1. As I complimented Charlotte to kick off our first and last case management meeting, she is at least one step more professional than both “At” and her immediate supervisor in that she first introduced herself by arriving at the house prepared with printed business cards with full contact information to encourage direct communications with each of your tenant-clients. Here she forgoes Compass Housing Alliance’s letterhead, but at least she remembers the month and day of the meeting, though by 2017 and beyond it may be somewhat more challenging for you to investigate the sequential stream of criminal behavior perpetrated by your staff. I could be wrong, but I suspect their ever-revolving door of digital files are not better organized than their analogue efforts.
At our 22 June 2016 case management meeting, I asked Charlotte to retrieve copies of both your Anti-Harassment Policy and April’s meeting minutes, and she only responded vaguely, “I know they’re around here somewhere…” before refusing to debrief the events that transpired at the second April-run house meeting, snarling, “I already posted my meeting minutes.”
2. Based on what you’ve read so far, do you feel ready to identify the necessary assumption inferred in her argument that meeting with Charlotte will result in getting the support I need to continue working toward my goals?
May I recommend one tiny shift that might sound nit-picky, but without visual literacy, written and spoken language are our next best bet for better communicating, and I noticed in her emails Charlotte repeats that “one on one,” precisely how she interprets her job description as case manager, abusing her position of power over her better-educated clients? Once she decides to Unplay the Shame and Blame Game, she might change that language to one-to-one to indicate her readiness to shift from ignorance to knowledge, from passive aggressive communications to healthy communications, from power-over to power-with.
From Unplay, here’s the structure of Charlotte’s one-on-one understanding of our relationship, with the case manager on top, the economically vulnerable client on bottom, and the communications between two represented by the dot in the middle:
Notice how the arrangement of the three dots, with the intense red dot on top, somewhat evokes a stoplight? Here’s what a healthy one-to-one relationship looks like:
From the mark for Unplay alone, even sans typography or written communication, do you see what it will take for Charlotte to learn healthy communications?
Not much at all. Just a 90-degree shift in her present form, or style.
For my first and last one-to-one meeting with Charlotte, she drove one of your fleet of corporate vehicles to pick me up like a package and delivered us both to your downtown office, rather than multitasking that meeting time with picking up and delivering a roadside desk to better assist her client with accomplishing my educational and employment goals. At your office on Dexter, she shamed and blamed me for the better part of an hour, expressed zero interest in me or my goals, openly expressed hostility toward me and my accomplishments, offered zero knowledge of the resources available within Seattle’s convoluted poverty industrial complex, and talked over and down to me numerous times before finally proffering, not our previously agreed-upon budget of six bus passes per week, but only five. That’s over a 16 percent reduction in my transportation budget for that week alone, even if you do not calculate all the months that your staff have been revolving too rapidly through their jobs to provide any transportation budget at all. Those she carefully meted out as if withdrawing gold bullion from Fort Knox, once again avoiding my recommended digital solution of ORCA cards for better managing your time and transportation budgets.
Because Charlotte had chauffeured me to our meeting, she reasoned, that left me with one bus pass to return to your suburban crime scene, plus three bus passes to go apply for those “three little jobs,” she chided nasally, “Not your dream job.” As well as one bus pass to return to your office on Dexter one week later for my weekly dose of shaming and blaming, 10-year-old Charlotte’s interpretation of the grown-up job of social worker, further role-modeled for her by her immediate supervisor.
From her email belatedly explaining her transportation budget decisions that actively hinder my ability to address the issues that have led to this period of homelessness, access healthcare or other resources necessary for brute survival, and pursue my educational and employment goals, I learned why my questions about grant funding and transportation budgets must have thoroughly confused young Charlotte. As you can see, Charlotte has not graduated to percentages yet. She is still working on simple addition and subtraction:
Unprepared to meet my needs as I identified them when I entered your program in November 2015, let alone the level I attained by July 2016 as I patiently work my way toward my goals despite enduring the criminal environment encouraged by your staff, Charlotte aspires to jettison me back to February 2015 in battling my way through Seattle’s poverty industrial complex for access to resources for brute survival, if I try her recommendations, and hope for a different result:
Sure, Idaho’s mental health professionals have assigned me innumerable labels whereby I could spend my time and energies trying to collect disability and defrauding the government, but as I explained in my email to both you and Charlotte, no one on your staff arises to the level of my abilities.
Again, Charlotte may not want to hear that judgment, but healthy egos do not shatter when encountering judgments or perspectives that disagree with their own. All of your staff have blithely shared judgments with which I disagree. My ego remains intact, not shattered as revealed by your staff’s abuse of their positions of power over me. And notice that sharing my judgment with both of you follows your grievance procedure that Charlotte had been unwilling to resolve in our meeting, while simultaneously bringing the long-running grievance to your next level of management, where all the staff beneath you have so far failed to do their jobs.
Charlotte’s anal retentive math, or shaming and blaming approach to dispensing nominal resources also displays further ignorance about the real needs of trafficking survivors, travel time, bus route changes since light rail reached the University of Washington, and poverty transportation. Bus tickets do not provide fare for light rail. Metro’s bus ticket transfers expire after 90 minutes, and travel time between Seattle’s far-flung ‘burbs and resources in the downtown core is at least an hour, on a good day, not counting walking time on both ends of my journey, leaving me with a whopping 30 minutes, max, to network my way into a job paying at least enough to live on in the city in which I happen to live. From scratch.
Or find employers, clients, or colleagues healthier than the folks filling positions throughout much of Seattle’s design and education communities.
And that’s if I ignore, rather than address, the criminal abuses that led to this period of homelessness, to again reference the verbiage of your Case Management Plan Addendum to our contractual agreement.
I meet lots of strangers happy, desperate even, for me to listen to their trauma monologues in our first half hour of meeting. Have yet to meet the magic boss offering me a reliable paycheck within our first 30 minutes of dialogue, however.
