no rights, no say

Page Twenty-eight

fri 27 june 2008 Greenfield

I don't think I've ever mentioned that according to the mob-chick, she and the landlady had a deal. I heard her say it. It was 13 months after she moved in, and she was outside my window talking to a friend in her shrill, scratchy, fish-wife voice, and they were drinking wine. Always when she was running her sociopathic mouth outside my window, I'd turn up my radio, since I had not the slightest interest in any sewage issuing from her mouth. But I didn't get to the radio fast enough, and I heard. The deal was that if the chick could make me have another nervous breakdown and go to hospital, leaving the animals free to be taken, chick could live her whole time there rent-free. Her whole time there was 17 months. A sweet pair of ruthless females, don't you think? My sisters. If I HAVE mentioned this before, please excuse the redundancy.

So... it's very possible that EVERYONE had an agenda. Mob-chick certainly had hers: to make me have a nervous breakdown. Landlady had hers, but she actually had MORE than one. The building inspector and board of health had theirs. The selectmen and the police had theirs. The DMH and CSS and sheriff's department had theirs. My OWN agenda was to be found a place to live with at least half of my family, to be present at the euthanasias of whatever ones could not be saved, to maintain my privacy and reclusiveness, and my way of life: animals, art, books, etc. Minimal contact with most humans. And I make more redundancy: my tenant, civil, client rights were all violated, as I am a powerless person on the public dole and am very weird with my PTSD and Asperger's and rare immune sysytem disorders, and I can't afford a lawyer, and the entire town of Turners Falls has always felt that a nothing like me could be treated any old way that popped into their extremely muddy and callous heads.

Voila. The destruction of one human being (though I am apparently not that in their eyes) and the 14 innocent animals whom she loved more than her own life. Voila.

Update 19 October 2009: Because this was written in June last year, I believed there were only certain people from certain organizations who had all participated, behind my back, in this eviction and the disappearance of my animals. I wouldn't find out until July (from Matthew), that, according to him, even more bureaucrats were controlling my days. Now, if he was telling the truth, I had a whole lot of different people messing with my life that I hadn't known about before, and the ones I'd known about had already done enough damage: they'd destroyed my life. Matthew and his ilk were, and are, no better than the various other cruds who thought they could do anything they wanted to me, no scruples involved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ website ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(dorothy a www.whatonearthcatalog.com)

wrongly and cruelly done

Page Twenty-seven

wed 25 june 2008 Greenfield

To reiterate: Whatever the landlady, and the Turners Falls town officials, and the police, and the sheriff's department, and many more have been doing in relation to me for the last seven months (or more) and for whatever reason, it has been wrongly and cruelly done.

Whatever they have been thinking about, they did NOT think about me. As a citizen, as a renter, as a client, I had a right to have the bylaws of the town upheld in my behalf. I had a whole series of rights to be upheld: human, civil, tenant, client. They have largely been totally ignored, totally broken.

They did not think about anything they have done to me. For the first time in my life, I don't have animals. No one to say good-bye to when I leave, hello to when I return. No one to love, and love me. No meaning and purpose in my hours. No joy. No hope. The many, many people who have deceived me, controlled my life behind my back, disappeared my animals and told lots of lies about it, and much other despicable unlawful, immoral weasling... those people still have their homes to go to, still have what's dear to them, still have meaning and purpose and whatever in their lives gives them joy. They do not have two towns worth of people tearing apart their mental and physical health, tearing apart the fabric of their lives. This has all been wrongly and cruelly done, and if it had been done to YOU, I'm pretty sure you'd be feeling similarly to the way I do.

Update 20 October 2009: All I can say, all this time later, is ditto ditto ditto. And the consequences of these people's actions and their lack of compassion and their abrogation of my rights go on and on inside me, without relief, in spite of antidepressant pills. Two days before I wrote this original post, I finally figured out that there was something criminal going on in my life. A day or two later, Matthew Lacoy confirmed that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ website ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(celtic knot at www.gaelsong.com)

immer noch dein raetsel

(tree, right-side-up, at www.signals.com)

Page Twenty-six


fri 20 june 2008 Greenfield

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
More Bill.... what can I tell you today, nameless receiver of messages -- I'm tired enough that my brain is mush, anitbiotic makes it worse...

