A Cake Walk at Bathory's

There's beauty in the grotesque. But not because I have anything to do with either the beauty or the grotesque in the things I "observe" like a fucking ledge walker. And I can't even separate them, the beautiful and the grotesque. I only have my hands which have done good and terrible things to haul in my ethereal load. I have my eyes which show me what the atmosphere chooses to show me when I choose to keep them open. I have my mind which develops the film it is given and the processing is subject to the quality of supplies and environment.. which means... the final picture is just a picture by just one more person. I will always have my mind and my hands and my equipment, so what good does it do to pretend I can grow and share thoughts with others? Others are one more product of a string of developments who may or may not have had all the chemicals to bring out the grays. Dimensional. Totally dimensional. Why the questions. Why the hope. Why the fuck do I use blogger.

Gag.

mukluk yuk yuk

Didn't get to do the toothbrushing deal yet. Had another emergency. Had to ship a guy out of here who had something serious going on that we just couldn't identify. The on call physician at one of Anchorage's medical hospitals says, "So we pay ten thousand dollars to get them out here for alcohol detoxification.." They're jaded. I get it. I say, "That sounds fine. Because that's not what's going on here. We know this guy. Something is really wrong this time. We don't have the resources or tools to help him if he totally crashes. He looks twice his age. He can't do anything for himself. It's not for us to figure out your financing issues. You need to bring this guy in." etc etc. .... I hate this time of fucking year. It's absurd the preventable accidents and casualties. And all these elders around us are dropping like fucking flies... and they all see it coming and just can't seem to correct their course. People have started t o look at us like a necrotic finger that used to once be bountiful. People feel sorry for us and disgusted, all the while supporting the system that causes this island depression.

Drowned. He Drowned, and here we all are... as we were but without him.

6 nights ago, we lost one of our own villagers to the sea. I have been doing damage control.. counseling grief.... if you knew me, you would probably laugh. Hard. If you were me.... You wouldn't have a laugh left.

In the mornings I run the clinic during June, our Hell month. Quadruple the emergencies and accidents. The village is predominantly elderly and children. I volunteer at the Recreation center every afternoon for a few hours. 15 kids or so from between 1 years and 14. I assign 4 sheriffs at the beginning of each "shift". Juice patrol, chair patrol, stick patrol and janitor control... The kids like the power and it saves me so much time. All great kids... what a fucked up place sometimes. I ordered 600 bucks in rec games and stuff that will hopefully lift some spiritis. We built a giant cardboard robot. His name is M180 "the twirlin pirate robot". Its a candy and soda free zone now.

Tomorrow I will give them a pop tooth brushing quiz. I have the red tablets that expose where you didn't brush. Maybe I'll post pictures.

Life is fucking Purgatory.

dial 555 something something.

I have been waiting for the Hanging call. I will wait for the Hanging call until I receive it. I fight every day against the Hanging call. Each piece of news i receive braids the knot. I fight every day. I hate every day. I hate every day.

I have no one to talk to about the mechanics of strange and life.

Facing Years.. Blowing Yes Men.

The most recent defense attorney claims to be best friends with the Prosecution (as they all have claimed while passing us across the rich knots on their skull and bones stationary sets to the next guy on the list.) The State has offered my little brother 8 years. The return offer may be 2-8 years with possibly 1-2 years release with good behavior. What a fucking joke. I don't even have enough scars to count how many murderers have gotten less for outrageous and heinous crimes, and as of now, I have a fucking score of scars. Not about me though. Kind of about me though, because I am running out of friends and people who will understand this impossible situation without giving the State the right to think for them.

I would have more confidence in the abilities of these private monoliths to take care of kid gloves, if the retired Nuclear Submarine Commander of the extended family hadn't been reduced to helplessness just trying to convince the fair ground guards just to give my brother his anti-psychotic medication after being denied it for two weeks... as if that was a favor to us and not them. I've said it before, but how else could you support the dangerous delusions of a paranoid person than to arrest them at customs and then behave like fucking Neanderthals with no concern for protecting the delicate balance of mental and physical health of a man by ignoring doctors orders? Are they just totally ignorant? What is the fucking deal with getting prisoners with mental health issues their proper care? Doesn't this shit cost us billions? I'm sure it does, and guess what else. ... The billions pay for jackasses to drop the ball. Who the hell runs this crap shoot?

Don't answer that. Sometimes I forget that we execute people and we vote.

I flip through the dial like an insane bitch trying to find some piece of humanity I can tolerate.

And by the way, the defense and prosecution attorneys get along so grandly because they fucking bank and like to spend their down time shooting birdies and tossing the bankrupted "gifts" of desperate people into the painful psychic mix of exclusive cigar bar cocktails- sucking every bit down- just to deal with the "humanity" of our deepest pain with the most detached system possible, while maintaining a Western Front.

It's business for them... and really really personal for me.

The equation for how war starts can be located above.

Los Angeles lovers can have each other.

The facility holding my brother in Los Angeles, has not been giving my brother his anti-psychotic medication, he tells my mother. No word on Extradition yet. Two counties are possibly interested... Meanwhile, a mentally ill young man sees all the fantasies we refused him come to life, and we fall in on the sidelines of the horrordome as part of the bad men crew.