Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

Love more; love never harms! Let it be known; I have Dyslexia, a brain tumor that can't be removed and a decompressed Arnold Chiari. Just saying! Don't Judge...

Earth

Joined September 2025

153 Following

41 Followers

953 Posts

Pinned Tweet

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

5 days ago

https://t.co/tVkzzom66z

238

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

3 days ago

@NJJoePesci I had the best compliment yesterday. My A/C technician told me that "I remined him of a Joe Pesci type"! I had just told him my landlord had been lying about me and this A/C issue. I was like "you can say I'm a bitch all you want, I have no problem being a bitch from time to time but don't lie about me and then ask me too also accept it as true"! He might have just meant your character in "My Cousin Vinny" though or the many other characters played with the "who gives a f" attitude"! Loved it! Here's to you!

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

5 days ago

I am a double-edged sword. I cut both ways. I come not to bring your mind peace but to cause a stirring in you. Both seriously lacking! Shit on me! I care not! I am good with my task, my calling! We are all called for a different purpose! Most you all think, all-purpose should be beautiful! Life is not always beautiful! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up! Wake up! The dun hill, John's purpose! You shit on him to. No, because he is in your Bibles. Shit on Job! No because he is in your Bibles. Shit on the strangers. Yes! Could be angles walking amongst you. Also, in your Bibles. Some are called for clean and or unclean things. Stop taring people's callings down! It only makes you look like crap. To your G-d! Not us crazies! We "just be kicking it", doing our thing, and you don't have to take part in it. But you do! Always trying to make people feel weird about themselves. It's your shame, not ours, mine. I care not, other than you are harming the most unseen. The prophet, a poet only comes out when timing is right. Again, in your Bibles. Do a word search in your concordance! Also, the prophet, homeless from town to town. Waiting for the one that is called to take them in, that have oil and flour! Your Jesus also very much homeless, told he was a piece of crap and killed for it! Just saying! Homeless from town to town. Are we still not reading the Bible. Crying shame. We judge everyone not like us, to hell! Where this unseen G-d does not!

AuditHumanity's tweet photo. I am a double-edged sword. I cut both ways.

I come not to bring your mind peace but to cause a stirring in you.

Both seriously lacking! Shit on me! I care not! I am good with my task, my calling!

We are all called for a different purpose! Most you all think, all-purpose should be beautiful!

Life is not always beautiful! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up! Wake up!

The dun hill, John's purpose! You shit on him to. No, because he is in your Bibles.

Shit on Job! No because he is in your Bibles.
Shit on the strangers. Yes!

Could be angles walking amongst you. Also, in your Bibles.

Some are called for clean and or unclean things. Stop taring people's callings down! It only makes you look like crap. To your G-d!

Not us crazies! We "just be kicking it", doing our thing, and you don't have to take part in it.

But you do! Always trying to make people feel weird about themselves. It's your shame, not ours, mine.

I care not, other than you are harming the most unseen.

The prophet, a poet only comes out when timing is right. Again, in your Bibles. Do a word search in your concordance!

Also, the prophet, homeless from town to town. Waiting for the one that is called to take them in, that have oil and flour!

Your Jesus also very much homeless, told he was a piece of crap and killed for it! Just saying!

Homeless from town to town. Are we still not reading the Bible. Crying shame. We judge everyone not like us, to hell! Where this unseen G-d does not!

