warped time, worm time

Page Twenty-three              (copy)

sehnen posted on May 06, 2008 | views: 87 | Tags: time in a bell jarx

tuesday 6 may 2008       greenfield

So it’s eight weeks today… Tuesday 11 March the deputy came for us. Tuesday 11 March everything that mattered, ended. Eight weeks. My sense of time has been wildly distorted since my life was obliterated. Every minute, hour, day is stretched out, elongated, as if they were rubber bands being pulled by… by what? The pain I feel? It doesn’t feel at all like eight weeks. It feels like eight months since I had my life and the ones I love.

Shall I talk about my most recent case manager at DMH, the one who presided over this destruction? (Let’s call her Shirley Temple) Shall I talk about the woman at CSS who helped out, who sort of co-presided over this? (Let’s call her Cry Baby) Or about my crotchety old parrot, Lizzie, who was funny and stubborn and sometimes a complete mystery? Or maybe I should talk about my little harp, or my handbells, or my keyboard, or my chimephone, or my tin whistle. All locked in a storage cell, never to be seen again if I can’t keep paying the bill. Or my clothes. Or my books. Or the hundreds of taped journal cassettes I’ve made over years. Or my CD’s and tapes. Everything that tears at me, every long, stretched-out, endless hour of the day.

                                                                      

Two of the stolen cats: Abel and Aram were brothers. They tended at times to bully behavior in the house with the other cats, but outside they were committed cowards. They were inside cats all their lives, and the outside was a great terror. They would only stay out there if I stayed with them.

Chani was their sister. A very shy, aloof  little cat who was very close with her brothers, but otherwise kept herself to herself. Except that once in a while she would have a great desire for ME, and would come and rub and cuddle and fawn over me. I let them be who they were. That was always one of my dicta with animals, even when I was little. Let them be who they are. I only curbed an animal’s natural self as much as I needed to for their safety.

But it seems that in the control-thinking of Shirley Temple and Cry Baby, I wasn’t smart enough or sane enough or competent enough to give my animals good care and excellent love, even though we were poor. May the ocean’s dogs devour you thrice, harpies.

Update 30 May 2009: The things I was told by Matthew came later, in July. Things about protection by feds, etc. I still believe him, until someone in a position to know tells me Matthew hoaxed me. But the actual extent of fed involvement was never described by him, and so in my stress and tension and lack of concrete information, I pulled many more people and many more events into my “protection” than belonged there. The concept of worm time refers to the fact that I came to see myself as a piece of bait my “protectors” used to catch those “big fish” undercover man Matthew once referred to.

Yes, may the ocean’s dogs devour the landlady, the mob-chick, Shirley Temple at the DMH, and Cry Baby at the CSS, these shrews who have devoured my life. And, if Matthew’s words were truth, may they also devour all feds.

What I was told about Aram, Abel and Chani last year was that they had escaped into a priest’s garage and couldn’t be caught. A fourth cat, Chailin, was with them. Later, in May of last year, I was told that those cats and my parrot were living with that priest, but no one gave me the kindness of saying I could visit them. They may still be there, and still no one has said I could visit them. The people of Turners Falls keeping teir grimy little secrets.

And nearly 15 months after that ugly morning on that little hill, when I lost everyone I love, time is still warped. Every minute feels like three, every hour like three, every week like three. And the elongated time is empty and lonely and absolutely without hope now.

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read…   Cutting the pie…    Braon

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