Anger

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  surprised at my loss of control over my temper. I refused to walk, so my feet dragged across the floor while the demonstrators pulled at my arms. One of them tried to pry my fingers from the crumpled pancake as I strained to get it to my mouth. I received a sharp slap across my face and was tossed out the sliding glass door to wait on the graveled road until breakfast ended. Outside, there was no one. The sky, white with a blanket of cloud cover, stretched endlessly beyond the surrounding hills that engulfed the property. The dry yellow hills were empty and indifferent to my plight. Even nature appeared aloof, orderly and precise like the Synanon people the land sustained. We didn’t go to our usual classrooms after breakfast that day because, we were told, it was more important that as part of our back-to-basics lesson we children learn about environmental preservation. The lesson took place in the playroom in the form of a music class. A man we’d never seen before sat on a chair in the middle of the room with a guitar in his hands. We were ushered in and guided to sit cross-legged on the floor around him. Then we waited while our demonstrator Keith stood off to the side, repeatedly smearing ChapsStick over his lips. The tallest demonstrator and most reticent, Keith kept his communication with us children to the bare minimum of information. In contrast, the man with the guitar seemed to speak volumes with his body alone. When he smiled, he flashed white even teeth and his brown eyes snapped and sparkled, reminding me of a golden retriever. “Who here can tell me how we waste energy?” he said. One of the boys raised his hand. The man pointed to him. “When we let the water in the sink run and we’re not using it.” “What else?” the man asked. “Leaving the lights on,” a girl said softly. “Yes. Yes. Whaddaya say we write a song about it? Who would like to write a song about the environment?”

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  unloading linens from the machines. The clean, expertly folded sheets went into large, white mesh laundry bags that were placed back into the cart, which I then wheeled, the children atop, to the various adult bunkhouses. At one point when Theresa had to go somewhere, she asked whether I could watch Gwyn as well. Reluctantly, I agreed. It didn’t take long before I became frustrated with Gwyn’s slow walk. After my constant prodding for her to please walk a little faster, she stopped and stubbornly wouldn’t budge. “Let’s go,” I said. “I have things to do.” She refused to move. Instead her lips snaked into the side smile that I knew so well. It was the look of a certain willful mischievousness that overtook her normally bland expression, the same smile that rose crookedly on her narrow little face when she purposely knocked things over to make more work for Theresa. Furious that I had to deal with her at all, I jabbed my finger at her face. “Listen, you fucking retard. You need to move now!” In one moment she leered at me and in the next her mouth had clamped down on my finger. It happened so fast I had no time to react. She bit hard. I thought she might take my finger off. Terrified, I screamed and smacked at her forehead, which seemed harder than rock, while the three-year-olds gripped the edge of the laundry cart, their eyes wide. Another child who happened to walk by came to my rescue and pried Gwyn’s jaws open so I could free my hand. The following week Theresa again asked me to watch Gwyn for a few hours. I spent the time ignoring her, my attention absorbed in a book, while she amused herself, constrained to a large playpen of sorts. A truce of silence held between us. Then, a powerful odor wafted through the room, a wet, sticky fart smell that prompted me to look up from my book. Gwyn had removed her pants and defecated on her mattress. She stood watching me, eyes glinting with challenge. Her bare legs were pale, thin and wiry. Between

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  You can live here, but it won’t be with me. I’ll go and live with my dad.” “Your dad?” Ray sneered. “If he really wanted you to live with him, don’t you think he would have tried to make that happen?” I stepped back from my stepfather. My throat felt tight, and it was hard to swallow or speak. “If I can’t live with my dad,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes, “then I will find a relative who will take me, or I will run away and live on the street. But I won’t live here, I promise you that.” I turned away from the three of them and ran toward our car. I did not wait by the car long before Theresa came to talk with me. I listened, unmoved, while she apologized for Ray’s outburst. She spoke about how much she wanted us to be a family and to find a community that we all liked. If even one of us didn’t want live in a particular community, then we would keep looking. I sighed, feeling my anger dissipate. Why couldn’t Theresa be like my Uncle Danny’s wife, Aunt Rosa, whose world revolved around feeding people, rearranging the contents of her food pantry, and dusting spotless furniture? The other day while we visited at Uncle Danny’s house, Aunt Rosa gave me a rundown on who preferred crunchy peanut butter over smooth, the variety of crackers I could choose from to go with the peanut butter, and her contemplation on Kool Aid versus lemonade. I stopped listening when she began to talk about sandwiches. At least Aunt Rosa’s myopic focus on domestic matters did not result in dramatic consequences for her children. Theresa left me sitting in the car. I watched her walk slowly away, defeat rounding her shoulders. It galled me that we hadn’t made a clean break from all things Synanon, including Ray and Sara. Why were we wasting our time checking out places like the Summit Lighthouse? Since arriving in LA, we’d made our rounds visiting various relatives, my relatives . I’d become territorial in regard to the life I’d had before and didn’t want to share it. In my mind there was a clear divide between my post-Synanon family and my LA family. However, much to my frustration, Sara accompanied me everywhere I went. We had never been close, we weren’t even really friends while in Synanon, but now I found that I had to share my whole life with her. There she’d be, clutching my step-grandmother’s arm and laughing at her colloquial Louisiana accent or sitting silent and watchful while I chatted and played with my cousins. When they paid any attention to her, a roiling jealousy bubbled up inside me and I’d have to walk away. I finally put my foot down when Theresa suggested I take Sara along while I visited with my dad. I would not share him.

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  “We’re going to look around, check out our options, and everyone will have input. Not all communities are like Synanon. There are a lot of great places out there.” I shifted my body, trying to get comfortable on the firm pillow, finally tossing it aside as Theresa went into lecture mode about healthy communication and being a good listener. My mother had taken on the role of family mediator after spending a few days reading a book called Creative Conflict , published by University of the Trees, one of the communes on our shopping list. We had left the cult, but the cult had not left us. The Game, Synanon’s attack therapy sessions, had conditioned us in the regular expression of rage. Without The Game for regular venting, we didn’t know how to navigate the numerous disagreements we were starting to have with each other. When and in what setting was it appropriate for us to scream at each other? With no clear rules in place, frustration abounded. We didn’t know how to resolve conflicts on any kind of sane level. Problems escalated from mild agitation to explosive fury in mere seconds. We were often divided into opposing teams: Theresa and me against Ray and Sara; Ray and Theresa (the parents) against the kids; Theresa, Sara, and me against Ray. New alliances followed by betrayals morphed on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis. Ray was most prone to demonstrate these maniacal digressions. One minute he was laughing, the next, his face inches away from his target, he would begin spraying saliva as he spat out his words. Rude epithets and cutting remarks rolled off his tongue without thought, followed by a hangover of regret and apologies. Theresa dangled her pendulum crystal from a string of beads. “The crystal will serve as a visible reminder to everyone that whoever is speaking may continue uninterrupted until the crystal is passed to the next person.” This was, apparently, a tactic she had picked from the Creative Conflict book. Normally, Theresa used the crystal to make all sorts of decisions both petty and startlingly major, by swinging it over the palm of her hand. “Should we have ice cream?” She’d mumble to herself. “Will I have enough gas to get to the store?” “Should I buy the red or the pink lipstick?” “Would it be better to live in Northern or Southern California?” If the crystal swung clockwise, it was yes, back and forth was no. While Theresa explained for twenty minutes straight the virtues and rules of clear communication, my mind wandered. I snapped back to focus when Ray interrupted to say, “OK, Theresa, we got it.” She sighed and passed the crystal to me. I held the hard stone, warm from my mother’s hands. By the time I had summarized all that I could remember of Theresa’s lecture, I was tired and just contributed a single sentence.