No shortage of folks happy to benefit from my skills; a dearth of employers, clients, or colleagues healthy enough to respect my educated expertise with a living wage.
From my experiences attempting to work with the racist, schizophrenic retired math teacher that Seattle voters decided to elect to their school board in 2011, I could better understand Charlotte’s struggles with math if she were a product of Seattle Public Schools, but she told me she finished high school in Oregon-? Until I remembered that Oregon cut its school year to the shortest in the nation during the 2002–03 recession when I first moved to the Pacific Northwest with that “delusional” son of “delusional” ex-FBI parents – according to the Mississippi of the PNW – fresh out of law school, and looking for his first real job. Charlotte’s math skills are not her fault. Math and critical thinking skills are a gap that America legislated for its No Child Left Behind generation.
Of course, Charlotte is a chronological adult now. That means she could choose to increase her math and critical thinking abilities beyond her No Child Left Behind education. As her employer, you may choose to require both skill sets in your hiring decisions.
As demonstrated by this above-the-fold image on the 15 September 2015 print edition of the local paper, four years after they failed to listen to my visually educated expertise, Seattle’s public school teachers are still unable to communicate their message to, and have yet to even identify, their external audience, while the headlines editor at the Times readily recognizes K–12 as little more than a giant babysitting service for working class parents:
From my perspective, if Seattle’s union teachers were visually educated, they would have readily identified their chosen 2011 school board candidate, by her visual communications collateral alone, as ill-equipped to help them resolve conflicts between administration and educators. Instead, they backed a retired school teacher who later recommended the board sue the union for their strike.
Also note the side column reporting Boeing’s loss of sales to their global competitor; I’ll return to that topic momentarily.
So much for my efforts to recommend better time management for your case manager, suggesting that Compass Housing Alliance deploy 21st century technology to help us both achieve our goals within a realistic timeframe, “Since you’re not hiring, and you’re not in a position to help me network into a community healthy enough to respect my educated skills in exchange for a living wage, why would Compass waste 33.33 percent of my transportation budget on internal communications when you’re not even caught up with my online communications?”
Worse, when my direct, healthy communications foiled Charlotte’s attempts to transfer her deeply repressed anger against her mother onto me by controlling my body movements and insisting that I watch her spin around her volvelle for an hour in exchange for only five bus passes that week, Charlotte became even more controlling, driving out to the suburbs to distribute just one bus pass the following week, narcissistically demanding that my highest transportation priority must be to attend yet another of her hour-long shame and blame sessions:
If shaming and blaming the job candidate were effective tactics for attracting employers, I would have competitive, lucrative offers vying for me to deliberate between them. My genetic mother and my genetic siblings and their spouses have been using those tactics for decades. While he was still alive, my genetic father also used that passive aggressive communications style to rule his roost, may he have found his way to forgiveness and self-awareness in his current iteration. My family are global historic experts in the Shame and Blame Game. If I valued shaming and blaming limited to just hour-long weekly sessions, I would figure out a way to call my genetic mother on a weekly basis, before pressing end call after the first timed hour.
But why listen to still more negative energy?
From my in-depth knowledge of human psychology, I anticipate that Charlotte will rigorously deny she feels any anger whatsoever toward her own mother.
So would you like to offer a logical explanation for her behavior talking over and down to her better-educated client?
In my opinion, Charlotte will not be prepared to respect her clients until she learns to respect herself, as any psychologist familiar with cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) should be able to confirm, identifying her talking down to me as, more deeply, Charlotte’s negative self-talk. Only incompetent CBT practitioners, such as those I observed throughout Idaho’s mental health system, recommend balancing that negative self-talk with Pollyanna happy-talk, oblivious that gathering their patients in a room and shaming them for describing unresolved conflicts only replicates the adverse family environment from which “mental illness” begins, eschewing any in-depth psychoanalysis to better identify beneath the negative “self-talk” is really abusive parent-talk, quite firmly etched into the child’s psyche by age five.
As I pointed out the inconsistencies in Charlotte’s math and logic in my subsequent email to you both, becoming arguably the global expert in the psychology of serial killers was never my dream job. And going to law school is definitely not my dream education, merely my sacrifice to my country, where from my experiences I can see that this nation most needs my help. As well as a good way of protecting myself from further criminal abuses.
While locked up in Idaho’s psychiatric facilities, I learned there is no point in pursuing a Ph.D. in psychology, as I would not learn anything new. Any code I would like to add to the coding skills I first began learning in the mid- to late-nineties is already available online and for free, so why enroll in a coding school? Thus, law school it is, devising my educational and employment plan via a process of elimination.
Thinking ahead, I am already envisioning setting the type in lead for my next business cards, which of course I will letterpress print:
jana brubaker, mfa, jd
the reluctant lawyer
Maybe Compass Housing Alliance staffers agree with my abusive family, and think I should just give up on finding employers, clients, or colleagues healthy enough to respect my educated skills with a living wage, and accept the fact that I was born into slavery and abuse, and slavery is simply my lot in life?
Except if poorly educated folks are dictating the priorities of better educated folks, doesn’t that mean that education no longer provides a pathway out of slavery, and the American dream is systemically broken, not my personal responsibility?
Why blame our society’s system failure on the only woman healthy enough to place boundaries on the abusive men either born or married into the Bundy clan, when even the United States government isn’t capable of maintaining those boundaries without someone getting killed?