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

5 days ago

https://t.co/L1VPtHOtKY

137

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

5 days ago

The power of touch: On the streets, I find the power of touch to be of most importance. Sometimes it is all that is left that makes one feel human. The only form of acknowledgment accepted as a gesture of acceptance. In the real world it is cruel and unusual to raise a child without a sense of touch. Babies have been taken from parents that don't have the ability to pass this on to their child. Why, because we know that without this sense a child feels abandoned, alone, never knowing who can be trusted or what to trust. This is how big the sense of touch truly is. For children and adults alike. So, for the child of America: it is not acceptable to raise a child in such a way that they do not have any feeling of this certain sense of touch. On the other hand, it is perfectly acceptable to refuse to give this sense of touch to those without homes. Undeserving of so many things all the way down to our touch. The last piece of humanity (human touch) and we pull it freely. So, when anyone gives this freely, they become a surrogate to the larger view of society, the hope it holds and the pain it will cause. Then choices are made (to accept this last piece of hope or kick it to the curb). Those that are housed. Unless on the fringes of some other portion of societies. Fortunately, will never know this feeling of hopelessness. We become a lifeline. A line that may not be given again by the real world. Therefore, we hold on tight and don't want to let go. Living in the moment, day to day, and day in and out. Things become finite and viewed in the closest of extremes. I call it (looking too closely). This is where one can't not see the bigger picture anymore because they are zoomed in on this moment, this time. I myself seem to do this often. It is so easy to find yourself here as a person without a home. You are constantly being told what you are not and why these things have brought you here. Why these things make you un-loveable, shunned, and just downright unsuited for the rest of society. Untouchable! Forgettable... Ever orgs that are there to help you, do this very thing, and it makes all the more painful. Yesterday I sat and spoke with a man I have spoken with many times. Most of the time I cannot understand what he is saying. He mumbles in a low soft mutter. He lives on what I call the four corners in Tempe. These are the four corners of Rural and Southern. Of which I write of a lot. He talked to me for almost an hour. Words never a part of his conversation. He gestures. Leans in and smiles. I lean in and smile back. I touch his arm and he smiles. See he has been telling me that he feels electric when I touch him. (he thinks he loves me)! As he is talking, every ten word can be understood. And I can follow this because I care more about what is not said then what is ever said. And he knows this. All because I took the time to touch him. Because touch is not just about creating a sense of feeling but creating an emotional bound. When we touch. We look into eyes, we gesture, we chance our face and what it says without words. We learn! What is and what is not. He knows there is no chance at me, for being more than just a friend. This however does not stop him from trying to create this bound of trust. He knows because of this sense I will never stop giving him this. It gives him a sense of being a man, human. How can I take this from him? If it is the only dignity that holds to... So, he smells like alcohol, always un-showered, and alike. He is the very definition of homelessness. Which gives me all the more reason to give the only thing I can, touch. My hope is that one day we will just love. That we would stop looking so closely and step back. See what is missing. From my view that which is missing is (I am because we are). That we would stop searching for something. And become nothingness so that we can live to the fullest with one another. Love more, love never harms... PS this man died after winning a $20,000 lotto. He was dealer that protected me when he was around (while I was homeless), just by sitting next to him (all men scatted away from me, and if they even looked at my way (he would give them the what for). He was also an addict. He won the lotto, got a car, some H and od'ed.

AuditHumanity's tweet photo. The power of touch:

On the streets, I find the power of touch to be of most importance. Sometimes it is all that is left that makes one feel human. The only form of acknowledgment accepted as a gesture of acceptance.

In the real world it is cruel and unusual to raise a child without a sense of touch. Babies have been taken from parents that don't have the ability to pass this on to their child. Why, because we know that without this sense a child feels abandoned, alone, never knowing who can be trusted or what to trust. This is how big the sense of touch truly is. For children and adults alike.

So, for the child of America: it is not acceptable to raise a child in such a way that they do not have any feeling of this certain sense of touch. On the other hand, it is perfectly acceptable to refuse to give this sense of touch to those without homes. Undeserving of so many things all the way down to our touch. The last piece of humanity (human touch) and we pull it freely.

So, when anyone gives this freely, they become a surrogate to the larger view of society, the hope it holds and the pain it will cause. Then choices are made (to accept this last piece of hope or kick it to the curb).

Those that are housed. Unless on the fringes of some other portion of societies. Fortunately, will never know this feeling of hopelessness.