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  read. I stubbornly refused the command of one of the children sent to retrieve me. A demonstrator came to my room, treading carefully. It was a curious matter that I wasn’t intimidated. “Why did you leave the meal?” she asked. “Because I’ve done nothing wrong, but I’m being punished anyway. I’m not going to sit in fear while I eat.” The demonstrator did not reply right away. I watched her thinking over what I’d said. My lack of fear and refusal to be the victim in their bullying behavior had interrupted the usual script. “Some of you kids were screaming and being disruptive outside of the dining hall,” she said. “Yes,” I replied, “but I wasn’t one of them. Most of us were being quiet. It was just a few kids making all the noise, but we’re all getting punished, having to sit like a bunch of criminals. I won’t eat like that anymore.” The demonstrator tilted her head and then nodded. “You’re right. We overreacted. I’m going to lift the ban. Come back to dinner.” Surprised by her acquiescence, I didn’t move at first. She reached out and took my hand. “Come,” she coaxed. “Let’s go back to dinner.” IT WAS during a game that I finally reached my limit with the unbridled authority in the hands of immature adults. A demonstrator in her early twenties sat, smugly attacking my mother’s character and intellect. “Your mother is a stupid woman,” she said with a smirk. “She is slow. Dimwitted, in fact. I doubt she could survive at all on her own. She needs Synanon, but Synanon doesn’t need her.” The circle had grown quiet. No one backed the demonstrator’s play. Her mean-spirited attack crossed an invisible boundary we children had with one another. It was an unspoken rule that we did not hammer at each other’s parents. I stood up, leaving my chair and walked over to the

• From The Tides of Lust (1973)

  Bull picked up the rifle from the bar, turned around, and let the stock thump the floor. He lay the barrel up along the black denim. The tip was cold through the hair matting his belly. He moved his boot, clearing sawdust. “You want to tell me what this is all about, Father?” The priest, from the chair he had taken off the bar, looked up at Bull. In the shadow, his eyes returned to the leather band on the fleshy neck. “I called you at the jail. They told me you weren’t in. They suggested I try here at the Mirrors.” Bull turned his head slightly; the priest saw one of the brass studs flash on the collar. “Since it’s so near the church, I thought I’d come over.” “What is it, Father?” “Young Peggy-Ann . . . I have a study group for young women; for the ladies of this town interested in the spiritual problems of our age. And as they relate to other ages. So that they may find their proper and fitting place as women in this one. Now, the group is only two. But Peggy-Ann was late this evening. And I thought—” “What happened?” “She was molested! She was viciously molested, practically outside the church door!” Bull scraped at his crotch and shifted his weight. “Is she all right?” “Well, she’s . . . she was hysterical . . . no! No, of course she was not all right! The blood was running down her leg! She had huge bruises on her arms and breasts. She’d been cut and beaten besides. She was too terrified to defend herself. She can’t even walk. She’s too shocked, too hysterical to speak coherently. Catherine, the other woman in my group, is caring for her now at the church. Peggy-Ann had no family. They were killed in the fire on Colson Hill last Spring. You must excuse me, but I’m terribly upset by the whole business!” “Sure. I understand. Did she give you any idea who did it?” “But . . . but that’s why I’m upset! I saw who it was! I came out to look for her; and he was holding her in his arms!” “One of the fishermen? Them boys get some liquor in them and they just forget all manner of what’s decent—” “No. No, I don’t think so. He wasn’t anybody I’d ever seen from these parts. I’ve spent enough time at the docks so I know most of our boys by sight. No, it was probably a drifter. He didn’t have the look of one of our town’s boys. A skinny character, light hair.” “Do you think he’s liable to still be around? Did he see you?” “Yes.” “Then I bet he was scared off.” Bull shifted his weight. “You know, Father, probably the best thing you can do—” he worked his fist on the barrel “—is take as good care of the little girl as you can, and just forget—”

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  Do you think there is any appreciable difference between a person who moves their bowels several times and those who do that once a day? Do you really and truly think that this natural process has any effect on the person doing it? “I mean, what are you going to get out of the baby? Do you really want to go through an experience? I understand it’s more like crapping a football than anything else. What do you want to do that for, for Christ’s sake! “The only reason we permit anyone to have children is to indulge the woman. This movement doesn’t need children. We don’t need it. We have millions of starving children, children who won’t get education out on the streets. We have all the goddamn children we want. The only reason we have children is to indulge the woman. “And one day we’ll stop it. The problem is it’s too expensive. All the motorcycles in Synanon together don’t cost as much as to raise two children to the age of sixteen. All of them. When are we going to move ahead? When is it going to please everybody? I think the nuts had better realize we are going to move ahead now on this issue. Betty and I have been talking about this issue for damn near ten years. We’re going to control birth like the wealthy people in the world have always done. The people who rule the world always control their births.” As part of the solution of Childbirth Unmasked, he decided that the men ought to do their part and avoid these kinds of travesties. They should get themselves snipped. “The big slavery of women in modern life is that they’re tied to that one child for eighteen years after the child is born,” Chuck said. “Now the big thing that Synanon has done for women is to release them from that kind of bondage. The fact that they have residuals of longing to be back in that bondage doesn’t mean that their release wasn’t a good idea.” Makeshift clinics were erected as the Synanon doctors became very busy operating on the lines of men who arrived for their mandatory vasectomies. Chuck never received the procedure. “If you want my body and you think I’m sexy, come on, sugar, let me know.” Demonstrator Julie belted out the Rod Stewart song, rolling her enormous hips and stomach, which consisted of doughy folds of fat that obscured the crotch of her overalls. The dieting and jogging hadn’t done much for her obese figure. A few of us children stood idly in the play yard next to the Commons, watching. Her movements inevitably induced some giggles. Yet at any moment she could snap and get ugly with her words. I’d seen it before, but at the moment, humor crackled in her brown eyes, swallowed up by the fleshy sockets. “Let me know, baby,” she crooned seductively.

