Friday, April 9, 2021

David Forcee

What if a man tells you to lose 15 pounds because you're hot but you can be hotter like how do you respond to that...

I started down this wormhole reviewing his book, something to do while quarantining in a 3rd wave pandemic.

I knew David and his wife Donna when they were actively recruiting, hunting is a better word, for the Ashram. They abandoned their child to do this. As narcissists, they had little to offer to relationships, it was all about emotional seduction of those folks, mostly women because David had charisma to burn, who were lonely and in transition, extracting their money for the cult, pay to play spirituality. At 6’6’ he had a large penis so there were those that craved the promise of sexual excitement and he used that seduction technique as well, anything to get the cash. Donna was voluptuous in her sari and used feigned affection and empathy to seduce the lonely heartbroken men.

All cults are abusive because they put you down: only if you take the $8.000.00 yoga development course will you 'evolve'. Because you are undeveloped you loser. The spiritual version of ‘What if a man tells you to lose 15 pounds because you are hot but you can be hotter, like how do you respond to that...’ a tweet I saw recently. Well, if you are a spiritually battered woman/man you tend to forgive and pay up. Stockholm syndrome. Albert Ellis in his paper ‘The Case Against Religion’ talks about this kind of masochism: “Masochism, indeed, stems from an individual deliberately inflicting pain on himself in order that he may guiltlessly permit himself to experience some kind of sexual or other pleasure; and the very essence of most organized religions is the performance of masochistic, guilt-soothing rituals, by which the religious individual gives himself permission to enjoy life.”

The Ashram is worth millions built with free labour that people paid to donate. Some of it mine.

When Donna's degenerative disease demanded a full-time caregiver, David used his charm to enmesh a young woman from the student body and they departed the Ashram. So I was told by other Ashram residents and that was the last I heard of my friend, mentor, spiritual advisor, cult recruiter used car salesman. Totally dumped. As well as dumped by the Ashram as it turned out, as I had run out of money. Overvalue, undervalue, dump, smear as I learned from Dr. Tara. The narcissists m.o. This is devastating as I discovered when I was looking for support during a life crisis from those at the Ashram and I had no money left. I found it at the hospital, for free, here in Canada, and they really like it when you don’t come back and are cured.

Devastated, I sought treatment for extreme anxiety and despair from the family therapist and so entered my deprogramming with the help of therapists at the hospital. “Cult victims and those who have suffered abusive relationships often suffer from fear, confusion, low self-esteem, and post-traumatic stress. This title explains the seductive draw that leads people into such situations, provides guidelines for assessing what happened, and tools for getting back on track.” Take Back Your Life: Recovering From Cults & Abusive Relationships by Janja Lalich.

So back on track, I went to art school, another kind of rights of passage religion with its temple of the exhibition space and earned some credentials and a career as a teacher. I learned to accept myself unconditionally through the REBT they showed me at the hospital and eventually got well, no longer as subject to victimization. Ask for what you want, charming narcissists with nothing to give dump you and smear, but healthy people have a frank conversation and willingness to compromise. A ten-year journey of recovery shedding parasitic relationships and making nicer friends.

So I googled David Forcee today, 20 years later, wondering what happened to him, my recruiter, and here is the story of his suicide by doctor, in the Walrus, showing like any narcissist it’s all about him, dumping the world, always the victim, with not even a kind word for those who cared for him, a staged production till the bitter end. Better suicide than an existence like being trapped in a car, looking bad, a disability case. He really hated himself. All suicide is depression gone untreated. We are all in a terminal painful situation, healthy folks ignore it and focus on satisfactions like giving love.

So what do I feel about the demise of this man I once felt much love for? Manipulated, lied to, conned. Even his final story is a manipulation to be all about him and a deflection to avoid that he had no legacy, nothing left behind to nurture others. Just a book with a 1-star rating because there is nothing lower than 1 star.

He abused as all narcissists do by saying all the right things to make a friend but he lied then left when he got bored. In this case, his wife with a degenerative disease needing a caregiver was a drag.

So he lied for a living to vulnerable people in transition to get their money. He abused them by saying they were broken, undeveloped, not mindful using his powerful charismatic personality to convince them, like any used car salesman, with feigned empathy, that they were losers. The money poured into the Ashram, temples were built, countless devotees were harmed, their bank accounts raped.