We become a lifeline. A line that may not be given again by the real world. Therefore, we hold on tight and don't want to let go. Living in the moment, day to day, and day in and out. Things become finite and viewed in the closest of extremes. I call it (looking too closely). This is where one can't not see the bigger picture anymore because they are zoomed in on this moment, this time. I myself seem to do this often.

It is so easy to find yourself here as a person without a home. You are constantly being told what you are not and why these things have brought you here. Why these things make you un-loveable, shunned, and just downright unsuited for the rest of society.

Untouchable! Forgettable... Ever orgs that are there to help you, do this very thing, and it makes all the more painful.

Yesterday I sat and spoke with a man I have spoken with many times. Most of the time I cannot understand what he is saying. He mumbles in a low soft mutter. He lives on what I call the four corners in Tempe. These are the four corners of Rural and Southern. Of which I write of a lot.

He talked to me for almost an hour. Words never a part of his conversation. He gestures. Leans in and smiles. I lean in and smile back. I touch his arm and he smiles. See he has been telling me that he feels electric when I touch him. (he thinks he loves me)! As he is talking, every ten word can be understood. And I can follow this because I care more about what is not said then what is ever said. And he knows this. All because I took the time to touch him. Because touch is not just about creating a sense of feeling but creating an emotional bound.

When we touch. We look into eyes, we gesture, we chance our face and what it says without words. We learn! What is and what is not.

He knows there is no chance at me, for being more than just a friend. This however does not stop him from trying to create this bound of trust. He knows because of this sense I will never stop giving him this. It gives him a sense of being a man, human. How can I take this from him? If it is the only dignity that holds to...

So, he smells like alcohol, always un-showered, and alike. He is the very definition of homelessness. Which gives me all the more reason to give the only thing I can, touch.

My hope is that one day we will just love. That we would stop looking so closely and step back. See what is missing. From my view that which is missing is (I am because we are). That we would stop searching for something. And become nothingness so that we can live to the fullest with one another.

Love more, love never harms...

PS this man died after winning a $20,000 lotto. He was dealer that protected me when he was around (while I was homeless), just by sitting next to him (all men scatted away from me, and if they even looked at my way (he would give them the what for).
He was also an addict. He won the lotto, got a car, some H and od'ed.

111

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

5 days ago

Just a thought: It seems to me, we, like the cicada Are bound to a sweeping seasonal awakening Though short lived, in masses, we bloom Each to its own timeline They have worked out between each group Whose time it will be and when Like clockwork, clawing their way Up from the depths of comforts and seclusion Overcoming all in their way Swarming, devouring, and copulating Paying no mind, the long-standing life Around them All in the hopes that next season Will bloom bigger/stronger than the last Then harbor deep, their truth Hidden away, for none to see Almost forgotten about by all Even their own, forgetting their true purpose Other groups think this one went extinct long ago... they know nothing of each other, anymore But the universe has a plan This one group will rise and Next season another It works! Nature plays them and they are none the wiser We like the cicada Slumber in hordes Until we can take the darkness no longer From afar, we will be heard As we raise from within Our day has come There is no choice in our path Predestine this place... this time... There is no choice as to how we will proceed We will, as in the past, overlook our forerunners Ignoring their cast We will swarm, devour and copulate We know, of nothing else, and so "we are" The universe will carry on Waiting for our time We will carry on Waiting for our time None the wiser, that there is no other time, than time today. Carry on...

AuditHumanity's tweet photo. Just a thought:

It seems to me, we, like the cicada
Are bound to a sweeping seasonal awakening
Though short lived, in masses, we bloom

Each to its own timeline

They have worked out between each group
Whose time it will be and when
Like clockwork, clawing their way

Up from the depths of comforts and seclusion

Overcoming all in their way
Swarming, devouring, and copulating
Paying no mind, the long-standing life

Around them

All in the hopes that next season
Will bloom bigger/stronger than the last
Then harbor deep, their truth

Hidden away, for none to see

Almost forgotten about by all
Even their own, forgetting their true purpose
Other groups think this one went extinct long ago...

they know nothing of each other, anymore

But the universe has a plan
This one group will rise and
Next season another

It works! Nature plays them and they are none the wiser

We like the cicada
Slumber in hordes
Until we can take the darkness no longer

From afar, we will be heard
As we raise from within
Our day has come

There is no choice in our path

Predestine

this place... this time...

