… ed il battimento va su…


January 12, 2014

It’s getting more difficult by the day to accept this as my newly updated, hardly welcome, and somehow – sucking worse than ever before “existence”.

I am surrounded by people who are decent, I guess…but I’m learning that a person can be decent while still being completely self-absorbed. I’m learning that it might turn out to be that there are two types of human beings that fall under the “Good Human Beings” category: those who are able to make it in this hideous place on their own in adulthood (usually due to the early coddling experienced in a wealthy and secure childhood), and then there are those like me: people who couldn’t make it out here alone if our lives depended it, which they do. I’m recognizing my own place here, and not liking it at all.

This brings me to the point of my entry: Defeat.

I am defeated; in just about every way possible, I have drifted to the bottom, and fallen asleep on the rocks there. What’s worse, is that I am recognizing how unimportant and irrelevant this fact is in my own opinion. I have finally become the frigid and unfeeling person that I have managed to escape for so long through introspection and staying “present”. I see now that I was very wrong in thinking that form of safety would last; I see how it has all unraveled while I wasn’t looking.

Complacency has never been a strong point for me; I have always had a prominent Rebel’s streak (i.e. the bumper sticker I sported on my shiny 1997 Ford Thunderbird all throughout high school that read BAD COP, NO DONUT) I have always struggled mightily with getting my head around the concept of “falling in line”; described at birth by my paternal great-grandfather as a “Hard-head”, I was always happy to march to a very extraordinary drummer…until the drummer finally beat it out of me. And it wasn’t just a one-time beating either; on the contrary, it was a beating that lasted half of a decade. I have learned with age and experience that I actually might not know everything, after all. I don’t know anything, as it turns out.

Sometimes, it’s hard for me to relate to my own memories as they stream through my fuzzy mind; for so many reasons that are impossible to relay through any human language that I speak…but I carry around so much shame and regret, unhealthy as I know it is; and despite my own awareness of its permanence in my heart. Choices I’ve made have directly struck like lightning at people I love, or have loved.

…and the beat goes on…

Sometimes I just wish the drummer – as extraordinary and excitingly rebellious as the beat may be – would just please shut the fuck up for once.


Oneness, stillness…likeness, I’m safe among my own;

no more waiting or starving or searching

no more missing what’s gone.

Core…hollowed out like the belly of a tree;

no longer able or stable or memorable

no more of YOU inside of me.

Failure, nightmares – the pliable fabric of time;

Nobody has a grip quite as tight, quite so right

as yours when you choked the life away from mine.

Tired and weary – wired and teary;

tick-tick-tock, says the fucking clock

And I can’t see or think very clearly.

The Most Forgettable Piece Ever Written

I have slowly been changing along with all of the madness that has become of my life since the DFCS took control over my only child (supposedly to “rehabilitate” her uncontrollable behaviors in “treatment”). Gradual differences have arisen between the Old Me and this…the Me who stands in place of the one who was robbed of everything and then slowly, but surely – beaten to death. Things that I see are perceived differently than a much more trusting and naïve Me would have seen them; the pessimism is beyond any sense of measurement these days, and the world feels so much less like Home.

After experiencing everything as horrible as what has transpired in the life of my own little girl, I have lost hope or any notion of forward progression from here. I just cannot seem to get my head around the vast corruption and greed in this particular arena…hmmmm…

How was it, that a young girl in need of structure and self-control, lacking the attention span to nurture such things very well, with physiological conditions that create an appearance far more mature than her actual years in age – court-ordered to reside at a community facility for behaviorally challenged children – is victimized by a staff of that facility?

Why was it, that after the child victim of sexual assault, came forward with such information to the facility administration, she was then horribly ridiculed in turn?

How can it be possible, that the government agency charged with the care and well-being of the children in the community, is also quite willing and capable of protecting NOT THE CHILDREN, BUT THEIR PREDATORS?

…I become enraged on a daily basis;

the normalcy I claim – my job: my saving grace amongst all of humanity – as it forces me to pretend; I escaped reality every day since 2006 that way – but that slipped away also, and will be gone on Friday…

Timing sure the fuck IS everything, isn’t it?

2014 Letters to A Ghost

I awoke this morning, chilled by the residual sweat of a nightmare…saturated by a deepened fear for your safety; trapped within the confines of a place I’ve long-anticipated on a sub-conscious level that’s only obvious to me now that I’m here. I don’t know how many New Years I’ve spent uneasy over you – over what’s happened to you in your life that’s molded you into someone so hollow – so empty myself, as a result of such emptiness. Today, New Year’s Day 2014, I awoke cursing the succession of time and the science of space; I woke up fearing the year ahead’s events as much as I had gone to sleep hating those of last year. I predict a lot of me, in fear for your very livelihood from one day to the next; I foresee plenty of hopeless nights defined by worry and dread – the growing anxiety being attached to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I predict myself desperately burying my heels into the increasingly fickle ball of hope that has lost its warmth and begun to fizzle. After our tearful and emotionally turbulent Thanksgiving, I had no lingering doubts about your plans to run again if you pulled off a visit home for Christmas, and I knew that you had zero intentions of ever going back there, if you ran.

I was, and am now – still somehow hoping beyond hope that you will be miraculously struck by a bolt of reason and reconsider; your naivety terrifies me. Anybody who knows me at all knows exactly what it is that eats me up inside with every moment that goes by without you accounted for: FEAR. I innately brood over your well-being with every single breath that I take; I make offerings to the dimming ball of hope in my heart that you’ll ever come home again. I can’t help but to share with you, how very grim and unwelcome the year ahead feels to me today, without your presence to light the dark paths shooting out in every direction from my tired feet. I hope from the bottom of my being – that wherever you are on this New Year’s Day, you’re safe and warm with food in your belly and shiny nail polish on your fingertips, that you’re smile is busy in blessing the crowd that surrounds you with its unmatched brightness – I hope that you’re not afraid anymore, that you been empowered and feel strong in the place that you’ve chosen to run away to. I hope that somehow, some way – for this year ahead, more than anything else – I hope you know that I love you, Boo…that’s one thing that’s always renewed by hope and stays unchanged forever. I’m so very worried about you; I hope you come home soon.

Love Always,




Sadly, I would have to report that I experience the feelings and sensations of helplessness on a daily basis, and have for quite some time now – years in fact.

Ever since I realized how seriously fucked up my daughter’s situation was rapidly becoming and then was alienated from it through the manipulation and mendacious actions of the Social Services Caseworker, an evil and frigid creature…a creature who does not speak the local language comprehensively by any means, yet somehow maintains employment under the county government as a god damned SOCIAL worker!

My life has spun helplessly out of control in varying directions since my child was court-ordered to receive “residential treatment” as a means of controlling her wild behaviors. I was admittedly struggling with controlling her myself at home, as she was already sneaking out of her bedroom window at age 9 to run off into the night aimlessly out of sheer spite. Her running away and lying, stealing and creating unnecessary drama in the neighborhood amongst her peers.