#i'll shut up eventually but today i am a dog with a bone

[ssaalexblake]

honestly ppl being surprised that people outright and proudly proclaiming the a hiring of a female doctor is a disgrace Might Have An Agenda for widely spreading that her episodes are bad (from like. before they started even airing. let that be clear.) is like your parents watching fox news and them being shocked that the people running it stoking hatred towards certain groups might have An Agenda for doing so when you tell them about it.

This is like. Honestly funny up to a point. Gee Golly, the people open about their vicious hatred of women aren’t to be trusted as a quality guide or as a place of unbiased opinion on something to do with a woman??? I am Shocked. 

They poisoned the well. 

[madafact]

for the worms..

i have been to the other side, and it is muddy.

so a year is creeping up on us and what a year it has been. like crusty, iron stained sheets from conceiving with a virgin, a future lays somewhere in the mix. surely a few cumstains to paint the picture, and eventually a divorce, a new Instagram account, and a change of hair color... WHY NOT?

sorry...

ill get off my literary masturbation station and get to stepping with a catch up. today is may 4th, I am in my van In San Diego. here is how and why I got here..

losing Anthony only began the intertia of losing most of what I call people. friends, family, familiarity. its all gone into the cultural soup ripe with cyanide and other long sleep inducing ingredients.

terrie is barely hanging on. her 93rd birthday is on June 8th and that's when she is choosing to call the reaper. her party of all the years is coming, and you're not invited...don't worry, neither am I.

i asked Gregg to kick out the renters, to me its inappropriate that they live in the house of a dying old woman. but again, I was told to get the fuck out..lol. having strangers by your dying bedside is the stain on the bone china that just keeps giving.

gregg is a fucking wreck, an absolute lost aimless, swinging at air screaming at clouds, blaming his son kind of wreck. jaws of life have no purpose here, there will be no grateful set of lungs retrieved from this mess.

i cashed out my retirement to be able to survive, after spending nearly $7,000 on getting Anthony's things back from New York and the subsequent sheep dog guarding of his memory. but money is not the crucifix. love and support are the nails putting me up against this cross.

all I wanted ever was a place to call home. the feeling of not having to fight to feel welcome, a willing invitation is literally the call of the wolves, signaling a meal is slowing down its escape. I can't explain to you how promoting love in the halls of despair only causes the inhabitants to slam their doors shut, locking each subsequent lock with more force than the last. a small way to show you a massive fuck off, you're not welcome.

terrie used to have a house filled to the ceiling with shit. each room a pyre of UNOPENED letters, coupons to closed stores, and I'm willing to bet the skeleton of some poor creature who was mistaken thinking it was a shelter. Anthony and I literally tackled this monolyth over many years, slowly digging our personalities out from the weight of shame. why else would you bury your feelings, and physical body?

so long story short, I have a massive landing spot for trauma and anxiety and it comes in the form of cluttered areas, UNOPENED letters and trash. gregg chose to move all of his trash, failed correspondence and hopes and dreams right into that spot. essentially telling the child inside of me, YOU ARE NOT SAFE.

so sitting in my van in San Diego I find myself baffled. I lost my brother to careless menial people and now alcohol is targeting what ever is left. no invitations to Costa Rica, no notions of bar grand openings. I wonder what Anthony thinks of his "friend group" now?

i feel farther from Anthony when put next to these people. I feel like Anthony gave less than two fucks about me. now with all this familial self immolation its been proven. poor Anthony was just an object, even to his own father. an idea. a cause. not a person screaming out for love.

so, before I start my next verbal litter box, I'll tell you the end.

terries dying,

gregg has prostate cancer and drinks daily.

the house in oceanside is in jeopardy more than its ever been.

and I'm in my van by the side of the freeway in san Diego.

as Anthony drifts farther and farther into the ether...

love you

miss you

forever.