in; how to find a day’s relief from the anxiety, how to keep your beloved alive; how to stay one step ahead of abyss.

We all thought after Newtown that gun control legislation would be passed, but no–not one new law. We think in the aftermath of Robin’s death that there will be consciousness raising about mental health, but I doubt it. The shock and awe will pass, like it did after Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s death. Unless…unless we take action. But what? I don’t have a clue. Well, here’s Glenn Close’s astonishing organization to raise awareness and diminish the stigma of mental illness, where you can give OR receive help: Go there, OK?

In Newtown, as in all barbarity and suffering, in Robin’s death, on Mount Sinjar, in the Ebola towns, the streets of India’s ghettos, and our own, we see Christ crucified. I don’t mean that in a nice, Christian-y way. I mean that in the most ultimate human and existential way. The temptation is to say, as cute little believers sometimes do, Oh it will all make sense someday. The thing is, it may not. We still sit with scared, dying people; we get the thirsty drinks of water.

This was at theologian Fred Buechner blog today: “It is absolutely crucial, therefore, to keep in constant touch with what is going on in your own life’s story and to pay close attention to what is going on in the stories of others’ lives. If God is present anywhere, it is in those stories that God is present. If God is not present in those stories, then they are scarcely worth telling.”

Live stories worth telling! Stop hitting the snooze button. Try not to squander your life on meaningless, multi-tasking bullshit. I would shake you and me but Robin is shaking us now.

Get help. I did. Be a resurrection story, in the wild non-denominational sense. I am.

If you need to stop drinking or drugging, I can tell you this: you will be surrounded by arms of love like you have never, not once, imagined. This help will be available twenty/seven. Can you imagine that in this dark scary screwed up world, that I can promise you this? That we will never be closed, if you need us?

Gravity yanks us down, even a man as stunning in every way as Robin. We need a lot of help getting back up. And even with our battered banged up tool boxes and aching backs, we can help others get up, even when for them to do so seems impossible or at least beyond imagining. Or if it can’t be done, we can sit with them on the ground, in the abyss, in solidarity. You know how I always say that laughter is carbonated holiness? Well, Robin was the
ultimate proof of that, and bubbles are spirit made visible.
43,506 SharesLike

from the president

Robin Williams was an airman, a doctor, a genie, a nanny, a president, a professor, a bangarang Peter Pan, and everything in between. But he was one of a kind. He arrived in our lives as an alien – but he ended up touching every element of the human spirit. He made us laugh. He made us cry. He gave his immeasurable talent freely and generously to those who needed it most – from our troops stationed abroad to the marginalized on our own streets. The Obama family offers our condolences to Robin’s family, his friends, and everyone who found their voice and their verse thanks to Robin Williams.

a friends poem – moved me so

Ok I have run away
For the day
Into town
Away from Dad’s frown

Now to examine myself
Am I insane?
Dad will drive me there
Even if I am not
Smother me
With his ridiculous accusations

My world is a dream
That is a problem
But it’s bordering on reality
So I hope
So I believe
Which is where the problem lies
I do actually believe
In this dream world

I do believe
In illogical things
That could be diagnosed as madness

I am ashamed
Of what I have come to believe in:
Because it is not as I have been programmed
Because it is an alien world to my parents
And my family

I am addicted
To Music
I am addicted
To Spirituality
I am addicted
To Love
I am addicted
To Art
I am addicted
To the Beauty of Soul
Is this so strange?
Is this worthy
Of Psychological Analysis
Psychiatric Help?
Is this wrong?
Should I be condemned
To an institution for this?

The only right way to live
According to my father’s directives
And ingrained beliefs
Generations of handed down doctrines:
Academic success is Life

I disagree
For me
It doesn’t fully fit
It leaves something unanswered in me
It leaves me dissatisfied
To believe in education/university
As survival, as real life
As healthy living

I have my faults
My mind is very open
But is that a fault?
I embrace life
In every shape and form
And wrap myself in it
I am very impressionable
I am devoted to Natural Things
Thus I am completely misunderstood
Especially by my father
It is this struggle
That I am left here today
Fighting for my right to be free
To be let live in this world
Until I find
The direction
I wish to go
And succeed in living
And not to be sent to a shrink

It is demeaning
To be thought of
As a fucked up being
As mentally unstable
I do not believe it myself anymore
But sometimes
It’s hard not to
When your own father
Smothers and suffocates you with such thoughts

I am fighting
The pains of a programmed upbringing
As everybody does to degrees
My fault may lie
In doing this a little more than others
But I do it
Because I am able to

