shiloh, and more

Page Thirteen                                (still copying)

sehnen posted on Apr 25, 2008 | views: 212 | Tags: commitablex, crime-chickx

Fri 25 april 2008         greenfield

Shiloh is one of my cats whom I know for sure has been killed, “euthanized,”   by an animal  “shelter” because she was over 15 years old, had a chronic nasal infection that I took care of with special meals and natural remedies. But the shelter couldn’t give her all that special care the way mom could, so they offed her. And my sweet Shirley Temple case manager at the Department of Mental Hell apparently thought it was better for some of my cats to be killed than to be taken care of by a person who’d loved them and nurtured them since they were born. This is Shiloh’s poem from the collection:

Number 11

Here is one more:
My years have been
explosions of words.
But now, four weeks in oblivion,
when I cry out for all
the right ones,
the best ones,
things arrive pale, scrawny, unfit.


Give me jewels, then, fate,
to say how dear she was,
how real and rich and remarkable
she was.
Give me a jeweled dagger
in my hand
to avenge her.                                   


I feel it necessary again at this juncture, because of the hordes of airheads who have labelled me “delusional,” to explain that writers use symbols and metaphors in their work, and that these things are not to be taken literally. I do not hallucinate any jeweled dagger in my hand: it is a symbol. Get it?

Click here to see another Shiloh photo.       


In one of my blogs, but I’m not going fishing to find out which one, I started the story of the day the crime-chick showed up in my life: Saturday 15 July 2006. The psycho who moved into my building and began a year-and-a-half program of harassment that was designed, I guess, to drive me into a nervous breakdown that would get me to move out of the building. A year after her arrival, I heard her saying to a friend — outside my window — that she and my landlady had had a deal that if she could drive me to another nervous breakdown (I’d had one in 2003), the landlady would let her live rent-free. Sociopathic, conscienceless hags, the two of them. And boy, did she harass. She was constantly thinking up new ways to disturb my sleep, to upset my dogs, to frighten me, to get me to fall down the cellar stairs, and so on. Her imagination for new meanness seemed to have no limit. I still find this uncanny, but I’ve seen it in some other humans too: dullwitted in the extreme, and yet endlessly crafty at inventing ways to hurt someone else.

Update 20 May 2009, Greenfield: The psycho-chick is not in jail, though I had been told a few months ago that she was (for drug dealing, I presume). But I saw her today, so she ain’t in jail. She still likes to verbally taunt me when she drives by me in her convertible.


Let’s get back to my murdered Shiloh. She was born on August 7, 1992. She would have been 16 in August of 2008, if she’d made it. But Shirley Temple, who pretended to be my pal and to understand how much I needed the animals and needed help putting them in foster care and needed her to be helping me find a place — yes, all an act — was instrumental in making them disappear and not telling me where they were or letting me visit them. She seemed to think, in the end, that I was not a good enough human for my animals because I am low-income, I can’t spend money like water.


I didn’t put the tag commitable on this post. Someone else did that. Someone on Soulcast. Not unusual. The lunatic fringe has always been well represented on Soulcast.

Did the feds have anything to do with my eviction, and the hiding of my animals? I don’t know, because Matthew never answers questions like that. But in my anger and anxiety, I believe more or less anything is possible on the part of the feds, as they seem to have unlimited license to do anything they choose.

A little more on the crime-chick:

This creature is classically psychotic. Her face muscles twitch spastically, she tosses her arms around in demented fashion, she lies 24/7. She can not talk, she has to shriek. She is an alcoholic, sold and used, drugs. She intimidates her pansy-assed boyfriend as relentlessy as she intimidated me, and why he stays with a flaming sicko is beyond me. Sometimes I saw him laugh when she got really mental, so maybe he finds her amusing. The bitch needs a rubber room and loads of thorazine, but he finds her amusing.

More on the mafia brat another time.


read…   Braon…  Cutting the pie

~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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