Bill on the submarine, and you came that time too. I could never have lived that way, would've gone stark raving bonkers, but he loved it. I loved the submarine too, and everything about it, but I couldn't have lasted more than a week. What about you? I didn't ask at the time. Could you have gone to sea in that thing? ...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you're a glutton for more of this Bill you don't know, knock yourself out: one bill, two bill, three bill, four bill, five bill.

Update 22 Oct 2009: This post was written in a kind of private code for a certain person. I didn't explain it then, and I won't now.

When I wrote this post I was only days away from figuring out that something criminal was going on in my life, and having Matthew admit that. I was living in a rented room in Greenfield (the same one I'm living in again), and I had just dumped the Department of Mental Hell earlier in the month of June. My plan was to look for my own place without any social service "help," but in early July that plan changed when Matthew told me I was being protected by him and others from people who wanted to hurt me. All plans were suspended while I took time to absorb this information. By the time I had made a beginning at that, Matthew had told me yet another thing that squashed my plans further.

~~~~~~~~ website ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~





a href="http://twitter.com/share" data-count="none" data-via="annegrace2" data-related="ziidjian:outre tweeting">Tweet
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

murdering minutes

Page Twenty-five

mon 16 june 2008 Greenfield


~~~~~~~~ Bill bleeding his head at the landing... ~~~~~~~~~~



Another message for someone who'll continue to remain nameless. Anyone else, ignore. You wouldn't understand it anyway. But if you want to torment yourself with things you don't understand, you can follow Bill around: one, two,three,four, five.

Tick-tock. Murdering minutes away, any way I can, one endless minute at a time, every day since March 12, when my life was robbed from me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ website ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

in memoriam

Page Twnety-four


tues 10 june 2008 Greenfield

homeless 14 weeks today, 3 months tomorrow...
time for a poem. it's a longy.

Number 28

On the last Memorial Day
of my life,
I sank to sleep (2 a.m.)
without you,
woke 4 a.m. amid a dream of you,
without you.
Fifty-five such days before today,
all with your breaths,
your small beating hearts,
surrounding...
until now.

On this day
that I will never see again,
I sit in a cafe --
knowing, scrying, divining
in my realest self --
that this is not my life,
my place.
My life and place
are both at home with you,
and all my love,
and all my best,
and the sad leftover dreams
I had.

But there's no longer home,
no longer you,
no longer pretty dreams or sad.
All the space of soul is black,
cold,
lonesome as a grave.

And it's grave day today:
I cannot take part.
Inside me I visit them all
in a welter of flowers and tears:
our murdered child
and his suicided father,
our young man
dead away in Mosul
on the sand,
our friend, brain-dead on the pavement
right up there,
a suicided, murdered father of my own,
and all, and all the animals
I have laid gently, morosely, forever
into soil.

I'm powerless on grave day,
powerless as ever,
and we powerless
can follow neither heart, nor dream,
nor gift without assistance,
and you,
the stolen, vanished candles
were my last assist.
It's grave day.

2.

On the last Memorial Day
of my life,
I drown in random images
of all the ones before:
dad on parade in his whites
(how many years?),
cookouts and badminton games;
grown-up us with our babies
offered to grammy, matriarch,
at tables under trees
where chicken and steak were laid,
and all our little customs,
grown always more searing
by their loss.

When all of that had gone,
there was still you.
Memorial Days my soul
weighed like granite
for the want of all that was gone,
and you felt it, my granite soul,
my hard sorrow.
I cried or raged,
I lay in a zombie heap
or paced the floor,
and knew, divined
with unshakable knowing
that you were what kept me alive
among all the shards of breakage
on all those days of graves.

I rallied --
for you.
Cooked us something special,
listened to all the war songs,
soldier songs,
sang.
Lit candles for our dead,
walked under the stars.
Grateful for each one of you
still outside the grave.

Where are you to sing to?
They've kidnapped from me
all your willing ears.
Can't sing where have all the flowers gone,
ain't gonna study war no more,
johnny I hardly knew ya,
my bugle call of peace.

My existence has been nothing
if not war.
And all those battle-years
my patient, stalwart, truthful
troops marched with me.
Marched and loved
and loved my love
through fifty years of
ambush,
through every burning scar it left,
through every pool of blood,
the crippled limping of my legs,
and swollen lungs,
and pain that left me senseless in a heap
of screaming cells.