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  It was just a few kids making all the noise, but we’re all getting punished, having to sit like a bunch of criminals. I won’t eat like that anymore.” The demonstrator tilted her head and then nodded. “You’re right. We overreacted. I’m going to lift the ban. Come back to dinner.” Surprised by her acquiescence, I didn’t move at first. She reached out and took my hand. “Come,” she coaxed. “Let’s go back to dinner.” It was during a game that I finally reached my limit with the unbridled authority in the hands of immature adults. A demonstrator in her early twenties sat, smugly attacking my mother’s character and intellect. “Your mother is a stupid woman,” she said with a smirk. “She is slow. Dimwitted, in fact. I doubt she could survive at all on her own. She needs Synanon, but Synanon doesn’t need her.” The circle had grown quiet. No one backed the demonstrator’s play. Her mean-spirited attack crossed an invisible boundary we children had with one another. It was an unspoken rule that we did not hammer at each other’s parents. I stood up, leaving my chair and walked over to the demonstrator. “You need to go back to your chair,” she said, her gaze darting around the circle, looking for support. No one uttered a sound. My hand closed into a fist, which I shoved toward her face. I imagined my knuckles pushing up hard into the soft underside of her chin. Her gaze stopped roaming, and her eyes locked with mine, her shame and guilt, the wrongness of her attack growing in her widening pupils. I wanted to crush her round, soft face. “Say one more word about my mother,” I threatened. She said nothing. “I don’t care about the rules,” I said, bringing up my fist so that it was inches under her chin. “You bring up my mother again and I’ll hurt you,” I hissed through gritted teeth. My throat felt swollen and it was hard for me to talk. I watched her swallow, a flush of red flaming her cheeks and shooting down her neck, but she remained silent. I left then, opening the door and slamming it behind me. As I strode down the hallway, someone yelled, “Celena.” I turned to see Charlie, my old tormenter, standing at the door. The usual malice wasn’t there. Something had replaced it. Pity? I tucked my chin and walked on. “She shouldn’t have done that,” Charlie called after me. “She had no right.” I picked up my pace. If I walked fast enough, maybe I could beat the tears. In another game, much larger than the usual group of ten or twelve, thirty of us sat in a circle. Verbal attacks, swift and brutal, shifted like an ill wind in no particular order from one person to the next. When it was my turn to be in the hot seat, twenty-nine kids screamed at me. I didn’t care.