There is no choice as to how we will proceed
We will, as in the past, overlook our forerunners
Ignoring their cast

We will swarm, devour and copulate

We know, of nothing else, and so "we are"
The universe will carry on
Waiting for our time

We will carry on
Waiting for our time
None the wiser, that there is no other time, than time today.

Carry on...

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

5 days ago

A sinner, a saint and a scapegoat The sinner: He slides in next to me. On the bus. Hey, how you doing. Hmmm, as I pull my earbuds out. Stop chewing my (HubbaBubba) gum. Ok, as I turn to look at him. He is sitting to my left. Which means for me. I am not going to be able to give him my complete attention. As my neck does not turn to left. But I stay fixed on his conversation. He began to talk about buildings that we are passing and any business. He has had in them. The first building brings him to talk about a workman's comp case he had. This brings us to disability. Which of course leads me to talk about homelessness and disabilities. All the while. He is drunk. His hands keep reaching over to my arm. As he talks. He makes contact with physical gestures. As he keeps reaching over. I keep pulling to my right. Bringing my arm ever closer to my chest. He apologized. He then asked me to live with him. He asked me for a drink. He said, I could come with him. He would be safe. Wanted nothing more than to help. No, thank you though. Then off the bus and to his next bar. He went. Me: earbuds back in. Begin smacking on my hubbabubba. Then got my stuff. It sucked. Sucked the last bit of wantonness, willingness for life, right on out of me. The Saint: I am walking up to the bus stop on Thomas and 36th street. It is hotter than sh!t. I have my homeless backpack on (Grandmother's China housed in it). And a big blue IKEA bag. With weird shit. I own in it. Mostly art supplies. Have not even pulled up yet. A fella is talking to me. Out pop my earbuds. What? It's hot. He repeats. Sure is! I say... I am about to pop my music back in but somehow, we keep talking. Was weird. Like we knew each other. Like we are catching up on old times. We talk about homelessness. Vouchers. Things we are doing. With ourselves. Some dreams as well. It was a really cool talk. With a stranger. I felt like I would miss him. If I never did see him again. Can't explain why, though. He got off. I carried on toward to the train. I made my way over to McDowell. The scapegoat: He asks me for a smoke. Then he starts talking. The talking moves from a smoke, homelessness, the heat, sex, and then on the bus. To adoption, jail, and ssi (smi). He was adopted in the 80's. He just found out two years ago. He was from Russia. He has two birth certificates. The one from Russia. Says he is two years older than his American one. Wth! His mother is giving him one last chance. See he is not wanted. He has been a great disappointment to his family. But hey they will give him one more chance to be the son they were wanting. He is in recovery. Heroin is his thing. He has taken all the burdens. As a broken human. For his family. And yoked himself. Back to a family that feels. He owes them better. Then he is. As I am getting off the bus. At 47th ave. Dude looks straight at me. And says: get urself back to the east side. You don't belong here. So, somewhere between the sinner and the scapegoat. I found hope. Right in the center of it all. At the beginning of my journey, I posted (I am tired, done). And I was. I am tired of being the nice one. The one that writes and talks about love. And losing my mind to it all. Being held and holding myself to nothingness, love. Not knowing where to start. When I have no beginning point. It is like me trying to create memories without a house to house them in. It does not work. Not when your life is held at the will of homelessness. An ever-looming event. That won't stop its forward motion. Pushing deeper into fringes and out of sight So, to force a stop. I slammed myself into a brick wall. Hurt myself. Quit! A sinner, a saint and scapegoat. Reigned me back in. Why, I really can't say. It is not about me. I will be me. I am ok with that. I will get hurt. I will struggle. I will carry on. As I have always done. I am, because we are...

