My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

So, six years ago… I don’t even care anymore. If I’m still around for the tenth anniversary of the time I died, but didn’t, I’ll give it a great write-up. I just haven’t felt it the last few… years.

It’s not finished!

So, I’m trying to finish a 1200-ish word story, which for me, is practically like writing a novel. It probably totally sucks, but I’ll post it anyhow… when it’s finished.

Tomorrow, I’m going to post something AMAZING. Like, it’ll literally BLOW MINDS, blood, brains, all over peoples’ LCD/LED displays. It’ll be CRAZY.

Please note: The previous promise is only valid upon the Second Coming of Kitty Jesus, our cats’ Lord and Savior.

Most don’t know this, it’s not like it’s taught in primary school, in places of higher education. It really isn’t taught anywhere. We who know, know, and we pass it on, to children, sometimes to a lover. I guess that’s why I’m here, leaving this note on a park bench, written on some bar napkin I got at last call just a few hours ago. I loved someone, still do, always.

I meant to tell her this secret I know, meant to tell her everything in my head. I wanted to tell our relationship with nature, how our connections to one another affect nature, shape the natural world. It’s old magic, as old as the sun. It’s not complicated, it’s easy to understand, easy as breathing. It’s… I’ll just get to it. The emotions we feel toward each other, between each other, they create things, physical things. Waterfalls are manifestations of collected sorrow. Volcanos are manifestations of collected rage. These are just the big, flashy examples, it’s the little things that really wind me up . Things like, fireflies come about when lovers kiss that very first time. Things like, rainbows show up when babies are conceived. Things like, orchids grow when mothers pass out of this world. Nothing we feel is a waste, everything we feel is an act of creation.

I’m looking at a crow right now, perched a few benches down. She could be my crow. See, crows come into being when one gets left by a true, complete, know it in one’s bones, kind of love. The kind of love I felt just at the sound of her voice, the girl who left, who flew away. The crow is the loneliness I feel at night, in the dark. The empty part in my heart that’ll never be filled again, because such love is absolutely unique, can’t be created the same. The crow is the aimlessness I feel, stumbling in and out of bars, looking for fixes that won’t fix anything.

Anyway, this napkin’s all covered up with the words I spilled onto it, words for her that will probably end up nowhere. I’ll just leave them for the wind, or the crows.

Yesterday… all my troubles seemed so in my face, now it looks as though they’re… still? in my? face?

No, I’m not The Beatles, I definitely can’t write songs. I’m kind of embarrassed that I even wrote it, but if I delete it, this sentence becomes nonsense, so then I delete it too. At which point we’re back to a blank page, and I hate a blank page.

Yesterday, the state came by for some kind of inspection/evaluation/thing, and it was just upsetting. They compliment you on your “immaculate room,” then I say, I don’t get to leave it much because I’ve had to choose between rent and my assistants because my budget was so slashed. Then they suggest I leave my “immaculate room” and move into “subsidized housing.” I’m not in a rich neighborhood by any means, all my furniture is second-hand restored, all the fancy technology I have is from work I’ve done, or given as gifts, but yes, my surroundings are nice. My neighborhood is nice and safe, I’m 3 minutes from the fire-station, 10 minutes from my hospital, my room’s lights, tv, necessary alarms are controlled via my computer, I live here for a reason. Safety.

So, on the one hand, this nurse literally takes off my pants (and underthings) to check for bed-sores, this supervisor is asking questions about my care, saying how spectacular my set up is, but if I want my assistants back, I have to trade my totally safe, well-crafted environment to go live in government housing. They’re paying $600-ish a week for an ambulance service just to drive me to doctor appointments, while refusing the $180 a week I’m asking to have my assistants back, and keep my nice, safe house, and to allow the ditching of the ambulance service. To further illustrate the insanity, if my family said, “You know, this is just too hard, we can’t take care of Michael anymore,” the state would warehouse me in a hospital for $10,000 PER WEEK until I die.

As I’ve said, cutting my budget isn’t about saving anybody any money, it’s about shifting triple the money, and then some, toward the medical industry. The state is TRYING to make it so my family can’t support my independence, they’re trying to make me dependent on medical services.

Or maybe they just want to take off my pants to check out my deal.

Put a gun to my head and paint the walls with my brains.

I find it REALLY hard to believe that not ONE of my readers is a vampire.

Just sayin’.

Clearly, my current body, particularly my head, just isn’t working anymore. So, I have some ideas.

If I have any vampire readers, could you possibly come turn me? I promise to enjoy the lifestyle and not ask a bunch of annoying questions about morality.

My only other idea is to place my brain in the body of an orange tabby kitten.

The vampire scenario is obviously ideal.

Resting.