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  A roar of cheers erupted from the boys, their faces glistening with moisture. Some grinned so widely it seemed their skin might split. I stepped into the ring and the referee laced my gloves. I did not know the rules of boxing, and no one bothered to explain them. When Buddy rang the little bell, I rushed my opponent and lifted the surprised boy off his feet. The room exploded with shouts as I swung him around amid his angry cries of “Put me down!” For the finale, I threw him, but as we were the same size, we both went flying. My contender landed on his hands and knees with me on his back. Dazed, he sagged through his midsection as the referee jumped in for the countdown. When my opponent didn’t get up, the ref grabbed my arm and announced me the winner. The boy, finally catching his breath, jumped up, yelling, “That’s not how the game goes!” His words were drowned out by the other boys’ yells that he’d been “beat by a girl.” I continued to box with the group for several weeks until the lessons faded like many other activities in the community. Without that outlet, I began to have rages. The first came over me one afternoon when I was relaxing in my shared room and listening to Shawn Cassidy’s “Da Do Run Run” blaring from Charlie’s record player. During one of our many moves, I wound up sharing a room with my enemy and two other girls. Our four twin beds were angled to give the most privacy possible, but it was still a tight fit. We were all in the room that day, languid and lazy, each sprawled on our own bed and absorbed in a personal activity. I flipped through a picture book as Charlie began to sing along with Shawn Cassidy. Small for her age, Charlie had sleek, dark looks and a natural propensity toward horses and Nancy Drew novels. Part of the popular clique, she never let me forget that she considered herself far above me in social ranking. Her glares, sneers and eye rolls indicated her feelings. “The doody run run run. The doody run,” Charlie belted in her young, high voice. The other girls giggled and so did I. I wasn’t as big a Shawn Cassidy fan as some of the other kids were. With his feathered hair, red lips, cutesy puppy-dog look and silver disco jacket, he was too effeminate for my liking. “Yeah, Celena shit in her pants. Yeah, she’s a stupid bitch. The doody run run. The doody run,” Charlie sang. Laughter exploded from the other girls, and I felt my throat close as I tried to focus on my book. My eyes were watering, but something other than sadness was building within me. “Yeah, Celena stinks so bad,” the other girls joined in, singing at the top of their voices.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  λύσσᾶ, Att. λύττα, 7, rage, fury, Lat. rabies, in Il. always of martial rage, κρατερὴ δέ — λύσσα δέδυκεν 9. 239; λύσσαν ἔχειν ὀλοήν Ib. 305; A. δέ οἱ κῆρ αἰὲν ἔχε κρατερή 21. 542. 2. after Hom. raging madness, raving, frenzy, such as was caused by the gods, as that of Io, λύσσης πνεύματι papyw Aesch. Pr. 883; of Orestes, Id. Cho. 288, Eur. Or. 254, etc.; so of Bacchic frenzy, ἐλαφρὰ A. Id. Bacch. 851; θοαὶ λύσσης κύνες, of the Furies, Ib. 977; λύσσῃ παράκοπος Ar. Thesm. 681; strengthd., A. μαινάς Soph. Fr. 678; λύττα ἐρωτική Plat. Legg. 839 A; λύσσα alone for raging love, Theocr. 3. 47. 3. personified, Avoca the goddess of madness, Eur. H. F. 823. II. canine mad- ness, rabies, Xen. An. 5. 7, 6, Arist. H. A. 8. 22, 1. 2. the worm under the tongue of dogs, removed from the belief that it produces tabies, Plin. 29. 32. (Hence come Avacaw, λυσσαίνω, etc.; Bopp compares Skt. rush-yami (irasci, furere), rush (ira, furor).) λυσσαίνω, to rave, τινί against one, Soph. Ant. 633. λυσσᾶλεέος, a, ov, raging mad, Ap. Rh. 4. 1393. λυσσάς, 7, raging mad, Timoth. τ Bgk., Anth. Plan. 289; A. μοίρᾳ Eur. H. F. 1024. λυσσάω, Att. λυττάω, to be raging in battle, Hdt. 9. 71; cf. λύσσα init. 2. to rave, be mad, Soph. O. T. 1258, Ant. 492, Plat. Rep. 329 6, etc.; A. πρὸς μίξιν Pseudo-Phocyl. 202; ἔρωτες λυττῶντες Plat. Rep. 586 C :—c. inf. to desire madly to do, Heliod. 2. 20. II. of dogs, Ar. Lys. 298, Arist. H. A. 8. 22, 1; of wolves, Theocr. 4. 11 (in a dub. passage) ; of horses, Arist. H. A. 8. 24, 4. Avoondov, Adv. furiously, madly, Opp. H. 2. 573. λυσσήεις, εσσα, ev, -ελυσσαλέος, Hesych. λύσσημα, 76, a fit of madness: in pl. ravings, εἴ μ᾽ ἐκφοβοῖεν μανιά- σιν λυσσήμασιν Eur. Or. 270. λυσσήρηςπ, ες. --λυσσαλέος, Orph. H. 68. 6, Manetho 6. 560. λυσσητήρ, Ὦρος, 6, one that is raging or raving mad, κύων A, 1]. 8. 299; ids κυνός Anth. P. 5. 266; ποὺς λ. Ib. 6. 94. λυσσητής, οὔ, 6,=foreg., Anth. P. app. 132; Dor. -aras, 7. 473. λυσσητικός, 7, ov, furious, πρὸς τἀφροδίσια Ael. N. A. 12. Io. λυσσό-δηκτος, ov, bit by a mad dog, Geop. 12. 17, 14. λυσσο-δίωκτος, ov, pursued by madness, Xen. Eph. 1, 6. λυσσομᾶνέω, to rage, rave, Manetho 4. 216. λυσσο-μᾶνής, és, raging mad, Anth. P.11. 232; πλόκαμοι Ib. 6. 210. λυσσόω, to enrage, madden, Ep. part. λυσσώων Anth. P. 5. 266, Manetho 1. 244 :—Pass. ¢o be or grow furious, Pseudo-Phocyl. 114. λυσσώδης, ες, (εἶδος) like one raging, frantic, of martial rage, 1]. 13. 53. 2. of madness, A. νόσος Soph. Aj. 452; of Bacchus, Eur. Bacch. 980; τὸ λυσσῶδες -- λύσσα, Favor. ap. Stob. 514. 13. λυσσ-ῶπις, os, 9, with frantic glance, Orph. Arg. 977.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  νεμεσάω, used by Hom. and Hes. in contr. forms νεμεσῶ, —@ov: Ep. 3 sing. νεμεσσᾷ Hes. Op. 754, imper. νεμέσσα Od, 23. 213 :—impf. éve- μέσων Plut., Ep. ἐνεμέσσα 1]. 13. τό, Ep. 3 sing. νεμέσασκε 11. 543 (as cited by Arist. Rhet. 2. 9, 11) :—fut. -ἤσω Rhet. 2. 9, 8: aor. ἐνεμέσησα Dem., etc.; poét. νεμέσησα Od. 21. 285, Dor. -ἄσα Pind. 1. I. 3:—Med. and Pass., Ep. νεμεσσῶμαι Hom.: fut. νεμεσήσομαι Ib. : Ep. aor. opt. νεμεσσήσαιτο Od, 1. 228; but more commonly aor. pass. νεμεσσήθη I. 119, 3 pl. -θεν 1]. 2. 223, etc.: (v. sub fin.). To Seel just resentment, to be wroth at undeserved good or bad fortune (cf. νέμεσι5), properly of the gods, νεμέσησε δὲ πότνια Ἥρη Il. 8. 198; τῷ δὲ θεοὶ νεμεσῶσι Hes. Op. 739, etc.; v. sub νέμεσις :—Construct. some- times absol., μὴ νεμέσα 1]. 10.145; more commonly, v. ti to be wroth with a person or αὖ a thing, Hom., and so (rarely) in Prose, Plat. Legg. 927 C, Dem. 506. 13; with part. added, od νεμεσῷῶ ᾿Αγαμέμνονι .. ὀτρύ- νοντι, if he incites, Il. 4. 413; (so, νεμεσᾷ ὁ θεός, ὅταν ... Plat. Min. 319 A) :—c. dat. pers. et acc. rei, μὴ νῦν μοι τόδε YwEO μηδὲ νεμέσσα Od. 23. 213, cf. Hes. Op. 754, Arist. Rhet. 2. 6,19; also, v. ἐπί Ti Ibid. 9, 7; and Ὁ, gen. rei, Luc. Amor. 25. II. Med. and Pass., properly, fo be displeased with oneself, νεμεσσᾶται δ᾽ ἐνὶ θυμῷ... ἐπεσβολίας avapaive is indignant, ashamed at the thought of .. , rejects it as unseemly, Od. 4.158: to take shame to oneself, feel shame, like Lat. vereri, νεμεσσήθητε καὶ αὐτοί, ἄλλους 7 αἰδέσθητε 2. 643 νεμεσ- σήθητε δὲ θυμῷ Il. τ6. 544; πᾶσιν δὲ νεμεσσηθεῖσα μετηύδα 15. 103: —but, 2. Hom. mostly uses the Med. very much like the Act., c. dat. pers., εἴ πέρ μοι νεμεσήσεαι 1]. ΤΟ. 115, cf. 129; also c. part., νεμεσσήσαιτό κεν .. ὁρόων Od. τ. 228; c. inf., νεμεσσῶμαί ye μὲν οὐδὲν κλαίειν 4. 1953 6. acc. et inf., οὔ σε νεμεσσῶμαι κεχολῶσθαι 18. 227; but c. acc. rei, νεμεσσᾶται κακὰ ἔργα visits evil deeds upon the doers, 14. 284.—Poét. Verb, never found in Trag., and rarely in good Prose, v. supr.; cf. νεμεσίζομαι. (Acc. to Curt., a Desiderative of νέμω, cf. μενοινάω, vavTiaw, τομάω.) Νεμέσεια (sc. ἱερά), τά, the feast of Nemesis, also held in honour of the dead, Dem. 1031. 13; v. 1. Νεμέσια. Nepecetov, τό, the temple of Nemesis, Theognost. Can. 129. νεμεσήμων, ov, gen. ovos, indignant, wrathful, Nonn. Jo. 4. 48, etc. νεμεσητέος, a, ov, such as to call forth indignation; and --τέον, one must be indignant, Eccl. νεμεσητικός, 7, ὄν, disposed to indignation at any one’s undeserved good or ill fortune, Arist. Eth. N. 2. 7, 15, Rhet. 2. 9, 12.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  B. Νέμεσις, ἡ, as prop. n., voc, Νέμεσι Pors. Phoen. 187:—Nemesis, the impersonation of divize wrath, hence in Hes. Op. 198, joined with Αἰδώς : acc. to Hes. Th. 223, she is daughter of Night: in Att. writers, esp. Trag., she appears as the goddess of Retribution, who brings down all immoderate good fortune, checks the presumption that attends it, (being thus directly opposed to ὕβρις), and is the punisher of extra- ordinary crimes, Pind. P. 10. 69, Aesch. Fr. 257; ἄκουε, Νέμεσι τοῦ θανόντος (like Ἐρινύς) Soph. El. 792, cf. 1467; cf. Mesomedes’ Hymn to Nemesis, in Anal. Br. 2. 292, and v. ᾿Αδραστεία. νεμεσσάω, νεμεσσητός, νέμεσσις, Ep. for νεμεσ-- (with single 0). νεμέτωρ, opos, ὃ, dispenser of rights, avenger, Zevs Aesch. Theb, 489. νέμησις, ἡ, (νέμω) a distribution, Tov χωρίου 1546. 76. 26 (olim νεμέ- get); οὐσίας Poll. 8. 135. ΤΙ. (νέμω 8. 1. 2) a spreading, Aretae. Cur. M. Ac. I. 9. VeLATHS, οὔ, ὃ, -ενεμέτωρ, Poll. 8. 136, Synes. 30 C; not νεμέτης, Lob. Paral. 447. νεμητός, 7, ov, to be distributed, C. 1. 1584. 36 (sensu dubio). νέμος, εος, τό, (νέμω B) a wooded pasture, a glade, Lat. nemus, ἐν νέμεϊ σκιερῷ 1]. 11. 480, cf. Soph. Aj. 413, Anth. P. 7. 55. νέμω ; fut. νεμῶ Soph. Aj. 513, (ἀπο--) Plat. Phileb. 65 B; later, veunow Longus 2. 23: aor. ἔνειμα, Ep. νεῦμα Il. 3.274: pf. νενέμηκα (δια-)} Xen. Cyr. 4.5.45:—Med. νέμομαι: fut. νεμοῦμαι Thuc. 4.64, Dem., Ion. νεμέομαι (dva—) Hdt. 1.173; later νεμήσομαι, Dion. H.8. 71, Plut., etc.: aor. ἐνει- μάμην Thuc.,etc.; later ἐνεμησάμην, Clearch.ap. Ath. 541 E, Hipp. (i7o-): —Pass., fut. νεμηθήσομαι Plut.Agis14: aor. ἐνεμήθην, Plat. Legg.849C, Dem. 956. 12 (vulg. νεμεθείσης): pf. νενέμημαι Plat., etc.; but this pf. is used in Med. sense, Dem. 1149. 23; cf. προσνέμω: so also aor. ἐνεμήθην, Ath. 677 E, Plut., etc—Hom. uses of the Act., only pres., impf. and aor. ; of the Med. pres. and impf.—Cf. ἀμφι--, ava, ἀπο-, δια-- émt—, κατα-, προ--, Mpoo—, συν--, ὑπο-νέμω. (From 4/NEM come also νέμτησις, νεμ-έτωρ, νομ-ῆ, νομ-εύς, νωμ-άω ; also vop-os (daw), νομ-ίζω, νόμ-ισμα; and véu-os, νομ-ός (pasture); prob. also νέμ-εσις ;—cf. Lat. Num-a, Num-itor, (lawgiver), num-erus (cf. dvavéw 11), numm-us, and nem-us ; Goth. nim-an (λαμβάνειν, αἴρειν) ; A.S. nim-an (O.Engl. nym, nim); etc.)