From my perspective, in my first pass through Seattle, I began job-seeking as a painter who would have been perfectly happy with a telephone answering day job and returning home and painting at night – as long as that little job paid me enough to live on in the city in which I happen to live – and I wouldn’t have cared if my painting career ever brought me fame or fortune, to just three short years later, a Gates Foundation consultant was bullying me for my visually educated design expertise to help him solve the problem of poverty. Without my help, Joe Brewer’s very best recommendation was for the Gates Foundation to go chasing after London cash. As you may read from the links I have helpfully provided within my earlier writing that your staff refuse to read to better educate themselves to better perform their job descriptions, Joe also expresses poorly educated, illogical opinions on psychopathy, hoping to prompt more fear-driven public policy, perhaps? Or you may see the value of his consulting expertise at a glance by visually analyzing the identity he uses to visually communicate his business to the world:
A tremendous circular churn of energy and ideas, hemmed in by the grid, unable to imagine solutions beyond money or patriarchal authority, the same old “solutions” we’ve been hearing for longer than my lifetime. Rigid separation between word and image. Compare against my identity for my studio6other portfolio on Cargo Collective: responsive to feedback from my audience, able to listen to multiple perspectives and envision a variety of solutions to any problem, offering a wealth of experience across 500 years of technology.
Four years after Joe tried to bully me into helping solve the problem of poverty in the Gates Foundation’s own headquarters city without offering a professional wage for my visually educated expertise while I subsisted out of cheap motels on the opposite side of our nation until my plastic ran out, how well did his money solution work for solving the communications problems underlying poverty or any other problem? Even if your junior staffers struggle with addition and subtraction, you should have the numbers at your fingertips. Compass collects that data. On analogue forms. On clipboards. Prior to your volunteers faxing those human-beings-reduced-to-hash-marks to the same building that houses your office:
In January 2016, the city’s poverty industrial complex volunteers braved the bitter cold for one night, noting a 19 percent increase in dire poverty in Seattle since 2015, and last year’s numbers increased from 2014 by 21 percent, over 10,000 human beings without homes in King County, Washington, once again home to the world’s wealthiest man.
In June 2016, a member of British Parliament was assassinated, yet even that horrific act did not stop Britain’s subsequent fear vote to leave the European Union, wiping 200 billion pounds off the London Stock Market in the process, which reverberated to $2 trillion around the world, amply demonstrating both money’s failure to solve communication problems and its abstract value:
“Being up in the middle of the night with flashlights evokes thoughts of campouts and summer excursions…” waxes nostalgic one middle-class administrator earning her paycheck on the backs of poorest of the poor.
Being awakened in the middle of the night with flashlights shining across my face evokes for me memories of couch-surfing in the public health nuisance of a shack belonging to a young mother of an ex-convict and grandmother of gang-affiliated drug addicts, after earlier begging Idaho’s sadistic psychiatric “hospital” employees for just one night’s sleep without flashlight disruption.
“The One Night Count brings us back to the simple humanity of… that one person I stopped and watched, who was trying to get some shut eye on the ground,” another administrator bleeds his experience observing homelessness as an object for his arrogant and spiritually bankrupt gaze.
Even the photography is generic, images of the volunteers as heroic troupers through the night gazing upon impoverished human beings without empathy, Seattle’s altruistic set seeing exactly what they expect to see. Before backing away in horror, and reducing the dire poor to statistics.
Does poverty feel safer that way?
On the reverse, more numbers, more stereotypical assumptions:
“Transitional Housing: These programs offer time-limited housing and services to help people address things that make it hard to secure, afford, or maintain stable housing: medical or behavioral health problems, poor credit history, limited education, un- or underemployment.”
Not that I don’t appreciate the roof overhead and wifi, but other than that, by “services,” did you mean weekly, hour-long, one-on-one shaming and blaming sessions on top of monthly hour-long sessions vigorously encouraging criminal behavior?
More closely, notice how all of the causes leading to homelessness on your poster implicitly or explicitly blame the poor? Where are the Wall Street, familial, or publicly elected abusers on this list?
Keep on telling an audience of yourselves what you want to hear. Got the results you wanted a decade ago, right?
Too intellectually challenging for Seattle’s poverty industrial complex administrators to better identify the problem as narcissistic aggression, to self-reflect, to change systemic bad behaviors, instead of blaming the poorest of the poor?
Mary Anne Mercer, a Huffington Post writer, gets slightly closer to genuine empathy by juxtaposing the condition of abject poverty against obscene wealth, and finding commonality with the poor.
Here’s the same poster, showing the space your “graphic designer” allotted to hearing the experience of homelessness from the perspective of the dire poor, minus the perspectives of Seattle’s well-heeled organizations staffed with middle-class administrators talking about themselves to an audience of themselves:
And those are responses to a survey question so generic, so drained of narrative, that the middle-class folks have nearly presupposed the answers to your own questions.
No poster yet for 2016?
What’s your budget? What’s your timeframe? What are you hoping to accomplish?
Your poster “designer” appears to have some access to software. She just defines “great design experiences” differently than I do, site parked since 2014, a generic web template devoid of written or visual content:
Or maybe she’s locked up in the state mental hospital because her family denied child abuse, elder abuse, trafficking, rape, homicide, and their own genealogy in an effort to force her to their will, leaving her unable to access the internet to continue seeking colleagues healthy enough to reciprocate her respect or update her portfolio?
Probably not. She defines graphic design differently than I do. To me, graphic design is not about making cute of numerical data, but about first correctly identifying a communications problem, then providing better solutions than currently envisioned. With her portfolio devoid of problem-solving solutions available for review, you might as well stare at a screenshot of my last build from 2014, just one sample of my skill across a wider and deeper range of communications media.
The One Night Count “solution” also evokes for me memories of observing the “design thinking” of our nation’s premiere designers in 2012 chasing after their preconceived stereotypes to avoid solving the correlative problems of obesity and poverty.
In that same four-year timeframe, I’ve criss-crossed the continent; become the world’s expert on psychopathy; confirmed my theory linking obesity and poverty with a lack of nurturing by interviewing real, live human beings who happen to be both poor and obese, rather than chasing through Seattle’s city streets after imaginary “personas” neither poor nor obese; and designed an identity critical for resolving any communications problem, fail-proof because I first conducted design research to correctly identify the root of the problem as trauma. On zero budget.
