Wednesday, February 17, 2016

Hope is a thing with feathers

When I left Austin I was not in the best shape ever. I had been sexually assaulted and had gone through some major emotional upheavals. But it has left scars on me that I have been unable to shake. The primary part of which is that I seem to be plagued with some outside forces that just won't leave me alone.
See, while I was living there at a place we all referred to as The River I overheard my dear friends Marc and Wendy talking about the mafia and that someone was going to die. It freaked me out and I went on a mission to try to save my friends. Admitted, I was not in my best mindset at the time and I probably misunderstood what was going on but nonetheless I was freaked out and I went on a mission to try to save my friends. I took all the money that I had and went on a quest to track down the mob and give all my money to them in the hopes that I could save whoever it was that was going to die. Ridiculous, I know, but it made perfect sense to me at the time.
After a long day wandering around the city, even jumping off the 1st St bridge into the lake I had an encounter with the police. They asked me why I was so upset and I told them about my friends and the mob. I don't think they believed me. I was taken in due to an arrest warrant from some parking ticket or something other that I didn't remember and several hours later I was released.
Time went on and I began to decay even further. It seemed that everything was falling apart and that there was nothing I could do about it. Later a homeless man showed up at my house, about my age and I let him stay with me. That night I was sexually assaulted and that was the last straw. Even though my friends begged me not to leave I couldn't take it anymore and I moved back in with my parents. I was clean for the whole year while I lived there and at the end of the year with my parents I found a job in Baltimore.
Time went on and everything seemed fine. Baltimore isn't the best choice of a city for someone who was recovering from a drug problem but at first I liked it here. My new job was a huge step up from what I had had before and even though I didn't have any friends here I liked the city.
Years passed and finally, on about the 5th anniversary of my arrival in Baltimore I started to notice strange happenings. My phone started sending me strange messages, my computer also acted strange and seemed as if it had been hacked. Not only that but a few people on the street approached me with what seemed like threatening messages.
I tried to call the police, I tried to call the FBI about my computer being hacked. I even tried to call the DEA in case it was somehow involved with what was happening back in Austin (I knew a lot of people who were actively in the drug community). Nobody would help me. Then a friend of mine, or at least I thought it was a friend, seemed to know things about my time back in Austin and used that information to threaten me. I didn't know what to do so I tried to call the police again, but they wouldn't take my name. I also sent a message to the DEA about what my friend had said. (I suspected that he was probably an informant for them since he had been arrested not long before for some pretty strange behavior and had admitted to me that he had been on probation for a drug charge that he had continually failed).
Then, on another day, I encountered a man from "The Fort" who said about me that "that money has been spent". So I tried to contact the local fort, hoping that maybe they could help me but they simply told me that my story was insane and that I should seek help. I gladly would, and since have attempted (I'm on a waiting list to see a therapist for my depression). But threats had been made to me and nobody would help, it seemed. No matter who I contacted nobody would help me.
I've sent FOIA requests but I haven't heard back from anyone. I found a chromatograph attached to the water heater in my basement but nobody would believe me about that either, even though I am a scientist and know what a chromatograph is and looks like.
Last year I tried to kill myself twice because I didn't feel like I had any other way. I've felt like I or my friends were in danger every moment of almost every day for the past two years. I even tried to contact my senators, both in Maryland and in Texas, but the day that I went to try to talk to them the one office that I had hoped to visit was blocked by the police until closing time.
I even tried to contact the ACLU to see if they could help me but they refused to take the case.
Really, I don't know what to do but I've reached out to everyone that I can think of and I don't know what to do. I feel isolated from everyone that I know and love and it seems like everyone that I trust knows whats going on and none of them can, or will, tell me what I need to do.
I'm tired and I just want my life back, but someone close to me (who I more or less trust) once said to me, "They won't ever leave you alone. Well, I guess there is one way...." but he wouldn't tell me what that way was.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

The Whispers Sound Like Thunder

Have my gaping flaws and errors finally cracked my foundation? Am I about to fall again? Certainly I have my failings and realize that they are a growing threat to be reckoned with but to me it seems that there is still time - that all is not lost just yet. And yet the eyes of my few friends here seem filled with that familiar sorrow when they see me, as if they're looking at my corpse. And when they speak the tone of their words seems forced; their phrases seem somehow chosen - the words they say seem softer than the roar of the words they've kept silent.
Am I doomed? To death? To exile? To ruin? To chains?
Do they know?
Can it be seen on me or do they have a guide?

or perhaps I simply see things that aren't there (however statistically unlikely that may be)

Sunday, May 08, 2011

I'll take it as a sign that this is my 137th post, at least however the numbering is counted cause there are several posts that never quite made it to print. I think that there is an obligation to finish this one. I owe it to my Aunt Serendipity. Or perhaps I owe it to myself.
It's hard to start up again. Not only in new places, which is nonetheless also true, but to start up the self again. If you lay fallow for even just a little while standing up again is hard. But it starts the way it started before, we have little adventures everyday. You fail only when you avoid them.
Today is mothers day and I'll make it a point today not only to think of my mother (I love you, Jan!) but to think of things in myself that my mother has given me. Myself, my life, my love, my hope, my forgiveness, my free spirit. My mom gave me me.

Friday, January 15, 2010

(so....) Little recks the labourer

How little has my silence told you, my missing friends? Now passed the long years lack of voice seems brief, as brief as any other spoken pause is posted on a page of garbled time smeared out in space be it seconds, seasons, or five years t0 watch The River rise and fall. But this long brevity is almost done - soon I'll leave my house and Austin to go back 'home' wherever whatever that place may be! The same brief span that once marked the flicker of a moment between a thought and a second one not quite in might a correction to replace and stand alone now measures in width and hue identical the span of years in which I wandered like some Socrates by The River and found, again, that the place I was, as always finally my home - empty for me and alone. The inconsistent structure in which words written and read show relative time is for me, writing relativist aware of the relative now (for me still a then) of a reader, is just an intellectual curiosity that I can use to distract myself from myself. So far that brief span is still only simply possible but in it I can place a mythic kingdom by a river and still have room to place in it the war that tainted and made it wither with indiminished volume for me to fit in it my soul.
But that black inch that is the header of this, unintended ramble, holds in it a microcosm of the world where the hippies came

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Wednesday, February 13, 2008


Monday, December 31, 2007

To sleep perchance to dream

We dream our way through that little death of every night to remind us that when things such as we enter the void it bursts forth with new worlds and vast spaces.  Have we not each escaped oblivion at least once before to enter, without effort or act, the flesh of us and our mothers womb?
Oblivion cannot hope to hold us ceaselessly, we are free of it here and now