AuditHumanity's tweet photo. A sinner, a saint and a scapegoat

The sinner:

He slides in next to me. On the bus. Hey, how you doing. Hmmm, as I pull my earbuds out. Stop chewing my (HubbaBubba) gum. Ok, as I turn to look at him. He is sitting to my left.

Which means for me. I am not going to be able to give him my complete attention. As my neck does not turn to left. But I stay fixed on his conversation.

He began to talk about buildings that we are passing and any business. He has had in them.

The first building brings him to talk about a workman's comp case he had. This brings us to disability. Which of course leads me to talk about homelessness and disabilities.

All the while. He is drunk. His hands keep reaching over to my arm. As he talks. He makes contact with physical gestures. As he keeps reaching over. I keep pulling to my right. Bringing my arm ever closer to my chest.

He apologized. He then asked me to live with him. He asked me for a drink. He said, I could come with him. He would be safe. Wanted nothing more than to help.
No, thank you though. Then off the bus and to his next bar. He went.
Me: earbuds back in. Begin smacking on my hubbabubba. Then got my stuff. It sucked. Sucked the last bit of wantonness, willingness for life, right on out of me.

The Saint:

I am walking up to the bus stop on Thomas and 36th street. It is hotter than sh!t. I have my homeless backpack on (Grandmother's China housed in it). And a big blue IKEA bag. With weird shit. I own in it. Mostly art supplies.

Have not even pulled up yet. A fella is talking to me. Out pop my earbuds. What? It's hot. He repeats. Sure is! I say...

I am about to pop my music back in but somehow, we keep talking. Was weird. Like we knew each other. Like we are catching up on old times.

We talk about homelessness. Vouchers. Things we are doing. With ourselves. Some dreams as well. It was a really cool talk. With a stranger.

I felt like I would miss him. If I never did see him again. Can't explain why, though.

He got off. I carried on toward to the train. I made my way over to McDowell.

The scapegoat:

He asks me for a smoke. Then he starts talking. The talking moves from a smoke, homelessness, the heat, sex, and then on the bus. To adoption, jail, and ssi (smi).

He was adopted in the 80's. He just found out two years ago. He was from Russia. He has two birth certificates. The one from Russia. Says he is two years older than his American one. Wth!

His mother is giving him one last chance. See he is not wanted. He has been a great disappointment to his family. But hey they will give him one more chance to be the son they were wanting.

He is in recovery. Heroin is his thing. He has taken all the burdens. As a broken human. For his family. And yoked himself. Back to a family that feels. He owes them better. Then he is.

As I am getting off the bus. At 47th ave. Dude looks straight at me. And says: get urself back to the east side. You don't belong here.

So, somewhere between the sinner and the scapegoat. I found hope. Right in the center of it all.
At the beginning of my journey, I posted (I am tired, done). And I was.

I am tired of being the nice one. The one that writes and talks about love. And losing my mind to it all. Being held and holding myself to nothingness, love. Not knowing where to start. When I have no beginning point. It is like me trying to create memories without a house to house them in. It does not work. Not when your life is held at the will of homelessness. An ever-looming event. That won't stop its forward motion. Pushing deeper into fringes and out of sight
So, to force a stop. I slammed myself into a brick wall. Hurt myself. Quit!

A sinner, a saint and scapegoat. Reigned me back in. Why, I really can't say.

It is not about me. I will be me. I am ok with that.
I will get hurt. I will struggle. I will carry on. As I have always done.

I am, because we are...

270

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

6 days ago

@ronsterd89 I wouldn't...

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

6 days ago

@ronsterd89 birch beer

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

9 days ago

@shouq_al90149 Mind your own business!