You were the last assist.
You were the troops
for whom I strove and soldiered on.
You were the stars and candle-flames
lighting up the soulscapes
of my nights.

Cold now, and dark,
the spaces where you were.
Where are you now?
If my soul can reach
to yours,
pretend I sing,
pretend we're still together:
gonna lay down my burden
down by the riverside
down by the riverside,
gonna lay down my sword and shield
down by the riverside,
ain't gonna study war no more. --- copyright 2008 by anne nakis

Click here to the poetry page of my website.

Update 12 December 2009: When I wrote this poem last year, I did so in Bart's Cafe, on Memorial Day itself, waiting for PN to come and visit and help me get some things out of my storage. We had a very good visit that day, an authentic one; one that rang of true friendship and not just the surface kind. When I wrote this, I didn't expect to be alive for another Memorial Day without my animals, without my own life. I believed fully that I would either die of grief or kill myself. As I did in fact try a few times to kill myself in ways that others wouldn't discern as suicide, and couldn't do it, I realized more fully than ever that I cannot kill. Even when killing is the best solution. Then there was only grief. I believe that the cells follow the soul, and that if the soul is dying, the cells will do the same. So I am disappointed that I was alive for a second Memorial Day in hell, and that I'm still alive now, approaching my second Yuletide without them, without me. Me as I was before human beings took everything away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ website ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

nemo, braon, sehnen, mishi

Page Twenty-three

thurs 5 june 2008 Greenfield

anne nakis: nemo, braon, sehnen, mishi. these are my phony names on my on-line journals.

Back long ago when I repeatedly asked the DMH and the CSS for a network, a word-of-mouth network of talk-to-talk-to to help find a home for me and the animals, they couldn't bloody well be bothered. But now that they've destroyed my life, destroyed me, NOW they can get together a network. And it's good-sized. All the clients they have walking these streets who are drinking, drugging, stealing, prostituting, beating on each other, and yet there's a network for little old sober, law-abiding (mostly) me. Isn't that amazing? Isn't it nice that they can get off their lazy, moribund keesters AFTER they've sat around drinking coffee, letting my life be destroyed. They collect their pay from the taxpayers for being lazy, dull-witted, and for FAILING to do the job their paid to do: help.

Update 10 December 2009: The things I didn't know when I wrote this... Later in June I would find out. The people watching me and following me were not working for the DMH after all. In July Matthew Lacoy would tell me that they were working with HIM, and that there were very bizarre reasons for these people being in my face everywhere I went. I had thought they were DMH people because I couldn't find any OTHER reason for it. I had reported the dismal "service" of the DMH to the governor's office several times, and to Health and Human Services. I'd also said I wouldn't survive the loss of my animals for very long, as this is what I truly believed. So when I developed an unwanted entourage, I thought the DMH, with the governor's lackey breathing down their necks, were keeping this ridiculous eye on me.

I don't apologize for the anger here, as I don't apologize for it anywhere. My whole life had been taken from me by a collection of reprehensible people, and as if that weren't enough to bear, I found myself watched and followed by yet another collection of reprehensible people. If you believe that federal people are fine and upstanding in some way, you're very much mistaken.

~~~~~~~~~~ website ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

messaging

Page Twenty-two

4 june 2008 Greenfield

another message:


bill said: a la casa linga (sic)


Again, this isn't for everybody. It's for someone specific. If you want to read these cryptic messages even though you're not that someone, fire away: bill here, bill there, bill again, more bill. and more.

thirteen weeks tomorrow

Page Twenty-one

monday 2 june 2008 Greenfield



Disobligata II

inter stellas negras
alma mea remota
lacrimans
noli eam revocare

sub luna tenebra
alma mea semota
ululans
noli eam revocare

I reiterate: don't owe the neurotypicals who've generously showered meanness and hurt on me all my life a goddamned thing.

Update 3 December 2009: I don't owe any human anything, with very, very few exceptions. My soul is going to the only place it wants to go: to the past where I had my animals and I was myself, at least as much others allowed me to be, which wasn't too much. Noli eam revocare. Don't try.

~~~~~~~~~~ website ~~~~~~~~~~~~


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