Memories of the funhouse

The last few days I’ve had major anxiety without being able to pinpoint exactly why. Yesterday was better and today even more so. Lately, I’ve said “open the floodgates” “we need more RAM”,  without realizing maybe I am the one who needs to address my memories.


I have a sister who is six years older than me. When we were kids, we used to go to an amusement park called Lake Winnepesaukah. I would describe it as a step up from a traveling carnival but a few steps down from Six Flags. When you’re a child, a sibling that is six years older is a big difference; you’re never in the same school, you’re at different life stages, and at an amusement park, the older sibling might get to ride big-kid rides while the younger doesn’t.

I remember one time when we went to Lake Winnepesaukah and I was about six. My sister brought a friend, and we walked through the “funhouse” several times, so much that I memorized the hall of mirrors.

I commented on the LOL recently with an image like this. I knew I felt odd when I did. Just didn’t have the RAM yet….

Just wondering if “syncing” can trigger memories. Since I posted that on Roobee’s blog, I remember Scooby in a funhouse more than once!





Back to my story when I was six….

After going through the funhouse several times, we moved on something else that I got to ride with my sister and her friend. Then, they moved on to the big kid rides and went with my dad, while I went with my mom. I wanted to go back to the funhouse. I remember telling my mom that I knew my way through the funhouse and for her to wait right there and watch how fast I could go through it. I remember the carousel right across from it. I can even remember what my mom looked like that day. (And if you’re thinking my mom is crazy for letting me go through a funhouse at six years old by myself, don’t. It wasn’t crazy at the time. This was years ago and Chattanooga had a very small town feel).


The funhouse wasn’t a “ride”, and I guess it wasn’t busy that day because I don’t remember standing in a line. I breezed through it once, said “hi Mom! See how fast?! I’m doing it again!” And I walked back in.


You walk in and the door shuts. Its completely black except for neon writing that has arrows and says “this way”. You turn left and go through a door and then you’re in another dark room, but not pitch black. You can see the entrance to the hall of mirrors. A man walks up behind me and covers my mouth. I can’t scream or breathe and he is so strong. His other hand goes down my shorts and underwear and I start kicking like mad. He pulls me over (to what I remember as) a pile of hay. He pulls down my shorts and underwear and I don’t remember what happened after that. The next thing I remember is sweating and running through the hall of mirrors. I knew every turn. I didn’t miss a step as I went through the hall of mirrors and for some reason, that seems so significant now. I didn’t pay attention to the mirror, I just went. You learn from the mirror, and you know the way from having looked at the mirror so many times. Everyone is a mirror of themselves!

I ran out of the “funhouse” and my mom was at the exit. I don’t remember what she said but something about being worried and it took longer. I didn’t say anything. I don’t think I said anything the rest of the day, or who knows how long. I don’t remember what happened. Maybe I was raped. Maybe I got away. That part is hazy and I’m leaning towards that I got away, but honestly, I’m not sure what happened. But I do remember there was some blood on my underwear and there was hay in my underwear. And I remember wanting to hide the blood so I threw away my underwear. But at six, I would think there would be more blood than there was. Either way, the memory came at me unexpectedly and caught me off guard.

This memory has been on my mind ever since Frank posted Nothing Has Been Proved.

A flood of memories might not be pleasant. But that is because they would be bad ones. You never want to forget the good memories, so they stay on the forefront. The bad ones get suppressed. You must make the darkness conscious to see the light. (Carl Jung). Its about the moon and “sinning”. The moon is sin.

I can’t stand folk-art chic. I’ll take my MOON sin straight up, like the arrow says. Please take away the rest of the clutter. All in one swallow, even if it burns.

Mt. Sinai the mountain is perhaps named for Sin, a moon goddess worshipped by Sumerians, Akkadians, and ancient Arabs. As an adjectival form, Sinaic (1769), Sinaitic (1786).

horned (adj.) “furnished with horn or horns,” Old English hyrned, from source of horn (n.). The modern word probably is a new formation in Middle English. From late 14c. in reference to Moses, and the horn-like rays of light, symbols of power, that appeared on his head as he descended Mount Sinai. From 1620s in reference to cuckolds. Horned toad is from 1766; horned question is “a dilemma” (1540s).

Speaking of memories, I read somewhere that you don’t actually “remember” an event, you remember the last time you remembered it. I guess that means that you only “remember” it the first time after it happens, but physics says that in reality there is no time, so does anything ever really happen?

Jesus, come now. I feel like I’m going crazy.


In the NEWS, this just “happened”


In 1974, researchers in Ethiopia discovered a 3.2-million-year-old fossil Australopithecus afarensis, nicknamed “Lucy”. Lucy’s species was immediately hailed as a key contender for our direct ancestor.

mitochondria 1901, from German, coined 1898 by microbiologist Carl Benda (1857-1933), from Greek mitos “thread” (see mitre) + khondrion “little granule,” diminutive of khondros “granule, lump of salt” (see grind (v.)).

Spinning a yarn! Players in a play. Life is a cabaret.


CHAIRman of the motherboard

do what I want
I do what I want.

Its the CHI


33 EROS, arrows, to the HEART (EARTH)


The ROSE window. RISE, and make time stop, so that you ROSE to the occasion. Through the STARGATE.


Did you think being spiritual meant not sinning and going to church?

Its red HOT. Sinning is how you get there.

nothing yet

booty shake

Goodnight! Sin well! Think “dirty” thoughts because the dirtiest swan is the purest one. Its alchemy. I’m in a lab (in my mind) doing it over and over until I get it right and wrong. The all is the nothing. The right is the wrong. The black is the white. The ME is the WE.

I’m not stopping until we get there.

Its pure LOVE.



6 thoughts on “Memories of the funhouse”

    1. Roob, I should’ve given a warning before I just put it out there. The past few days have been so weird and it didn’t occur to me that I should’ve done that. Apols!

      I’m ready to feel “normal” again. As if I know what that means….

  1. (((MJ))) – I think there is a moment in every life that you can trace back to, and it can occur in a variety of ways, not necessarily sexual. A moment of violation that triggers the sense of shame, blame, guilt. And as you explained in your narrative an accompanying sense of needing to hide, and fear of exposure that sticks to you like Crazy Glue, all through your life. I suspect this was built into the ‘wiring’ by the designer, as a means of manipulation.
    Adam and Eve saw their nakedness (exposure) and were ashamed, so God covered them with ‘skin’, Maya, illusion. But now the snake (divine energy) is rising and shedding it’s ‘skin’, Maya, illusion. And like Adam and Eve we are seeing the nakedness again, but…some are refusing to be ashamed.
    This is very scary stuff. It’s called, ‘terrorism’ for a reason. But, ultimately nothing to fear. We’re safe.

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