And I cannot speak. I cannot stand up for myself. For many reasons. Can it be because of a horribly long time left outside to freeze. As the mechanic, , who works with the cars right next to my home, plies his trade on my street, I remember him as a contemptuous customer. At the beginning when I was left out on the street I was to prostitute myself so I could stay warm .He was an acceptable lover after a long time of freezing outside. And as I was being used in such a way I still continued to write
And at the same time the songs, without any credit or money coming to me, made it high on the charts on the radio. I can hear the lyrics unchanged. Again. This is when I composed this song: if you want my money and you think I am sexy honey let me know I didn’t want his money. I could come in from the freezing cold to whore and write me my music. Again.
Many times I improvised a song to avoid beatings that would come anyways. And always, always there were threats of death. Another song I composed for this reason was the classic and audacious very grim for the time: It is Cruel to be Kind. This song was composed somewhere in Germany completely underground. And to this day without any obvious financial benefit to me. At all. There is no way this is willing. Despite I conveniently live in a convent residence I do not in any way refuse this money. If I did in the past I had been brainwashed. I know for a fact I have been wretched because of my poverty. I am also socially disgraced because of my poverty and not at all quietly.
My ears are broken still from the beating of a neighbor that I live with who loves to torture ears.; Any ears and mine as well. Every morning I meet her at breakfast ( the poor dear is fragile) when she is not traveling. Retired now, because she worked in a hospital for years and has power to escape the hand of justice. She is not the only brutal humanitarian I would meet.
IF you know how I can get money for the work I did I could sure use it. I can’t even walk around properly in my tiny room because my furniture doesn’t fit. For years I was forced to live with the most primitive furniture you can possibly imagine. And this accompanied by menacing religious symbols all over the wall of this tiny room of which I was forbidden to take off the wall.
Finally with their crucifix in full view from the wretched bed I said to the woman who ran the place I would not be able to live if I keep on having nightmares like I did. She moved it. That was all the concessions for years.