Life is a struggle
If I didn’t get depressed or low
And disillusioned
From time to time
Then I am not human

By sending me to a psychiatrist Dad
You are showing me a lack of respect
You are demeaning me as a person
Who I consider to be a qualified human being

Before this
I was half afraid
I may be mad
But now
I believe I am not
To diagnose me as mad
Would be doing a tyrannical injustice
It could be compared to
Committing Jews to a concentration camp
The most recognised injustice

I have lost respect for you
Because you are showing me little
By treating me as you do
You are hurting me
Brainwashing me with your negative thoughts
To create inferior ripples within me
That I have to exorcise
With tears
Every time

I can not talk to you
Because YOU are not going to change
All you can ever do
Is accept me as I am
Someone you can’t fully relate to
The thing is you don’t need to

All you need to do is
Accept me
Love me as much as you can
And stop frowning on me
Just because
I molded myself away from your
Conditioned idea of approaching life

I know
That there are things you understand
About spirituality and psychology etc.
But you do not feel them
The difference lies forever there
It is just the way we are
No one is to blame for this
Everyone is unique
Call me a black sheep
But I’d prefer to think of myself
As a rainbow sheep

I have many colors
And not few
I use my many colors
And not my few
I use what I have been given
In my thoughts and in my actions
In my apparently “dull” lifestyle

The cold frustration returns
Cos although it is a frantic effort
To achieve your understanding
I know I never will
Some questions can’t be answered
Some answers can’t be worded
They lie as knowledge
Not necessarily wisdom
But as a “knowing”

Not everything is black and white
Some things have many colors
They cannot be termed as just one

Our conflict
Lies in the difference
Between the logical world
And the natural world
I am in both
You are in the logical
And see the natural
I am in the natural
And the logical

You question me
You question everything I do
Unjustly and unnecessarily

I am not happy
At home
When you make me feel
Like a disappointment
By your vibes
By questioning my every move
Or apparent lack of movement

Lack of money
Is another reason
I seem unmotivated
If I had more money
I could do “productive” things

You do not understand
The GUILT factor
That money is in my life

How money is spoken about at home
The pain of taking ANY
Even for my birthday
Was incredibly painful

I felt guilty
Like I do not deserve any money
Any freedom
Any enjoyment
You make me feel unworthy
Not just of money
But of a gift

Your letter
Made me cry
Because you just reinforced
Your feelings of ongoing disappointment in me
Making me feel still inferior and unloved

I know you care for me
But you don’t love me
Because you can’t allow yourself to
Or you won’t love me
You won’t accept me
For who I am

Accept me now for who I am
That’s all I ask
And even if you can’t
I shall prove myself
A worthy, successful individual
Whether you believe it or not

I am not destroying myself
I am not killing myself
I am not subconsciously
Plotting my suicide
I am not MAD
I should not be considered a disappointment
That is not fair to treat me like that


So ALL I ask for is your respect
And for you to try to accept me
And love me a little more.


an amazingly touching and informative documentary
now available to watch on line
i am happy to have been a small part
of this kickstarter project


“…everyone one was trying to explain it in their own way
but i had never seen the internet grieving in its own way

at no time in his childhood – did arron have mood swings
or what i would describe as severe depression

we r standing in a middle of our time
when grave injustice is not touched
where the architects of the financial meltdown
have dinner with the president nightly

in the middle of that time
the idea that THIS was what the government
the prosecuteor
its absurd

aaron is dead
wanderers in this crazy world
we have lost a mentor , a wise elder
Hackers for right, we r one down
we have lost one of our own
nurturers, carers listeners
feeders – parents all
we have lost a child
let us all weep…”


my font size is growing
i can’t figure out how 2 get the whole mac
to casual 24 …
aint that always the case

all my kids r home
5 together for the first time
in the new florida house
heaven still

on the beach turtles lay eggs
and we watch them
with special infra red lights

miraculous every time

the dolphins have gotten used to us
they come close again
thrilling me so

i need new glasses
these can’t do it anymore
as i bob and weave to find
the right spot on the bottom third

USA lost yet won
lets see if we can go
where none believes we can

mish and i ate with r new neighbors
bob and rita
sincere silly saintly seniors
who make me yearn for parents

ones who kiss me goodnight
with a twinkle in their eye
that says i love u
without having to

we went to a drum circle
where we saw women butterflies
bald sun gods
and lost souls found

here it feels like home
peaceful surrender
at last