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

9 days ago

Thank you for the information... I appreciate you! However, I am in a Housing Choice Voucher. The reason I am doing this GoFundMe is to live independently from the Fed Gov because the system is just so darn broken and rents just keep rising which will lead me straight back to homelessness. Also working with HUD landlords is a misery. I just need peace. I am too sick for all this! It's sucking the life out of me! If I can raise enough, let it sit while, while also saving some of my money, I can just walk away from my HCV and let it go to someone without SSDI, SSI that has been waiting for their number to come up for their voucher... if that makes sense. I am just above the poverty line therefor only qualify for this Voucher... No case management of even a food box! But I can walk three miles and get a bagged lunch, if available, I live in AZ so that is not an option! Sorry for TMI... I always over share but I find it necessary sometimes! Have a great day. Peace and light to you and urs!

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

12 days ago

Living with a brain tumor has made independence a distant dream. I need a small RV to create a safe home and regain control of my life. Your support can help me find stability and peace. Please consider donating or sharing my story. Every bit helps! https://t.co/6yd9jrjOWd

390

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

10 days ago

The Cluster F of living in a #HousingChoiceVoucher and why I have started a #GoFundMe to buy an RV. https://t.co/0QZ2Z2UxDL

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

10 days ago

@ronsterd89 smart!

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

10 days ago

What the AF... "Right after 9/11 on Sept 12, 2001, #BenjaminNetanyahu told the #NewYorkTimes: 'It's very good. Well, not very good, but it will generate immediate sympathy.' He added it would 'strengthen the bond between our two peoples, because we've experienced terror over so many decades, but the United States has now experienced a massive hemorrhaging of terror.' On Saturday, June 20, 2026, Israeli Iran analyst #BeniSabti posted on @X : 'Maybe #USA needs another #PearlHarbor or 9/11 to remember who is the enemy and who is the friend.' He quickly edited it to: 'Good luck for USA to handle Iran regime terrorists. I hope for USA administration to remember who is the enemy and who is the friend.' Sabti later said it was a bad translation from Persian and didn't come out right."

AuditHumanity's tweet photo. What the AF... "Right after 9/11 on Sept 12, 2001, #BenjaminNetanyahu told the #NewYorkTimes: 'It's very good. Well, not very good, but it will generate immediate sympathy.' He added it would 'strengthen the bond between our two peoples, because we've experienced terror over so many decades, but the United States has now experienced a massive hemorrhaging of terror.'

On Saturday, June 20, 2026, Israeli Iran analyst #BeniSabti posted on @X : 'Maybe #USA needs another #PearlHarbor or 9/11 to remember who is the enemy and who is the friend.'

He quickly edited it to: 'Good luck for USA to handle Iran regime terrorists. I hope for USA administration to remember who is the enemy and who is the friend.' Sabti later said it was a bad translation from Persian and didn't come out right."

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

10 days ago

@ronsterd89 in a relationship... the wife, anyone else will cause strife between husband and wife!

AuditHumanity retweeted

TaraBull

@TaraBull

10 days ago

Six major earthquakes hit in less than 24 hours. What is happening?

439

521

245

169K

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

10 days ago

@ronsterd89 this is no ordinary love - Sade

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

10 days ago

@MammanaFaye @ronsterd89 I love mustard just not in potato salad... HONEY! Put in on sandwiches all the time and is housed in my fridge at all times... just in case I get hotdogs, which I find it best on! HONEY!!!!!!! DON'T know you at the F all... therefor don't call me HONEY!

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

10 days ago

I want to let everyone one know that might be considering a small give. I am also saving $500 a month toward this goal. Again thank you for stopping by.

AuditHumanity's tweet photo. I want to let everyone one know that might be considering a small give. I am also saving $500 a month toward this goal. Again thank you for stopping by. https://t.co/gSueuSocoj

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

11 days ago

@ronsterd89 insanity! lol

Mollie Parsons

@AuditHumanity

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