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  (in pass. sense) ὀργιοῦμαι Xen. An. 6. 1, 30, Lys. 145. 11, Isocr., etc. ; but ὀργισθήσομαι Lys. 163. 31, Dem. 1383. 10: aor. ὠργίσθην Lys. 164. 17, Plat., etc.: pf. ὥργισμαι Eur. Hipp. 1413, Ar. Vesp. 431, Plat. :—to grow angry, be wroth, Soph. O. T. 364, etc.; c. part., τίς γὰρ .. οὐκ ἂν ὀργίζοιτ᾽.. κλύων ; Ib. 339, etc.; τινι with a person or thing, Eur. Hel. 1646, Thuc. 4. 128, Plat. Apol. 23 C, al.; ὑπέρ τινος Thuc. 1. 143, Isocr. 201 B; ἐπί τινι Andoc. 5. 10, cf. Lys. 179. 31, etc.; ἐπί Tivos Dem. 574. 3; διά τι Xen. An. 1. 2, 26:—absol. in part., ἄνθρωπος ὀργι- ζόμενος in a passion, Antipho 137. 42; τὸ ὀργιζόμενον τῆς γνώμης their angry feelings, Thuc. 2.59. Cf. ὀργαίνω. ὀργίλος [7], 7, ov, (ὀργή 11) inclined to anger, passionate, irritable, Hipp. Epid. 1.955, Xen. Eq. 9, 7, Dem. 73. 27, cf. Arist. Eth. N. 4.5, 8; v. sub dpyos. Adv., ὀργίλως ἔχειν to be angry, Dem. 583.12; τινί with one, 14. 1121. fin.; ἐπί τινι Paus. 8. 25, 6. ὀργϊλότης, ητος, 4, trascibility, Arist. Eth. N. 2.7, 10, Plut. 2. 443 Ὁ. ὄργιον, τό, v. ὄργια, τά. ὀργιο-φάντης, ov, 6, one who shews or teaches orgies: a priest, one who initiates others into orgies, formed like ἱεροφάντης, Anth. P. g. 688, Orph. H. 5. 11. ὀργιστέον, verb. Adj. one must be angry, Dem. 555. 7, Arist. Eth. N. 2. 9, 7. ὀργιών, v. sub ὀργεών. ὄργυιᾶ or ὀργυιά, Ion. --ἴ, 7s, 77, (ὐρέγω, cf. dyuid):—properly the length of the outstretched arms (as represented in one of the Pomfret marbles at Oxford), about 6 feet or 1 fathom, ἔστηκε ξύλον .. , ὅσον τ᾽ ὄργυι᾽ Il. 23.327; ὅσον τ᾽ ὄργυιαν .. ἀπέκοψα Od. 9. 325, cf. Io. 167, Xen. Mem. 2. 3, 19. 2. the exact length, as a measure is given by Hdt. 2. 149, ἑξαπέδου τῆς ὀργυιῆΞ μετρεομένης καὶ τετραπήχεοϑ, and he adds that Ioo ὀργυιαί make one stadium, cf. 4. 41 and 86 ;—but Pliny translates it by «/za= Io feet. 3. a rod for measuring land, =9} σπιθαμαὶ βασιλικαΐ, Hero Math.—Poét. also opéyuta, q. v. (Acc. to Arcad. 98. 3, always dpywa, but in nom. pl. dpywat. It is ὄργυια in Hom.; but in Prose the sing. is also written ὀργυιά ; and so Ion. ὀργυιή in Arat.196, Nic. Th. 169. In comp. it becomes wpvy-, v. dex-wpvyos.) Opyutatos, a, ov, an ὄργυια long or large, κέρας Anth. P. 6. 114. ὀργυιόεις, εσσα, ev, poet. for foreg., Nic. Th. 216. ὀργυιόομαι, Pass. to have the arms extended, πέδαις .. ὠργυιωμένη bound with outstretched arms, Lyc. 1077; φώσσωνες wpy. outspread sails, Id. 26. ὄρδημα, τό, = τολύπη, Hesych. ὄρδικον, τό, Parian for χιτωνίσκος, Hesych. ὀρδῦὕλεύω, = μοχθέω, Hesych. 5. v. ὠρδυλευσάμην. ὀρεᾶνες or ὀρειᾶνες, οἱ, men, in the mystic language of the Pythia, Plut. 2. 4060 E, (Hesych. ὀρείονες ᾿ dvBpes) ; v. Lob. Aglaoph. p. 845. ὀρέγδην, Adv. eagerly, Schol. Il. 2. 543.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  fie fem. is more rare, αὕτη Eur. Med. 922 ; αὕτη σύ Ar. Thesm. 610. This phrase mostly implies anger, impatience, or scorn :—so, οὗτος ἀνήρ for ἐγώ, Od. 2. 40; οὑτοσὶ ἀνήρ, for ov, Plat. Gorg. 489 B, cf. 467 B. II. simply as anteced. to ὅς, Soph. O. T. 1180, etc. ; often also in apodosi, & γ᾽ ἔλαβες, . . μεθεῖναι ταῦτα Id. Ph. 1247, cf. 1319, Ant. 182, 203, Plat. Gorg. 469 C. 111. -- τοιοῦτος, οὗτος ἐγὼ ταχύτατι ! Pind. Ο. 4. 38. IV. after ἃ parenthesis, the Subject, though already named, is often emphat. repeated by οὗτος, οὐδὲ γὰρ οὐδὲ ᾿Αριστέης .., οὐδὲ οὗτος προσωτέρω... ἔφησε ἀπικέσθαι Hdt. 4. 16, cf. 81., 1. 146, Plat. Phaedo 107 D, etc. V. καὶ οὗτος is also added to heighten the force of a previous word, ξυνεστῶτες... ναυτικῷ ἀγῶνι, καὶ τούτῳ πρὸς ᾿Αθηναίους Thuc. 4. 55, cf. Hdt. τ. 147., 6. 11, etc.; v. infr. IX. 2. VI. repeated, where for the second we should merely say he or it, τοῖσιν τούτου τοῦτον μέλεσιν... κελαδοῦντες Ar. Ran. 1526, cf. Plat. Lach. 200 D. VII. omitted, 1. before a relat., εὐδαίμονες οἷσι κακῶν ἄγευστος αἰών (as Horat., felices .., guos irrupta tenet copula), Soph. Ant. 582, cf. Od. 24. 286, Xen. An. 3. 2, 29, etc. 2. in the phrases σημεῖον δέ, τεκμήριον δέ, etc. ; ν. σημεῖον IT. I, τεκμήριον I. 2. VIII. ταῦτα is used in some special phrases, 1. ταῦτ᾽, ὦ δέσποτα, yes Sir, (i. 6. ταῦτά ἐστι, ταῦτα δράσω, etc.), Ar. Pax 275, cf. Eq. 111; so ταῦτα δή Id. Ach. 815, ubi v. Elmsl.; ταῦτά νυν Id. Vesp. 1008; so also, ἦν ταῦτα even so, true, Lat. ita, Valck. Phoen. 420 (417). 2. ταῦτα μὲν δὴ ὑπάρξει so it shall be, Heind. Plat. Phaedo 78 A. 8. καὶ ταῦτα μὲν δὴ ταῦτα, Lat. haec hactenus, often in Att., as Plat. Symp. 220 C. IX. Adverbial usages : 1. διὰ ταῦτα therefore, often in Att., etc.: also πρὸς ταῦτα, so then, therefore, properly used in indignant defiance, Aesch. Pr. 992, 1043, Soph. Aj.g7I, 1115, 1313, O. T. 426, O. ΟΣ 455, etc.; v. Cobet Ν. LL. p. 270:—so too ταῦτα absol., therefore, 1]. 11. 694; ταῦτ᾽ dpa Ar. Ach. go, Nub. 319, 335, 394, Plat., etc., cf. Schneid. Xen. Symp. 4,55; ταῦτα δή Aesch. Pers. 159, Plat. Symp. 174A; ταῦτ᾽ οὖν Soph. Tr. 550, Ar. Vesp. 1358, etc. :---τοῦτο is rare in this sense, τοῦτ᾽ ἀφικόμην. ὅπως... εὖ πράξαιμί τι Soph. Ο. T. 1005; αὐτὸ τοῦτο, αὐτὰ ταῦτα for this very reason, Plat. Symp. 204A, Prot. 310 E, etc. 2. καὶ ταῦτα, adding a circumstance heightening the force of what has been said, and that, Lat. et hoc, ἀνδρὰ γενναῖον θανεῖν, kal ταῦτα πρὸς γυναι- κός Aesch. Eum. 627; but mostly with a partic., és ¥ ἐξέλυσας ἄστυ... καὶ ταῦθ᾽ ὑφ᾽ ἡμῶν οὐδὲν ἐξειδὼς πλέον Soph. Ο. T. 37, cf. Ar. Ran. 704, Plat. Phaedr. 241 E, εἴς. ; or witha partic. omitted, ἥτις... τὴν τεκοῦσαν ὕβρισας, καὶ ταῦτα τηλικοῦτος (sc. οὖσα) Soph. ΕἸ. 613; so, καὶ ταῦτα μέντοι Plat. Eryx. 400 B :—rarely put after the word it strengthens, ἐπεχείρησας, οὐδὲν ὧν καὶ ταῦτα 14. Rep. 341 C, cf. Diod. Com. Incert. To ssiVai SUPT Vi 8. τοῦτο wév .., τοῦτο δέ... on the one hand.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  περιάγνῦμι and —bw(Chion. Epist.13): fut.-déw. ΤῸ bend and break all round, τὸν βραχίονα Chion.1.c.; π. ναῦς κρημνοῖς to wreck the ships upon them, App. Civ. 2. 150; so, in Pass., ὅσσους .. μέλαν περιάγνυται ὕδωρ Ap. Rh. 2. 791. 2. in Hom. only once, of sound, dy περιάγ- vutat the voice ἐς broken all round, i.e. spreads all round, 1]. τό. 78; περὶ δέ σφισιν ἄγνυτο Ἤχώ echo broke forth around them, Hes. Sc. 279. 8. κόλπου περιαγνυμένου, Lat. recurvus, Anon. ap. Suid. περιἄγόραιος, 6, a haunter of the market-place, Hesych., Phot.; also περιαγορευτής, Hesych. περιάγχω, to strangle, throttle, Suid. περιάγω, fut. fw, to lead or draw round, Hat. 1. 30., 2. 179, al.3 7. τινὰς ἐν ἁμάξῃσι Id. 4.73; also ο. acc. loci, περιάγουσι τὴν λίμνην κύκλῳ Ib. 180:—Med. to lead round with one, ἐλέφαντα Epinic. Ὕποβ. 1. 4:—Pass. to go round, revolve, οἷον τροχοῦ περιαγομένου Plat. Tim. 79 B. 2. to lead about with one, have always by one, Xen. Cyr. 2. 2, 28, cf. 1.3, 3; but more commonly in Med., περιάγεσθαι πολλοὺς ἀκολούθους Id. Mem. 1. 7, 2, etc.: esp. to lead round and. round, to perplex, τὼ θεώ με περιάγουσιν, ὥστε.. Andoc. 15. 16, cf. Luc. Nigr. 8. 8. to turn round, turn about, τὴν κεφαλήν, τὸν τράχηλον, τὸν αὐχένα Ar. Pax 682, Av. 176, Plat. Rep. 515 C; τινὰ πρὸς τἀριστερά Eur. Cycl. 686; cf. μύλη :---π. τὴν σκυταλίδα to twist it round in order to tighten a noose, Hdt. 4. 60; περιάγειν τὼ χεῖρε εἰς τοὔπισθεν to twist back the hands, to tie them behind the back, Lys. 94. 10; or simply 7. τὼ χεῖρε Dion. H. 6.82; so in Pass., περιαχθεὶς τὼ χεῖρε Philostr. 714. 4. to pass round, τὸ ποτήριον Ath. 420 A, etc., cf. Bergler Alciphro 1. 22. 5. to put off, és ὥραν τινά Luc. Merc. Cond. 31. 6. to bring round to .., τὴν πολιτείαν πρὸς τὴν ἑτέραν πολιτείαν Arist. Pol. 2.6, 4; τὴν ἀρχὴν eis αὑτόν Hdn. 4. 3, 2 —Pass., π. εἰς ὁμόνοιαν Id, 3. 15; εἰς τόδε, εἰς ἀνάγκην Luc. Nigr. 5, etc, ΤΙ, intr. to come round, πάλιν κύκλῳ π. εἰς τὴν ἀρχήν Arist. Meteor. 2. 2, 21. 2. c. acc. loci, to go round, π. τὴν ἐσχατιάν Dem. 1040. 14; π. τὰς πόλεις Ἐν. Matth. 9. 35, cf. 4. 23, etc. περιᾶγωγεύς, 6, α machine for turning round, capstan, Luc. Navig. 5 περιᾶγωγή, ἡ, a turning round, revolution, ὄνου Hipp: Fract. 773; ἐπι- δέσιος Id. Art. 827; τοῦ οὐρανοῦ Arist. Mund. 6,17; the whirling of a sling, Polyb. 27.9, 6 :—metaph. distraction caused by anything, Plut. 2 588 Ὁ. ΤΙ, a going round, a revolution, conversion, στρέφεσθαι δίττας καὶ ἐναντίας π. Plat. Polit. 269 E, cf. Rep. 518 D; τῆς ὀρχη- στικῆς περιαγωγαΐ Luc. Salt. 71; π. τῆς σελήνης, τῶν ἀστέρων Plut. 2. 973 C, etc. 2. a circuit, καμπὴ καὶ π. Plut. 2. 818 F, cf. 407 3. a being drawn away, ἀπό τινος Clem, Al. 631. 4.a