After being held without due process of law for a month of my life for describing just one example of the value of my healthy communications or collaborative working skills in terms of real-world, capitalist dollars, I was not at all surprised to note, while patiently waiting for my turn for personal hygiene at the downtown women-only public showers shortly before my acceptance into your program, that Boeing’s top-down, dictatorial executive management style also lost the bid for an $80 billion federal defense contract, and are now desperately pitching their product to Iran, guaranteeing all sorts of interesting conflicts for their sixth-great-grandchildren to work at resolving:
It turns out that even designing and building war machines requires healthy communications, the collaborative working skills that none of Seattle’s engineering, design, or business consultants who attended the Designers Accord with me in 2010 were prepared to provide examples from their workplaces, hastily averting their eyes and waiting for someone with the courage to go first.
In his lengthy memoir of his experiences working with my adopted eighth cousin, twice removed to better understand the psychology of the Green River Killer whose career of rage against women so closely followed Ted Bundy’s movements throughout the Pacific Northwest, former King County homicide detective and FBI consultant who helped develop their Violent Criminal Apprehension Program (ViCAP) database, Bob Keppel notes, “Someday, a criminologist thinking out of the box will take the high-risk step of looking at the world from the serial killer’s point of view.”
Or a survivor from the same clan as the serial killer who defined the term for the 20th century will put herself through a BFA and an MFA despite her family’s very best attempts to deny her education, much as they will later deny our shared genealogy to mental juridical health authorities, leaving me better acquainted with his psychology than the killer himself:Homicide detective was definitely never this humble painter’s “dream job,” though I am grateful, while so many in our culture continue to abuse, to rape, to torture, to enslave, and to kill – to force their will over any other – that there are folks willing to tackle those ugly, stressful investigations as their careers. If homicide detective had been this humble painter’s dream job, then I would have earned a degree in criminal justice before applying to the police academy.
As I have discussed with my psychologist, my professional references, and art and design and psychology faculty at the region’s institutions of higher education, post-incarceration and upon my return to Seattle, listening to their feedback, while at the same time, making my own choices like any freed woman has a right to do, I think my skills, experiences, and time are now best focused at the cross-disciplinary intersection of design, psychology, technology, and law.
Which means if I can persuade Stanford to insert a lens for human psychology into their cross-disciplinary focus on design, technology, and law, their program might be intellectually rigorous enough for me, forming mutually beneficial relationships as we work toward designing better solutions for legal problems that began as communication problems:
Pace Charlotte’s confusion about marital relationships and reality, I have already paid law school tuition to the director of their Constitutional Law Center. My experiences also include design work contracted through an online global sweatshop for Stanford University’s Graduate School of Business, noting in my design research that, at that time, the institution’s in-house design team had failed to proof hexadecimal color selections or provide online brand assets to the specifications included in their brand guidelines. I managed to restrain myself from recommending that the administrator dredge up an Apple somewhere on their campus prior to troubleshooting font files with underpaid design labor, never mind their severe internal contradictions contracting labor at slave wages while promoting cultural change:
Through my volunteer experiences designing the site for the inaugural Pacific Northwest Chapter of the 100-year-old Guild of Book Workers back in the day when the left coast ivy league used to care about history, hosting that national organization’s web presence, I’ve previously enjoyed the privilege of uploading files to Stanford University’s secure servers:
Shortly after my telephone interview with the Capital One “talent” recruiter while fleeing human trafficking on foot through Oregon’s heavy snows, I discovered that Stanford parents pay for degrees that leave their weak-willed sons and daughters unable to compete on a level playing field:
It’s not your knowledge or skills that matter at Capital One, it’s where your daddy owns property, and that Bundy ranch in Arizona is a little far removed both along the branches of my family tree and from Silicon Valley.
Which means that Stanford Law School will need to include housing in addition to full tuition waiver along with a competitive legal design research stipend if the institution hopes to attract someone with my expertise in technology and human psychology.
Or carry on with designing ever new technologies that accomplish nothing more than the centuries’ old tradition of human bondage.
During our initial interview, Hilary responded to my query about her experience working with traumatized clients by widening her blue eyes still further, if possible, and assuring me, oh, yes, she had lots of experience working with sexually abused clients. But she also visibly flinched past the corresponding page from my MFA thesis that I included in that 2010 analogue design portfolio forbidden from a court of law by one corrupt Idaho sheriff’s deputy, though useful as a last-minute mousepad for reviewing my digital portfolio while I interviewed with Hornall Anderson – by another curiously Jungian coincidence, in their offices located on the 13th floor of the Dexter Horton building where Dr. Keppel recalls working in the 1980s – the same firm that failed to better visually communicate the vision and goals of Seattle Public Library in 2015, asked no questions, and hastily flipped through the remainder without acquainting herself with my digital technology skills, leaving her ill-equipped to offer employment or educational recommendations.
Hilary also neglected to click on any of the social media links in the signature file or the body text of my emails within our subsequent screen-to-screen communications to better acquaint herself with my accomplishments between 2010–2015 or learn how to better do her job before nevertheless offering her very best career recommendations limited to her range of knowledge of Seattle’s poverty industrial complex.
During one face-to-face meeting I briefly outlined my past experiences through Seattle’s design and education communities, explaining that job acquisition is about networking, but I had not been able to find in Seattle a community healthy enough to respect my educated expertise with a living wage. From my experiences through Idaho’s mental juridical health system and beyond, I realized I am not likely to find healthy community in the post-Columbine, post-9/11, post-War-on-Terror, post-No Child Left Behind, post-Great Recession postmodern United States, so perhaps it is my job to help heal a severely traumatized culture.
“Oh, so you need help networking,” Hilary once again demonstrated her cognitive disconnect or poor listening skills, eager to check her checkboxes, much as she had dismissively summarized my concerns about rebuilding my physical strength after enduring the better part of a year cycling through Seattle’s severely dysfunctional homeless shelter system.
She suggested a state-funded, community college-based Program ostensibly designed for the long-term unemployed.
