Please Say, "Yes," Again.

I just tried to participate in a yoga class, but my body hurt too much for more than fifteen minutes of activity. I have been so battered for the last two and a half years that all physical exercise must be gentle for me to be able to take part. No, I have no way to heal as long as I live with my father. His emotional abuse is too complete.

Bruce Springsteen, I was hoping you would agree to write a song for me to record with you about my relationship with my father. He refused to keep me safe when I lived in this house in summer 2009. I was raped then here in this bedroom I am forced to live in by him again now. The rape kit from that June found live sperm in my body. I fled to San Francisco hoping to find safety there in 2009.

Right now, I now have PTSD from being abused in a torture facility in the UK for seven months. During my time there, my father perjured himself to a court in Iowa by falsely claiming I was an Iowa resident in order to take control of my finances in order to take away all of my freedom. It forced me to move into his home to be verbally and emotionally abused by him when I was finally released from the torture facility in the UK in December 2010.

After two and a half years of looking everywhere for safety, I found a should-have-been guaranteed path out of Iowa and into the arms of my Sweetness in June 2011. It was to happen by my taking a trip to Chicago. But my father chose to give me a PTSD breakdown instead by perjuring himself again to different court in Iowa to have me committed to a hospital on false pretenses to guarantee I could not take that trip to Chicago and to guarantee I could not reach my human rights at last.

In late July 2011, he perjured himself for a third time to have me committed once and for all by the corrupt Polk County District Courts again on completely false pretenses. Now that I am out of the hospital, I am still forced to live in fear of his abuse in his home on his terms under his control with no escape in sight and in the bedroom I was raped in.

Parents are supposed to support, stand up for, and fight for their children. My father only fights against me, abuses me, and lies to get away with it all.

Mr. Springsteen, if you say, "Yes," I want this to be an unrelenting treatise on what a parent is actually supposed to mean to a child.

David Bowie, how could I not ask to work with you? I was hoping you could write us a song about reluctant heroism to, of course, record together.

I did not ask for any of this. No one asks to be a slave and torture victim. When all of this landed on me, the only way out I could find was up. When I realized responsibilities had landed on me, I knew what to do.

Iowans always ask me, "What is your job?" as if they do not know I am enslaved. What else is there to say other than, "I save the world."

I was picked out to be a victim. The only way I could find to save myself was to save us all. I read comic books as a teenager; maybe that is why I thought this could all be possible.

If you say, "Yes," do not forget to include what you see in me in your song... and what I see in you.

AFI, you have also been with me from the start, haven't you? Do you think you could write a song for us all to record about the hate and slander campaign that people in power have been waging against me for reasons of personal spite only they are petty enough to care about?

President Incompetent called me a prostitute... and later when he said I was dead, people still listened to him. How did he retain his credibility for so long?

Do you remember when I was a dead, pregnant, lesbian, Communist hooker? They spread so many lies, and so many people just kept falling for them all... but even humoring the lies about me would still rationalize the abuse from the public that the libel was engineered to incite.

We all know it was illegal, but the Federal government was enforcing that it continue... not that it should end.

If you say, "Yes," I was hoping to call it "Hate Machine" or something else similarly flavored.

Cake, how could I forget you? Technically, Tom Petty already wrote a song about me, so your saying "Yes" to writing one about me is all I need to lead a fulfilling life from here on out. Hee-hee.

I thought a song we could record together about all of the spy equipment in my head would be right up your alley. What was there at last inventory? Cameras, microphones, speakers, transmitters, receivers, and the infamous control chip... you know, the chip that controls all of the electronics within a certain radius of my septum.

I tried using a magnet on my septum to deactivate it back in San Francisco. The chip is awfully resilient. I should have tried putting my nose in a microwave.

They used to heat up buildings, dance floors, ovens, or anything else nearby controlled by electronics to announce my presence. They also tried selling Being-John-Malcovich time as the voice in my head that controls me... but it never actually worked to control me. At least, I could actually log-in to all of my accounts, though.

The song can be about the stunning landscapes.... or driving the car. It will likely include Sampo coming to life on that network of electronics.

As always, please say, "Yes."

Do I even need to ask AC/DC if they want to work with me? I do probably need to ask them if they are up to writing something new for me. Angus, do you have a whole new riff left in you? Please say, "Yes!"

I was hoping you could write a song for us to record together about how I dance to self-medicate, about how I follow live music, and about how it feels to be musicians that sometimes look directly into my light. I want this to be a song about the greatness of music. I want this to be art for artists.

Yes, you lucked out and got one of the lighter topics for my future music.

I know, I know. We barely know each other, Jack White, but this song concept made me think of you. Could I convince you to write a song for us to record based on the title, "The Devil Couldn't Face Me."?

After every hell that the mysterious "they" of the oppressive oligarchy has forced my soul to tread, "they" have never once had the balls to sit down and face me. Maybe it is because every one of their once-minions who did it fell in love.

"They" have everyone from Obama the Twerp to my father contracted to do their bidding, yet there is something in me they still fear. And only the devil fears the benevolent.

Nikki Minaj, will you let me lean on you for a song we can collaborate on? I could not imagine leaving you out. Please say, "Yes."

This is the mean-spirited concept of the collection. I am a slave and torture victim who lives and suffers every day in a bubble of persecution, yet I am confronted often by people jealous of my situation. There is one thing I tell them, "Jealous Bitches Can't Dance." I want a song that puts them in their place. Do you think you could do that for me?

On the completely opposite end of the spectrum, I have a proposal for you, Carlos Santana. Could you write a guitar-heavy, Latin rock song about how I am "almost beatified"? Does that interest you?

I want this to be a song about knowing what beatification means, about being near me knowing that I am almost beatified, about knowing about the miracles, about knowing the process.

People in Mexico City used to wash the ground before I could walk on it.

I know the weight of who I am in this world. I know the lightness of my being. I worry that this will create a burden my future children will have to carry... the children of a beatified woman. I worry about creating normalcy for myself and my Sweetness.

Yet, if you ask me my religion, I will tell you I am an atheist; this creates peace in the world.

My best friend, Syniva, is a huge fan of yours, Yoko Ono. Since I did not include requests for Paul or Ringo, Conan O'Brien is likely to make jokes, but do you think you could write a song for us to record together? I was hoping you could write my thank you song to my best friend Syniva. I was considering calling it "What About the Monkey?"

Kelli Rae Powell, you knew this was coming. Could I convince you to write a duet for us called "I Sure Hope She's Okay."? You know, make it folkie and full of ukulele.

I want it to be about being a lifelong friend of mine who is not allowed to spend time with me anymore... not without ridiculous and irrational restrictions that just make me suspicious. Please pair it with how I completely have no idea what could stop people I love from always doing whatever they damn well please, and do not forget that the worry goes both directions.

I worry about my friends as much as you all worry about me... but the corrupt-forces-that-be do not allow you all in my life anymore. They do not allow you to be good to me. They do not allow you to be friends to me. They do not allow you to visit me. They do not even allow you to speak to me.

It is time this story is told.

I have a handful or two more that are similarly dear to my heart preparing to go out by snail mail... It looks like the lady songwriters are mostly going this way. Patti Smith, Carol King, Alicia Keys,... I might even finally get my thoughts out about my project proposal for Lady Gaga.

Hold tight. There are more to come.

Sweetness, how do you love someone as battered as I am? I have seen so much of the dark side of humanity and power. Yes, I suppose it is a miracle I can love at all,... but to be loved... in the state I am in. What did I do right to deserve you?