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  ποινή, 7, (Vv. fin.) properly guit-money for blood spilt, the fine paid by the slayer to the kinsman of the slain, as a ransom from all consequences, (old Engl. were-gild); c. gen. pers., δῶχ᾽ υἷος ποινήν gave ransom or were-gild for him, ll. 5.266; ἵνα μή τι κασιγνήτοιό γε 7. δηρὸν ἄτιτος ἔῃ 14. 483 ; ποινὴ δ᾽ οὔτις παιδὸς ἔγίγνετο τεθνηῶτος 13. 659, cf. 9. 633; ἐνείκεον εἵνεκα ποινῆς ἀνδρὸς ἀποφθιμένου 18. 498 :—generally, a price paid, satisfaction, retribution, requital, penalty, Lat. poena, Κύκλωψ ἀπετίσατο ποινὴν ἰφθίμων ἑτάρων Od. 23. 312 ; δυώδεκα λέξατο κούρους, ποινὴν Πατρόκλοιο Il. 21. 28 ; πολέων δ᾽ ἀπετίνυτο ποινήν 16. 398, Hes. Op. 747, 7533 τῶν ποινήν in return for these things, Il. 17. 207 :—so also, ἀνελέσθαι ποινὴν τῆς Αἰσώπου ψυχῆς to take vengeance for Aesopus’ life, Hdt. 2.134; ποινὴν τῖσαι Ξέρξῃ τῶν κηρύκων ἀπολομένων to give Xerxes satisfaction for the death of his heralds, Id. 7. 134. cf. Aesch. Eum. 543, Soph. El. 564, Antipho 120. 25; ποινῆς εἵνεκα by way ‘of penalty, C. I. 3797 d ;—but in Att. the pl. is more common, Aesch. Pr. 268, Eum. 464, εἴς. ; ποινὰς τίνειν, τῖσαι, δοῦναι to pay penalties, Pind. O. 2. 106, Aesch. Pr. 112, Eur. I. T. 446, Xen. Cyr. 6. 1, 11; λαμβάνειν to exact them, Eur. Tro. 360: cf. dova.—Rare in Prose, δίκη being the usual word, 2. in good sense, recompense, reward for a thing, Twos Pind. P. 1.113, N. 1. 108; εὐχὰς ἀγαθὰς ἀγαθῶν ποινάς Aesch. Supp. 626; ποινὴν εὐσεβίης C. I. 6281. 8. as the result of the quit-money, redemption, release, Pind. P. 4. 112. 11. personified, the goddess of vengeance, a Being of the same class with Δίκη and Ἐρινύς, μᾶτερ, & pe ἔτικτες .. ἀλαοῖσι καὶ δεδορκόσι ποινάν Aesch. Eum. 323, cf. Eur. I. T. 199, Aeschin. 27. 7; in pl., Polyb. 24. 8, 2, etc. (Cf. ἄ-ποινα, Lat. poena, poenitet, punio :—Pott refers it to the Skt. 4/ ῥῶ ( purum facere), whence pii-tare (to clean out, Varro and Cato), am-pu-tare (to clear of superfluous growth, to prune) ; pi-rus; v. Curt. no. 373.) ποινηλᾶσία, 7, the exaction of a penalty, Phot. ποινηλἄτέω, 70 pursue like an avenging fury, Sext. Emp. M. 11. 117:— Pass. to be so pursued, Id. P. 1. 27., 3. 237. ποινηλάτηξ, ov, 6, an avenger, Theod. Prodr. :---ποινήλατις τύχη Id. ποιν-ἡλᾶτος, ον, (ἐλαύνων pursued by the furies, Anon. ap. Suid. Dis inflicted by them, μανία Simplic. in Epict. ποίνημα, τό, (ποινάω) a penalty, Hesych. (Cod. ποινώματα). ποινήτειρα, 77, fem. of sq., Tzetz. post-Hom. 35. ποινητήρ, ἦρος, 6, (ποινάω) an avenger, Opp. H. 2. 421. ποινῆτις, dos, 7, avenging, Anth. P. 7. 745- ποινήτωρ, ορος, ὃ, --ποινάτωρ, Nonn. D. 29. 355, 663, etc. ποίνιμος, ov, (ποινή) avenging, punishing, Δίκη, Ἐρινύς Soph. Tr. 808, Aj. 483; 7. πάθεα Id. El. 210. 2. in good sense, bringing return or recompense, χάρις Pind. P. 2. 32. ποινο-ποιός, dv, taking vengeance, at ποινοποιοί the avenging goddesses, Pseudo-Luc. Philopatr. 23.