“That would be great to have an assistant who could weed through all of the available job possibilities for someone with my depth and breadth of skills, and bring me only the positions where I’ve decided to focus my energies, like a head-hunter,” I responded enthusiastically.
“Not a headhunter exactly,” she said at our next case management meeting.
“You’re remembering that I have a graduate degree, right?” I prompted, getting the sense that Hilary might be confusing me with another of her clients, “So why would you send me back to a community college?”
I waited patiently for Hilary to better explain her logic, having already published a full year earlier my analysis of the available jobs and inexhaustible databases for folks who struggle with time management, statistics, and trauma that keeps them blaming victims and prevents them from finding realistic solutions by first of all correctly identifying the underlying problem.
Instead, Hilary assured me, “I think it’s worth a phone call.”
What Hilary never seemed to understand about judgment-sharing is that a recommendation is only as valuable as the recommender, and she had already impressed me as being someone whose personal time management skills are so poor that she required me to make a weekly phone call reminding her to accomplish her weekly task of six bus passes per week, again wide-eyed and narcissistic, “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Despite my gentle encouragement, explaining the reason I have been able to accomplish so much on so little is because I eliminate those redundant phone calls and emails or anything that does not seem like it will help me reach my goals.
To her credit, Hilary at least remembered to follow up that conversation with an email communicating that she had shared some considerable judgments about me via email to her friend Calvin, but did not feel comfortable sharing those judgments with me. Nor did she feel comfortable simply forwarding Calvin’s response. My 21st century Employment Specialist would not permit me to communicate with him via 21st century media-? As I anticipated, Calvin’s program-think did not extend beyond his community college:
What Hilary maybe also did not notice is the RISE program already communicates the limits of its capacities via the vernacular graphic design that clutters the bulletin board in the entryway of Restful Peace Cottage: more case management.
I am an educated adult.
I do not need case management.
I need employers or clients healthy enough to reciprocate my respect in exchange for a living wage. It’s nothing personal. It’s just capitalism.
While I feel happy the state has been able to scramble up paychecks for folks who would otherwise be unemployed themselves, what I wonder is why cash-strapped states like Idaho and Washington cover the cost of human labor for knowledge that is already available online and for free, but can’t come up with adequate professional wage jobs for all of the educated professionals churned through their schools-? After all the billions that the Gates Foundation and the U.S. Department of Education have invested to end class segregation in the schools, still class segregation continues in the jobs marketplace-?
Meanwhile, those schools generated 194 198 199 shootings since 2013 as of this writing. Moscow’s 2015 mass shooting event does not factor into those statistics, as the shootings technically occurred off-campus, albeit in a town dominated by the university that educated the shooter.
As should be visibly abundant by the graphic design of his program’s print and web collateral, Calvin at Seattle North is no better qualified to evaluate the design of my résumé – or anything else I design – than his cohort at Seattle Central, which protects its state-funded WorkSource computers from the unemployed with a snarling, sneering work study student unprepared for receptionist duties! Believe it! Or! Not:
Their psychology faculty might do well to pay tuition to me instead of their students paying tuition to them, as one of the first vernacular graphic design examples I noticed after my return to Seattle included my cousin Ted’s media-saturated visage above a label that read eating disorder to advertise one of their courses. Umm. Okay. That’s one way of describing crimes for which he was executed, although after reading successful Florida prosecutor George Dekle’s own description of bite mark evidence presented at trial, I’m beginning to wonder if he was truthfully guilty of the crimes for which he was executed, or just severely narcissistic, as symptomatic of trauma as the product of incest rape further reared by the multi-generationally abusive Bundy clan, with an enormously fragile ego that pushed away any hope of competent counsel and reveled in the media attention…
In comparison, I would have been happy in 2014 if I had been assigned any rookie public defender who’d passed the bar and had access to wifi, as long as he could maintain his own calendar and shut up long enough to respect my educated expertise, as those minimum qualifications could’ve spared me a month of my life locked up with homicidal maniacs.
By respect I mean listen.
Our attorney/client privileged conversation might have gone: “Here, do you know how to type in a URL? No? Okay, let me do that for you.”
The computers made possible by the Paul G. Allen Charitable Foundation and state-contracted technicians at Seattle’s downtown Employment Resource Center web surveillance blocks prohibit impoverished jobseekers from communicating our 21st century job skills to potential employers:
Seattle’s downtown public library employees who ban impoverished jobseekers from internet access need my help with not just customer service skills but also trouble-shooting their typewriters (“Word machines,” according to the Mixing Chamber manager) disconnected from the internet:
Or just connect your typewriters to the internet-?
The WorkSource technicians unable to migrate their data from the state’s jobs database to Monster in 2015 are not qualified to offer design criticism of my résumé or any other work in my portfolio:
This potential employer could benefit from my help designing forms for the 21st century, replacing mid-20th century bubble-sheet tests:
As well as its user interface design, if Congress hopes to achieve its stated goals of equal opportunity, upheld by the Supreme Court in a narrow 5–4 ruling 26 June 2015, and reemphasized again jointly by the Departments of Education and Justice on 13 May 2016, coincidentally one day after the first “monthly” house meeting your staff ever attempted to schedule during my tenancy at Restful Peace Cottage, across the full spectrum of gender and sexuality:
Does your right hand know what your left hand is doing?
There’s six examples of my knowledge vastly exceeding the skills of the folks paid to do those jobs. As a Brubaker’s half-dozen, as my genetic U.S. Navy and Internal Revenue Service (IRS) veteran father used to call me, I’ll include one more. As of the week following the 20th anniversary of her death, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children still needs my help both redesigning its identity and updating its database to include the cold case homicide of little Amber Hagerman, for whom the DOJ-supported AMBER Alert system was named:
The DOJ still needs my help redesigning the identity for the program and overhauling their 1990s-era Amber Alert site, beginning from the perspective of the audience the department hopes to attract: how do I report information possibly relevant to that cold case homicide?