Every once in a while the monster would appear, we were in the barn, city folks there for the weekend, trying to put a milking machine on a cow who was having none of it, she was not restrained properly. David simply came along, grabbed a 2x4 and hit the cow as hard as he could. The end justified the means, like the psychopath stealing an elder’s purse because he ‘needed’ it.

He was called Gopal (cow herder) ananda (bliss). He found his bliss conning money from the humanity no better than cattle in his mind and actions, a typical yoga teacher, he used students, bank accounts raped, then abused to be taken advantage of rinse repeat until they are sucked dry.

A building at the ashram that was built under David Forcee later burned down due to poor quality construction. 

Tuesday, April 6, 2021

Suzanne takes you down...

I was perfect for her because I was too shy to bring up sex until I did of course in the course of nature taking its course.

apologies to tono stano

So Suzanne Gibson died in 2018, I was just months into intense stroke/life recovery and didn’t hear about it as we had long past devolved to acquaintance status some 30 years ago. But it bummed me out when I heard last week because I am a human with empathy who still loves every person I have ever loved.

I don’t know what her thing was, a surgeon father abandoned her and worse, she controlled relationships with men by withholding sex until she ballooned to a 300 lb smoker and controlled her ex-husband by a rigorous academic Ph.D. regime abandonment so ya, probably. Never heard mention of Mom, I think she left the bastard and Sue took over the wifely duties. Nothing new under that sun.

I met and fell in love with her at the rich kid’s school the welfare sent me to. She taught me some guitar riffs in a tree called Arther in lower Mount Royal in Calgary. She met my Mom, a horrible person and recluse, and she always asked after her. She learned to put a good face on everything at summer acting schools. I was perfect for her because I was too shy to bring up sex until I did of course in the course of nature taking its course. With the burden of probably having a kid fucker for a father, sex was off the table, and she summarily downgraded me to acquaintance status.

Already suffering from painful low self-esteem I was convinced it was all my fault, for being poor, several conservative Calgary fathers had previously forbidden connection with their daughters due to my ‘poor prospects’ during rich kids high school. I split, my crazy non-mother, my crazy non-girlfriend and went and hung out with the hippies, I lived on welfare at a no meals on Sunday religious military loving room and board, I was 14 years old, stayed in the conservative to the point of fascist Calgary public school until I could get a student loan and finished at a liberal community college where later in life I would teach art and they would get me an adult education qualification.

Calgary is a small town and when my wife’s brain disease killed our relationship I ran into Suzanne who turned me on to a community of musicians who got together and jammed. I took my guitar and Dobro Bob, a buddy from the bluegrass crowd and politely attended. Bob went on to marry a member, manipulated and entrapped by fear obligation and guilt, dumping me when I pointed this out, that she was a narcissist.

Suzanne kept eating and smoking and drinking until after 5 years of the inevitable cancers she died at age 65. The only thing she said about her teaching career in Korea was that the supervisor men were emotionally and sexually abusive.

She must have felt right at home, self-medicating as an alternative to psychotherapy and recreating her family of origin, dumping those that wanted frank conversation and willingness to compromise.

She committed relationship with herself suicide with her fork.


Friday, April 2, 2021

When you lose an arm do everything you can to deal with it, then ignore it

REBT Network: Albert Ellis | Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy

REBT Network: Albert Ellis | Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy

The works of Dr. Albert Ellis and the theory and practice of Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy (REBT).

In encountering the death of former in-law to Huntington’s and finding my ex-wife still in LTC with same I lost my ability to feel, but a week later it has returned, this is the anniversary of our split, the therapist said to leave when I was thrown out one day don’t look back this is the disease process of her brain disintegrating, you have a responsibility to your own life, not to watch her die for decades of mental and physical decline attacking you as she gets more aggressive.

For 3 years I sat numbly in a coffee shop writing in a journal studying the work of Dr. David Burns, the Feeling Good guy, that the therapist gave me a lifesaver thrown to a man drowning in despair until eventually, I found and discovered I was basing my self-esteem on horrific loss.

The advice was to throw the notion of self-esteem in the trash. Stop fighting with it and other people’s problems and walk. But where? To satisfaction. To have self-esteem I had to make a living as an artist, it’s all conditional, that was insane, making shit for conservative advertisers.