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  Chuck, once a maverick for positive change, devolved into an egomaniac, wreaking havoc on his members’ lives through unyielding commands often issued from his selfish whims. These dogmatic orders would have detrimental effects on Synanonites. Ultimately, the community would return full circle, residents succumbing to the abuse of alcohol and drugs that earlier members had once fought so doggedly to overcome. Synanon fell to its demise in 1991. However, the approach of attack therapy such as The Game” and other abusive techniques established to control and straighten out the youth of Synanon are still in use in many troubled-teen programs that exist today. Some of these programs, such as Straight Inc. and The Seed, have been shut down by legal order after being subjected to lawsuits over various charges of mental, physical and emotional abuse. Although some scholarly studies have shown aggressive-style encounter groups to have an adverse psychological effect on participants, these tough-love teen programs continue to thrive and flourish. Maia Szalavitz speaks to this very issue in her book Help at any Cost: How the Troubled-Teen Industry Cons Parents and Hurts Kids (2006). She explores much of the background and history of the troubled-teen big-business phenomenon in America, discussing techniques used in some of these programs that stem directly from Synanon. When the Synanon school began, the best and brightest teachers of the commune worked with the children; the intention was to inspire our capacity for innovative and philosophical thinking. Parents were regularly involved, and the school was often likened to Israel’s kibbutzim (agricultural collectivist communities with socialistic economies). In a kibbutz, as in Synanon, children lived in separate houses and parents visited their children several hours each day. However, by the 1970s, kibbutzim were moving away from this model, and family members once again lived with one another. In Synanon, the opposite was true as the community became more antagonistic toward the traditional family structure. Parents were expected to support this devolution in Synanon philosophy. They were ordered to spend less time at the school. Chuck and other VIPs who parroted his distorted opinions lectured parents about their involvement with their children, shaming moms in particular by calling them “soul-sucking” and detrimental to children’s health. Parents were “gamed,” i.e., screamed at by their peers, for such indiscretions as “poisoning” their children by taking too much interest in their welfare. Mothers deemed too maternal were called “head suckers.” By the time I arrived in February 1977, Synanon was at its most violent stage as a result of Chuck’s growing paranoia of anything or anyone that wasn’t part of Synanon. The fact that he had walled himself off in his self-created society, immune from any criticism from “his people,” led him to become ever more delusional and Orwellian in his thoughts and ideas for what a Synanon lifestyle should be. The school had devolved into an orphanage of sorts. Parents by then were encouraged to stay away and give up their children completely to the community.