Another Jungian coincidence, I had designed a healthier identity for the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children to add to my portfolio sometime prior to 2010, communicating to potential employers that my problem-solving skills in charcoal drawing or oil paint readily adapt to computer media solutions. Page spread from my analogue Look Book forbidden from Idaho’s Kangaroo Court and that Hilary flinched quickly through, asking no questions to better educate herself about design, trauma, or her client’s experiences and education applicable to the job market:
My description for my thinking behind my identity redesign references inaugural news coverage harking back to an informal debate between then-President-Elect Obama and Arizona’s Senator John McCain well worth digging through the paper’s archives and rereading – or reading, for mental juridical health professionals or case, program, and clinical managers unaccustomed to that activity – alongside philosopher Hannah Arendt’s treatise on the problem of evil, in light of subsequent global historic events:
According to the editor, Mr. McCain vowed to go to the gates of hell to track down Osama bin Laden, describing radical Islamists using mentally disabled women as suicide bombers to persuade his campaign audience to agree with his definition of evil.
During his presidency, Mr. Obama followed in the footsteps left by former President George W. Bush, and the nation descended to those gates. Back in 2008, Mr. Obama’s campaign rhetoric recommended a more balanced, self-aware approach, acknowledging that evil needs to be confronted, but humbly. “Just because we think our intentions are good doesn’t always means [sic] that we’re going to be doing good,” he said. Under his leadership, the White House taught the next generation of schoolchildren to label themselves as (good) victims or (evil) bullies, instead of the more nuanced judgment required of self-awareness: recognizing abusive behavior as abusive, and everyone committing to keeping their behaviors within the parameters of civility as mutually agreed by your lease, policies, addenda, and local, state, and international law.
Further, maybe Mr. McCain was as unfamiliar in 2008 as I was with Rosemary Kennedy’s story?
Not until recently did I learn more eerily fascinating Jungian coincidences: according to journalist Rebecca Morris’s self-published writing about my adopted eighth cousin, twice removed Ted, he resided for a time on Florida’s death row with Ottis Elwood Toole, still posthumously only a prime suspect in the unsolved brutal homicide of six-year-old Adam Walsh, according to a Florida newspaper, and the victim’s own father’s two-page downloadable press kit, a murder that prompted his parents to organize the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, and his father to host America’s Most Wanted, the popular television show dramatizing similar crimes.
Not until last summer, again patiently awaiting my turn at the downtown women-only public showers, reading another article – yes, sometimes I read the business section! – from the print edition of the local paper – coincidentally published on my eldest sister’s 14 July birthday – did it occur to me that my family’s trafficking activities might be a problem not just for me but also for national security.
If Senator McCain is concerned about a Chinese firm’s bid for the purchase of Micron, and his wife Cindy concerns herself with anti-trafficking, then how might he feel about a senior electrical engineer at Micron denying crimes as serious as child abuse, elder abuse, trafficking, rape, a homicide in Senator McCain’s own state, and even our shared Arizona genealogy to Idaho’s mental juridical health authorities in his frenzied, coercive effort to force me to perform household labor at his immediate, ever-changing command, while supplying me with not so much as toilet paper or cat litter, and this level of control over my career choices began only after I shared my concerns that their youngest son seemed to be openly identifying with rapists and killers at their dinner table? The fella who tried to prevent me from applying for jobs with global firms, national public art projects, or any jobs applying my educated skills to the job marketplace, himself works for a global firm, applying one set of rules for mankind, another set for the women fetching and serving in his household.
Does this nation only concern itself with the evil without, or should the Committee on Foreign Investments in the United States (CFIUS), a panel of representatives from more than a dozen departments and agencies across the U.S. government, according to the Wall Street Journal, more self-reflectively pay at least as much attention to the evil within this nation’s borders? I guess that depends, according to Anne Salladin, former senior counsel at the U.S. Treasury, as cited by Reuters, on whether or not the product Micron makes is still strategically relevant to national security.
More curiously Jungian coincidences, as King County residents old enough may remember, on my sister’s birthday in 1974, two women disappeared from the shores of Lake Sammamish, but for then-King County homicide detective Bob Keppel and his partner, “the Ted case officially started on the following Tuesday, July 16,” my birthday that year.
Gauging from Micron’s stock prices that plummeted to barely more than $12 per share by June of this year, down from nearly $36 per share at the height of my brother-in-law’s household labor trafficking in late 2013 when his employer sent him to Japan to train the engineers at Elpida, maybe memory is finding more agile, innovative, and cost-effective design from engineers less apt to stomp their feet and insist on their rightness over their relatives better-educated in the field of human psychology and communications design than the hog-slop-funded father of an adolescent boy who stomped his foot, jeered at his suicidal peers, complained about the ignorance of his public high school web design teacher, and disrespectfully insisted to his aunt more experienced in both technologies dating prior to his short-pants-in-the-sandbox-days that kerning means something different in code than it meant in lead?
For the lay audience, a quick demonstration from my last build of my portfolio site, with the kerning on my drop-up menu in the lower right-hand corner – the only spot of bright color against an otherwise neutral grey ground – as I designed it, with the width of the box set to 12 em and the spacing, or kerning, between the letters left at 0, or as intended by the type designers who designed their faces:
Here’s the same site build with the kerning between the letters changed to one em:
In this era of 3D printing human skin cells, maybe soon the world either won’t need a memory chip in every device like this desktop on which I am typing, or mobile, digital appliance, automobile, drone, aircraft, and weapon, because a younger, more innovative and collaborative team of engineers has figured out a more agile design for memory, or manufacturing memory will no longer require the staggering base startup cost of $3 billion with 18-month cyclical upgrades ranging between $3–100 million, according to an article published 21 July 2015 on Quartz?
If it helps Charlotte feel better about my priorities, design is a “little job.” Graphic designers pay attention to all the little details to solve communication problems that continue to baffle administrators, scientists, technologists, engineers, and mental juridical health professionals.