So, I took my little car, went couriering like a sailor on the sea transporting from port to port, lived a regular healthy life and went back to my creativity no longer at the mercy of imagined dislikes of me by others and myself based on conditions.

Until this week 20 years later it all re-emerged with the passing of the former in-law. They said then at the hospital it would all come back, but it wouldn’t stay.

They were right as it turns out. ‘When you lose an arm do everything you can to deal with it, then ignore it and focus on satisfaction. You may not have as many choices, but you still have some - Albert Ellis’

Best. Advice. Ever.

Easter. Jerald Blackstock. 2001 

Sunday, March 28, 2021


Edi Whittaker

The family therapist said to leave her and not look back. Still good advice I find.

March 28, 2021

F.O.G. stands for Fear Obligation and Guilt. I have been manipulated with these in the past. By narcissists liars.

Edi was/is a narcissist liar. She said all the right things but she lied. She hunted so she could use nurturing men, she used me as conservative cover for her gayness. I guess what I feel guilty about is that I believed her when she said I was using her resources to live on to help me get an education. My family therapist said getting an education improves income in a relationship. The rational response is I treated it as an expected thing in a relationship. 

I chose to go along with the acquiring of a house plan, but I wasn't consulted, it was a done deal her father financed it, I was simply told it was going to happen. I was headed for art school on my 4th attempt, if I was to afford it, it was better to move even though I preferred and still do prefer an apartment. I was in love and had yet to learn to be assertive. I became the hired hand, the house slave.

She and Teresa Knight were/are much the same in looks, body style and communication, the passive aggressiveness of conditional relationship.

Neither honest nor open in their lack of forthcoming.

She dumped me when she was through with me. I was becoming a liability to her lies, pissing off her conservative friends and family by being openly Liberal.

I became very irritable at the frustration of the promise of love the lie of it, love instead given to girlfriends and cats.

I was neglected and abandoned so she could spend our time together conservatively fundraising for charity, which I oppose, I prefer the government to use common resources.

Finally, she told me to leave. I felt guilty and obligated, fearful, having been manipulated for so long, I wouldn't do it myself, Stockholm syndrome.

Her father used her mother much the same way. When her mother was diagnosed with Huntington's Disease he threw her out, she walked in front of a bus.

Her sister Marylin died of Huntington's last month, I just saw the obit. That means Edi is still alive with Huntington's warehoused in long-term care somewhere.

The family therapist said to leave her and not look back. Still good advice I find.


Spring Love

Things I am in love with

women’s faces / bodies / roses/ on buildings/ structures/ animated

With this note in my sketchbook artist’s book, I realized that my emotional health has recovered.

Shut down for many years, a lifetime of devastating abuse from narcissists claiming emotional intelligence but when asked for the evidence, they left blaming me, for asking. The love of my life for a few months.

Now accepting this disappointment, I focus on what I find satisfying, this way I am independent in my love of life, self-reliant. No longer full of shame embarrassment guilt depression rage anxiety(terror) hurt and jealousy. No longer capable of being manipulated with these things.

As Robin Williams said in Good Will Hunting, It’s not your fault.

Overvalue Undervalue Dump Smear, I can’t make anyone do that. They say all the right things a lover says, but.they.lie.

How to protect me so I don’t live in a fortress of solitude?
Ask for what I want.
Because healthy people have a frank conversation with a willingness to compromise, the ones not so healthy, narcissists, borderlines, etc. leave sooner than later smearing as they go… They manipulate by withholding sex. Ask for sex. Appropriately. Doesn’t matter if they say yes, if it’s a chore, leave. Run.

Brenda wanted to be friends first, which is fine with me, I like friends, but not the type that cuts me off from everybody, tries to hold me by offering anal sex, then abusing me for my lack of wealth in the middle of the night when I am naked and most trusting and vulnerable.

Carol said she would kill herself if I went to my stag before our marriage. At that time I was so full of terror of being abandoned I went along with it. A year of marriage and still no sex. Finally, she left, blaming me, I was devastated and turned to my new friend cocaine to ease the pain.

Barbara also withheld sex as did Sue saying I pressured her into having sex when she was drunk and she practically raped me.

Fortunately, the penis knows the difference between coercion and happy compliance and it was never consummated. Sloppy drunks are a turn-off.

