Still wrongly and cruelly

Page Sixty-nine

sehnen posted on Jun 24, 2008 | views: 61 | Tags: whispers to the gullsx

tues 24 june 2008   Greenfield

It is sixteen weeks today. It’s 12:28 pm. At this time on this day sixteen weeks ago I was standing by the roadside with my duffle and backpack, standing there staring back at the building in which everyone I love was still trapped, unable to come with me. Soon the lunatic with the white van would drive up and lie to me, make me believe there was a safe foster place to take all 14 animals, all of them together. All a lie. I cry here, rage here.

Whatever it is that the DMH and CSS and police departments and sheriff’s department and landlady and animal control officer and more and more neurotypical bullies have been doing to me for the last two years, it has been wrongly and cruelly done. It will be two years on July 15 since the mafia-chick first drove onto the property where I was living.

This community, Franklin county in Massachusetts, has finally been the death of me, and I have known since about 1995 that if I couldn’t break free of it and STAY free, it would, in fact, kill me. It has taken them a total of 22 years, but they have finally managed it. Do you know the legend of the thorn bird, who impales itself upon a huge thorn and sings its most beautiful song ever in its dying? In my terminal grief I will not sing a beautiful song, but a song they will all hate. A truth-song about the things this community has done to me, individual by individual, office by office, bureaucracy by agency, ad nauseam.

And the clock is ticking, and there are loose ends still being tied, and there are still poems to put up and chronological stories to tell and messages to leave for my friend, but once in a while I can suspend regular business and sing the thorn bird’s song.

So there’s a landlord I had in Turners Falls. Let’s call him Nookie, since that and booze were all he ever thought about, anyway. I see him around. He looks terrible. This delights me. This man and his girlfriend tried very hard in 2003 to get my animals given away and/or euthanized. They managed to relieve me of my car, and a great many of my belongings, but they didn’t quite succeed with the animals, though it was very close. Nookie himself, over the period of four years when I lived in his asylum, drank his life away and nagged me about animals from time to time, but then he would leave off and he and I would have peaceful relations. But in spring 2001 he got a chick, and this chick is the proverbial iron fist in the velvet glove, and a real sneak. She whispered into his ear that he should do this to me and that to me and get rid of me and get the animals away, and he, led around by the penis as he was, did everything she said. And she was another bend-the-law-to-my-own-will person, like the landlady of more recent times. Anyway, tick-tock. Will have to finish Nookie and his chick, and the tests performed on me last week, another day.

Update 16 July 2009: This was the first of my many “wrongly and cruelly” done posts on several blogs. In post-modern amerika we are not supposed to call things “cruely” that are done by professional people or our neighbors or our family. Cruelty is reserved for things like murder or molestation or physical torture. Psychological torture is not cruelty, supposedly. Insane landladies and mafia-connected, substance-abusing tenants are not supposed to be called cruel, no matter what reprehensible thing they do. Social service people aren’t supposed to be called cruel, no matter how underhanded and mendacious they are. So yet again I make myself and oddball and a misfit and a heretic by saying: My landlady was both insane and cruel (still is). The mafia-chick was insane and in bed with organized crime and cruel (still is). My case manager at the DMH was a liar, and vicious, and cruel (still is). Will they ever get what they have earned?

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(doll, undistorted, at

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