Curiously, just three days prior to the global press reporting the impending purchase of Micron by a Chinese firm, my genetic sister emailed to announce they had acquired some of my possessions stolen by the first of my post-carceral traffickers who tried to extort money from a destitute woman, while raging at me to both, paradoxically, clean her property still further, and to vacate her property, her lit cigarette inches from my face, “YOU BITCH,” after I followed through on her earlier command for me to accomplish the task that she herself failed to do: place boundaries on her grandchildren smoking methamphetamine on her property by alerting the police to the adolescents’ conjoined crimes of petty theft and illicit drug use.
Only that isn’t how my genetic sister worded her email, of course. Her perspective differs from mine. From two states away, the wife of a senior electrical engineer at Micron ordered a destitute woman to return to retrieve some of my things under threat of still more (albeit redundant) losses, issuing a deadline that might seem reasonable from the perspective of a white, male property-owner, but from my perspective, irrational travel and lodging expectations in this era of toxic capitalism.
And it’s not as if I am keeping secret my general geographic location, as transparent as I am reporting egregious state’s abuses. Perhaps she or they just assumed that, because a senior electrical engineer at Micron had forbid me from accessing the internet under threat of rooflessness, thus, I would continue to obey his irrational commands-?
My inquiry for further clarification of which of my stolen property they had received revealed more of my abusive family’s unquenchable urge for control, as well as perhaps the most honest critique of my painting oeuvre that I will ever receive from my family: they had prioritized a used cat litter box and a damaged IKEA bookshelf over an antique mahogany dresser with dove-tailed joints, the pillow-topped, queen-sized bed I purchased prior to our wedding but shared with that “delusional” state prosecutor son of “delusional” ex-FBI parents, and my entire body of work, including bespoke furniture, frames, original paintings, drawings, original prints, hand-bound letterpress-printed books, my birth certificate, analogue evidence pertaining to a cold case homicide, and so on.
Asking for still further clarification, a senior electrical engineer at Micron, who had raged at me for hours about how WRONG I am about the sheer quantity of abused children, now abusive adults whom I have encountered throughout my post-Great Recession job-seeking experiences, emailed back to essentially confess the crime of trafficking his own sister-in-law by lying to authorities about child abuse, elder abuse, rape, homicide, and our shared genealogy, gloating his revenge for placing boundaries on the quantity of hours I could devote to his household labor each week, offering 10 hours per week, which totals to 40 hours per month, or one full workweek detracted from my full-time job of job-seeking, or what he calls “biting the hand that feeds you,” readily identifying with the martyr narrative of a drug addict and a 13-year mental health patient diagnosed by Idaho’s mental health professionals with schizo-affective disorder, an abusive mother and grandmother who suffered incest abuse in her own childhood and had become personally responsible for adding at least three more generations of criminals to the planet, without even once asking for my perspective before offering his judgments, identical in the structure of his communications as April and Charlotte and Delores and Ted Bundy, each spinning around the passive aggressive volvelle I designed as a more effective visual model for communication than any I’ve been able to find through my intensive market research.
As long as you learn how to Unplay the volvelle.
First, deny. “Nothing was stolen,” further reiterated with, “You know it,” as if a senior electrical engineer at Micron is in any position to stamp his oversized two-year-old foot and tell me what I know about human psychology or dictate at me what my educated experiences have been, hence the harm of a state system that rewarded his criminal behavior by carrying out and accelerating his abusive threats:
Second, avoid owning his criminal behavior. In a Micron senior electrical engineer’s mind, being held for a month of my life without arrest or access to competent counsel while he described me as “psychotic” and “delusional” to Idaho’s mental juridical health professionals inadequately educated to perform their taxpayer-funded jobs and further investigate my reports of trafficking, child abuse, elder abuse, and information withheld from a cold case homicide beyond the judgments of my criminally abusive family means I had earlier “abandoned” my property:
Third, what any child abuser, rapist, trafficker, or killer does best: blame the victim of his criminal behavior. Two years after he raged at me, “IF ANYONE IS GOING TO BE A VICTIM IN MY HOUSE,” it was going to be him, a senior electrical engineer at Micron, still dissatisfied with his codependent relationship with his wife, still sought a m/other-substitute-object to vie for who gets to be biggest victim in his suburban housing compound from hell, urging me to again seek police assistance, because that accomplished exactly the revenge he sought against me the first time, blithely obtuse that Rebecca’s* position in relation to her local police is significantly different than the relationship between a white, male property-owning engineer employed by Micron and his neighborhood undereducated, white, male police force:
Finally, the biggest martyr in the greater metropolitan Boise area, beating stiff competition, whined at me to solve the problem he had created for himself, urging me to “demonstrate selflessness” by letting him know which of my stolen property I might want to keep, and which he could get rid of, as if I might actually be in any position to control his decisions, sooner than his deadline of the end of 2015 if at all possible, because two empty-nesters in two separate houses, garage parking for four automobiles if they resolved their long-running marital conflicts and hoarding issues, seven bedrooms, two kitchens, one equipped with walk-in food pantry that my genetic sister managed to clean of seven years of collected cobwebs and mouse droppings after reclaiming that windowless corner of her husband’s property from her elderly abusive and abused smother-in-law, provides inadequate space for storing three boxes of journals that I never asked them to retrieve:
But perhaps they were downsizing in anticipation of relocating to Shanghai, and have since evaded the jurisdiction of U.S. prosecution?
Analyzed through the lenses of legal logic that I learned from studying for the LSAT, the circular illogic of a senior electrical engineer at Micron is even more fascinating, but I will save that analysis for my direct pitch to law schools in lieu of LSAC’s superfluous bubble sheets. Suffice to say I wholeheartedly agree with his main point, that I may well be the only member of the entire extended Bundy clan behaving responsibly, despite my dire poverty. Possibly the only responsible human being who twice sojourned in the entire state of Idaho.