Saturday, March 20, 2021

Popular Culture is a Stripper Pole

Popular Culture is a Stripper Pole

The bottom line at art school was the bottom line.

I use the term popular culture. “In simple words, popular culture can be understood as a set of cultural products, practices, beliefs, and objects dominating society. It affects and influences the people it comes across towards these sets of objects or beliefs. From music to dance, movies, literature, fashion, it encompasses everything that is believed and consumed by the majority of people in any society.”1

The key here, for me, is dominating society. That would be American popular culture exported as a commercial endeavour.

I live in Canada, raised in a deeply religious British protestant popular culture home where everything foreign is bad. Drive like a white man was heard often.

Being born in 1953 I saw the arrival of American pop culture with the advent of television in our home. It was Las Vegas entertainment on the Ed Sullivan show, and the Beatles shocked my mother by daring to wear hair on their foreheads. Billy Graham espoused a Puritan God.

Now it’s 2021. I spent the day yesterday collaborating with Elie, a self portrait artist2. Her and her work had been thrown off Facebook and Insta, as was mine, for displaying the female form, we met on Twitter. I posted the results of our collaboration on Flikr 3.

Having been through a British art school here on the Alberta prairies, it was a constant battle between American Puritan censorship, European history and tradition, the Vegas stripper pole aesthetic and the primarily racist British deep distrust of anything foreign.

The bottom line at art school was the bottom line. The cognitive distortion4 is that your work must be ‘good for something’ and that something is money. A steady reliable way to create income in the arts has always been titillation. Art for arts sake beauty for the sake of beauty were the allowed excursions of school but once you graduated if you wanted a gallery representation, the gate keepers of art sales, you had better manufacture what sells. That would be modernism in this part of the world. Nothing controversial to go over the couch in the corporate home or God forbid, the office. Simply a pleasing arrangement of shape line tone colour texture rhythm please.

The Vegas American pop culture is a titillating equal and opposite reaction to Puritan restraint. It is a garish eyesore in platform heels, a true obscenity of women prostituted for money using violence and drugs. It is as if the masses became the Catholic priests raping children in a culture of extremes. Watch the movie Spotlight. Utah, the Mormon state, consumes the most amount of porn and anti-depressants, I read somewhere on the net.

The European Fine Art aesthetic I was taught is that of subtle refined elegance, and yes this is what it’s buyers have been taught to desire. It is as pervasive in their culture as American television is in ours.

I hadn’t watched regular American television programming for 20 years, until I was sent to the stroke ward for 6 months physio. The large screens were on 24/7 in the common rooms. To make it feel like home. Once I turned it off at breakfast to just catch a break and have a conversation, a roofer with a broken spine from his fall became violent, he was sent home to watch his programs. The television was turned back on.

If it wasn’t women in platform heels it was men doing stupid human tricks also on drugs to enhance their performance in homoerotic displays like football and such. 24/7.

So is the collaboration between Ellie and myself a Vegas titillation? Yes, it skirts that edge, because titillation is fun and it’s a social skill. But unlike Vegas, tittilation is not the point. It also incorporates Japanese high culture and popular graphics embedded into the work, with European classical poses for the figure as well as aspects of Warhol’s pop-art repetitivness.

Why do I feel such an intense pleasure, such an intense satisfaction with this art making? The point is, satisfaction in art making and the right of ownership of our bodies and our images of them and our pleasure in them. As Tom Robbins said somewhere, Thank God for young women getting naked on the internet.


What is Popular Culture: Overview

by Sociology Group


colab with Eliza Loveheart photographer self portrait @ellieelle_5


Hi Sue... Smear campaigns being what they are. I believe devastating is the word for that.


Hi Sue,

Well somehow your email ended up on my substack subscribers list, google magic of everyone I ever sent an email to, and to my surprise you have been reading it, so you know how I am. Surprised.

Sorry to hear about the immuno thing I had no idea. It must be hard for someone as social as you.

Just got an appointment today for April 6 jabbing.

An Italian family has sort of adopted me, they own the Italian supermarket on 20th and Edmonton with a cafe and a restaurant next door. I go there for coffee and groceries because they care for me and the hygiene is excellent, not like Kawa where they don't even wipe or bus a table.

