they’re gone


sehnen posted on May 05, 2008 | views: 69 | Tags: failingx

still, still monday 5 may 2008…     turners fails

It’s a failure Mommy who can’t protect her children. It’s an incompetent Mommy who has such a raging immune system that she can’t work and buy a house in which to keep her family safe. It’s a stupid Mommy who trusts the wrong people. It’s a chicken Mommy who is so afraid of things that other people do all the time, that she couldn’t be tougher against the world of humans and maybe save her family. Whatever else I am, and I am some very good things, in my own opinion, I am also a failure, and incompetent, and stupid about people, and a person with a whole lot of fears about other people.                                                                          


Update 30 May 2009: Oh, they’re gone. It hurts so much, I can’t desribe it. My failure to be able to make it with people. My failure to be able to butter up the landlady, even after her erratic emotions and prodigious lies had come to frighten me. My failure to get the idea of pills: maybe the pills I’m taking now would have helped me bear up better in an emotionally charged situation. I really fall apart in situations like that. My failure to hang on to the letter of complaint I wrote about the mafia-chick, instead of taking it to the landlady. If I’d done any of these things differently, there might not have been an eviction, and I might still be living with my family now. But on the other side, if the landlady disliked me so much, why couldn’t she just have ignored me and collected my rent? No, she had to be so vicious as to destroy me. People who choose viciousness and cruelty always could make a different choice. They choose aggression because they enjoy it, it gives them a feeling of power. And if there’s one thing my ex-landlady loves, it’s power.


(r.monti sculpture at


read…   Extempoaneana…  Kaikenlainen


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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.




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