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  There were more seminars about the greatness of the commune and all that it had to offer. “The outside world is depraved with its miserable values and shortsighted ways,” demonstrators lectured. “You are lucky to get such a valuable education.” In one seminar a male demonstrator kicked things off by asking, “Who wants to leave Synanon?” Those of us who raised our hands were weeded out and sent to sit on the other side of the room. For the next two hours we were calmly lectured on the merits of Synanon and Charles Dederich’s vision, a warm smile injected here and there. After this longwinded psychological inoculation, we were again asked who wanted to leave. My hand was the only one that went up. I didn’t know whether my peers gave up their ground simply to end the talky lecture, were too scared to show their opinions publicly again or had been inspired by the chatty informality of the speech, but I knew without a doubt that I wanted out. Would they let me go if I became insistent enough? The demonstrator’s smooth, persuasive voice became harsh and probing, but I waited it out. When my turn came to talk, I simply stated that Synanon was not for everyone and that it was never my choice to come in the first place. This time the other children and even some of the other earlier dissenters joined in the attacks. I remained stubbornly unconvinced and reiterated that I wanted to leave. The meeting ended late that night. I had not given in, a loss for the school. I became more rebellious. Weeks after the propaganda seminar I got up without permission from a dinner that had suddenly turned into a silent meal, the environment menacing and demonstrators hawkishly watching us, a punishment that far exceeded the small infraction of several kids talking too loud outside the dining hall before meal time. Tired of it all, I simply walked out, ignoring one of the demonstrators who yelled after me, “Where are you going?” I walked back to my dorm and into my room, where I grabbed a novel and lay back on my bed to read. I stubbornly refused the command of one of the children sent to retrieve me. A demonstrator came to my room, treading carefully. It was a curious matter that I wasn’t intimidated. “Why did you leave the meal?” she asked. “Because I’ve done nothing wrong, but I’m being punished anyway. I’m not going to sit in fear while I eat.” The demonstrator did not reply right away. I watched her thinking over what I’d said. My lack of fear and refusal to be the victim in their bullying behavior had interrupted the usual script. “Some of you kids were screaming and being disruptive outside of the dining hall,” she said. “Yes,” I replied, “but I wasn’t one of them. Most of us were being quiet.

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  I had waited a week for my favorite show and now faced the chance of not getting to see it because of dumb Kojak . “Well, we’re watching this,” Ben said, his attention focused on the TV. Who put him in charge? I marched up to the TV and changed the channel. Ben jumped to his feet and ripped my fingers from the dial. “Hey! We were looking at that!” he screamed in my ear. “This is not the show we’re supposed to watch!” I screamed, my retort earning me a solid push. It was all I needed to completely lose my temper. I sprang on Ben and grabbed a handful of his cheek, yanking as hard as I could. I did not see his fist, but in the next instant it had connected with my nose. I don’t remember the pain, only the surprise and fear from the blood that spurted out. “Put your head back,” Ben instructed. The fight was clearly over as the other two boys, Mike and Eric, jumped to their feet to get a glimpse. Too hysterical to follow any instruction, I wailed. “Put your head back,” Ben yelled as I watched blood drip from my nose onto my shirt. Reaching out to grab my shoulder, he steadied me and gently lifted my chin. “Keep it back like that,” Mike advised, hovering over me next to Ben. “It’ll stop the bleeding.” “I’ll get some toilet paper,” Eric said. A minute later he was back with a small wad, which I placed over my face, pressing it against my nose. I slowly brought my head to neutral while the boys watched. The bleeding had stopped. Mike grinned. “Did you see the way she jumped you?” Ben laughed, then we were all laughing and reliving the fight. “You’re strong for a girl,” Ben said. “You should come box with us.” He slapped me on the back, and Mike did as well. My pajama top was spattered with blood. I went to my room to change it, and when I came back, more kids had come into the living room to watch TV. Little House was on, and Ben gave me a quick grin as I settled in with the group. A few days later I joined some of the boys in their dorm for boxing lessons from our physical education teacher, Buddy. While we waited for him, we arm wrestled one another, and I beat most of my opponents. Buddy arrived, carrying two sets of boxing gloves. He had us form a ring around the fighters. We were already warm and a little sweaty from arm wrestling, and the small room soon filled with our musky body odors. The fighters went at it while the rest of us yelled and cheered. The fight lasted only a few minutes, but I was wildly excited. When Buddy asked who wanted to fight the winner, my arm shot up.

• From Synanon Kid: Book One: A Memoir of Growing Up in the Synanon Cult

  They have graphic adult content.” As I watched her walk away with a stack of my books in her arms, a white-hot anger seared through me. Who does she think she is? I thought. She’s not raising me. She’s hardly even a mother. Also annoying about her was the fact that she seemed gullible at times, that she was attracted to oddball people in the commune and that she loved Sophie, whom I simply couldn’t stand. Sophie always lit up when she saw Theresa and treated her very much as a mother figure. Many years later I learned that Sophie had no parent in Synanon. She had been left as an orphan, but because most of us had so little contact with our moms and dads, Sophie’s situation had not been apparent to me. Even if it had, it’s doubtful I would have been empathetic to her plight at the time. Theresa’s marriage to Ray also put a damper on our visits. Sleepovers were eliminated because as a couple they had a room to themselves. This meant that we had little privacy in which to talk about our feelings as mother and daughter or merely to connect, without Gwyn or some other community member taking up Theresa’s personal time and attention. When I considered my future, it seemed hazy. I knew that one day soon I would be an adult, as the teen years were short in Synanon. I’d try to picture myself as a woman in the community, working somewhere; but doing what, I couldn’t imagine. How hard would it be for me to leave once I had the choice? Would I be able to survive on my own? These thoughts sometimes kept me from sleeping at night. I desperately wanted Theresa to take a stand for us, to tell Synanon goodbye. I’d imagine us moving back to Los Angeles, starting over. When I thought of my mom and me surviving as a team, I felt sure we could make it. Her marriage never crossed my mind during my fantasies. The fact that she had a husband evoked no consideration, wasn’t even an afterthought. Marriage meant little to me, just as Chuck had said years earlier in an interview in the San Raphael Journal, in which he’d suggested that divorce and remarriage was equivalent to “little more than changing one’s clothes.” My own parents had never married, and Ray was Theresa’s fourth husband. My mother’s first marriage was to a man named Rodney. Their union had been brief, and Rodney was thrown out of the commune before I arrived. I don’t think I quite grasped the fact that Theresa loved her current husband, Ray, or that he had much importance in her life as I had initially worried might be the case after the sordid demonstration with his daughter, Sara. I might have thought she would just acquire another husband once we were settled on the outside.