Last time I saw you, you were there with wassiname Bob? You two ignored me. Consistently. Is he still in the picture? I had a show there while trying to make a go of it with Thayre. Bob was really friendly, hitting on her while being nice to me. But then Carol Greene warned her off, saying I was hard on women so when Carol came to my show all nice and sweet, I asked her why she would intrude in my relationship that way, what evidence did she have. She was referring to you and I, things not working out, frank conversation and willingness to compromise I felt were the working edge as they are in every relationship.

Booze didn't help, I as a non-drinker didn't want to be around it any more but then I was still recovering from the death of my wife to Huntington's and after a long miserable illness like that I was grasping at any straw for affection, even if your straw was in your bottle, so that sincere communication, companionship and sex were out of the picture, I just became lonelier, so I moved on, learned to forge a closer relationship with me, and left the bored drunk art school grad 'ladies who paint' divorcees of rich husbands to find the Bob's of the world to play with.

I don't know what motivated me to write to you, seeing your name as someone who reads my blog, and the fact I moved back in my old apartment on 11th where I lived when I met you, now to do accessible stroke recovery, I suppose. The management had a record of me and were willing to rent to me, no one else was at that time, a jobless homeless crippled man warehoused in the hospital with no family and no friends to visit. That happens when your wife dies, a lot of the relationships were hers, what with me being an introvert artist.

My local art options for friendship are few, money being the class distinction, I don't meet people at the Glencoe Club or move to my cabin in the mountains to avoid pandemics and since I don't have the local moneyed friends and family the gallery owners aren’t interested in me.

One gallery owner, that picture framer guy whose father made those awful photo-realistic eyesores, actually said to me he couldn't show me as he had his family to think about. He blamed my exposure on the net in New York showing me all over the world to millions, as a threat to his brick and mortar model making me a threat to his family, that and my reputation through Carol Greene who I have met twice, as being hard on women aka you.

I am quite the Casanova art monster killer of businesses, families and breaker of hearts. But as Leonard Cohen said, I didn't even get laid. Better to say I'm a monster than to say I'm not of the heavily boozing moneyed class and certainly not one to get introduced to family.

Smear campaigns being what they are. I believe devastating is the word for that.

Hey... Can you buy me a coffee?


Can you buy me a coffee?

Internet panhandling.
When I was a kid, living on the street, panhandling, I starved. Then as I learned my guitar I became a busker and still starved. The guy across the street in pre-gentrified Gastown Vancouver played the banjo and made a shitload. He was immortalized as one of The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers in an underground comic created by Gilbert Shelton.

He, I forget his name, would cross the street and play along with me so I eventually got bus fare home to Calgary. Nice guy. Anyway I have always preferred to have a job and steady groceries.

The good folks here at Substack suggest that I can firewall my art and my commentary on life and demand subscriptions to see/read it. Buy the art or the dog gets it!
Ya, No. If it’s on the internet it’s free, because you and I already pay for internet to see stuff.

Enter the Big But:
because nothing is all or nothing there must be a way to earn a living and not hold folks to ransom. The good folks at Substack provided for that too. Buy a subscription or not, it’s up to you and your situation. I did a gofundme to get a place after a stroke and some people are in a position to send me 500 bucks, others 10 others 0.

It isn’t up to me to decide what your position is or your motivation is/should be. I have 217 subscribers and 100 on average read my stuff that I email out. Those are huge numbers for an introvert artist locked down in a pandemic. 7 bucks a month to subscribe, I pay that for a VPN or a latte and don’t even notice it. There have been times though when 7 bucks is a big deal.

Now, living on a seniors pension 7 bucks is again a big deal because multiplied by 100 readers that’s my rent at the moment but life changes and even a studio apartment in Calgary is 1000.00, parking another 200.00. Food banks exist for a reason yanno.

I appreciate the letters and comments you folks send me, encouraging and disagreeing and telling me my art is beautiful. I recently lowered my print prices so I make only 50 bucks off each one at The Duchy of Jerald Digital Debauchery which is really Fine Art America’s back end for framing, shipping, card processing and money back guarantee.

My business courses said to charge more instead, but this is the net, the competition is huge, and the potential for views/sales is huge as well.

So I appeal to you, if you find this work satisfying for whatever reason, please send me a coffee. Naked pics are optional.