Here’s what Dr. Keppel had to say about Idaho’s homicide detectives while speaking to my adopted eighth cousin, twice removed on the eve of his January 1989 execution in Florida:
“I really pushed Ted to the limits by suggesting that he and his advisors planned poorly because they invited Idaho authorities, who had no idea to which murders Ted was referring. So I asked, ‘What are you going to tell the guy from Idaho that comes in? He wasn’t even aware that there was a murder…
“When I called him first to tell him to come, I said, you know this might be a surprise to you, but he wants you down there. The guy from Idaho was totally unaware. You’re going to have to tell him. He doesn’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
Soo… in the same 25 years spanning the computing revolution, not much has changed in Idaho homicide investigations, in other words?
If it helps Mr. McCain feel better, it looks like Tsinghua found a work-around for U.S. federal investigation by October of last year, acquiring Western Digital within its corporate portfolio, and adding to its payroll the chairman of a joint venture between the Boise potato chip manufacturer and another of its subsidiaries.
Just addressing the issues that led to this period of homelessness, I’m still wishing I hadn’t missed the opportunity to ask Hilary, “Do you mean Calvin as in Klein, or Calvin more like a Bible-thumpin’ Calvinist minister, or Calvin and Hobbes?”
Better email communications design: Calvin, meet Jana. Her qualifications, education, past experiences, and career goals may be reviewed by following any of the social media links in the sig file of her response. Could you sift through your available jobs and see if you have any employers to match her goals?” Whereupon I might have responded to both, “Nice to meet you, Calvin. If you have any questions, please feel free to comment my social media. Thank you for your help connecting me to employers working at the cross-disciplinary intersection of design, technology, psychology, and law.”
In conversation two weeks into my tenure at Restful Peace Cottage, Hilary shrugged off my assessment of Delores suffering multigenerational early childhood sexual abuse with a pouty moue marring her otherwise lovely features, defensively, “It’s a little soon to say that.”
Too soon for a young woman two years out of a Texas social work program, and suffering deep personal denial, perhaps, but remember, by then I’d had a chance to observe Delores for easily an hour per day for two weeks in her natural habitat. In comparison, a competent therapist seeing a client in her office should be able to assess early childhood sexual abuse long before the equivalent of 14 sessions, but I’ve got a decade of trauma-educated, post-graduate experience on Hilary, not to mention offering my opinion as arguably the global expert in the psychology of serial killers-?
Yet even during our case management meeting after I had confirmed that genealogical connection, analyzing datasets from multiple sources, both addressing the issues that led to this period of homelessness, and preparing for law school, significantly adding to my job market qualifications, still Hilary expressed zero comprehension, or an inability to connect the dots, about the social relevance of my combination of family background, education, trauma recovery, and healthy communication skills. Repression was likely an important coping mechanism for her own experiences of trauma, but worse than useless as a strategy for assisting her social work clients, where twirling around the volvelle starting from denial actively causes harm.
“Soo, what do you need to do to apply for law school?” she asked in a sing-songy, little-girl voice, as if she had already forgotten her own experiences applying to graduate programs, followed by interrupting me mid-explanation, and offering the time management advice of procrastinators worldwide, “Okay, okay, but that’s next year. What about now?”
“Now is when I am working on all the steps to get to next year,” I explained. Slowly.
Poverty doesn’t make it faster to accomplish goals; quite the opposite.
And here we are, at next fall, whirling rapidly through another round of academic deadlines, just as I could guesstimate based on maximizing my computer hours to the best of my ability based on the time and pedestrian transportation limitations of publicly accessible computers, your staff’s inability to place boundaries on Delores’s rampaging control over your “house” computer, and their inability (or refusal?) to assist with the out-of-state return of the desktop of a trafficking survivor of the extended Bundy clan. And here I am, setting aside 1) psychoanalytic expert witness testimony on a triple murderer; 2) further research on a cold case homicide I reported to Idaho authorities, who responded without investigating, locking up a witness and victim of violent crime without due process of law; and 3) design analysis of LSAC’s global communications plan, for 4) felonies, misdemeanors, and violations of landlord tenant law.
Right on schedule.
Describing the structure of Delores’s communications as identical to the individual behaviors of the extended Bundy clan, as well as her level of rage identical to my post-carceral Idaho traffickers, both unrecovered victims of early childhood sexual abuse, Hilary’s next response, rather than express concern for her clients’ well-being, shifted like analogue clockworks, from denial, through avoidance, to attempting to blame me for Delores’s criminal behavior, more of that sing-songy little-girl voice that inevitably reveals unrecovered trauma from sexual abuse, “Oh. So she’s triggering you?”
Healthy, adult human beings do not blame their feelings or their behaviors on other human beings. Healthy social workers do not blame the criminal behavior of one of their clients on their other clients, pace the opinions of the millennial generation with respect to “trigger warnings,” another example of how even higher education has failed the conflict resolution and critical thinking abilities of at least one generation.
Hilary’s consternation or confusion presaged April’s identical facial expression in response to homeless women providing our own furniture where your staff had failed, when I observed, as I paraphrased again in my grievance to Jenn after Hilary coasted onward to her next job within Compass Housing Alliance, “That would be true if I were responding to Delores’s rage with rage. Unplay means to hop outside that vicious circle of the trauma narrative, neither victim nor abuser, but survivor.”
While Hilary might like to think of herself as a social worker with lots of experience working with trauma – and I super-appreciate her sharing that self-judgment with me – she repeatedly revealed her naïveté during that interview, our subsequent conversations, and through her failure to place healthy boundaries on Delores’s criminally violent behavior, require competent psychotherapeutic care for her client desperately flailing out for help from anyone capable of hearing her trauma, or uphold the terms of your lease, not to mention Washington laws.
Maybe the Gates Foundation is ready to consider innovative solutions to global communication problems visibly evident in its own headquarters city? Sure, you can keep working with amateur consultants for solutions to global problems, but when you’re the richest guy in the world, why would you settle for less than the global best?