Page Thirty-0ne

Friday 25 Sept 2009

Greenfield…. though I’ve already been to Turners Falls today and come back


tá mé cailte gan thú, gan do ghrá. grá agat i gconai.                                                                                                                                          


blue candles were burned once, for your safe return

~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


haunting and haunted

Page Thirty

Wednesday 23 September 2009 …. Turners Fails

Both a ghost and a visitor to ghosts.    

Three years ago this day something devastating was going in my life, and the lives of my family, my animals. And on that sad, difficult day we heard for the first time a new (to us) piece of music on the radio. A lullaby from Mozart’s Don Giovanni. A lullaby was perfect for what we were going through, and because it was Mozart, it was a beautiful one. I taped it, so that I’d have it later when the dying one was gone.

But, in my stress and lack of sleep, I made a mistake about a half hour later and taped over it, the perfectl Mozart lullaby. While I was still listening to the radio, which was for another two years, I waited and waited for that lullaby to be played again so I could tape it, and still have it as a piece of beauty from this awful week three years ago. But I’ve never heard anyone play it again.

I wanted it for a memory of Mugsy’s leaving us. I still don’t have it, Mugsy. I’m still wandering, and still waiting to hear your lullaby again.

~~~~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~

(r.monti sculpture at


the fall

Page Twenty-nine

Friday 11 September 2009…   Greenfield

It always happens… after I go to Turners Falls for a couple of days, walking among my memories and the places where my life that was my life took place, I fall. I start falling before I even get on the bus back to Greenfield, knowing it will be nearly a week before I can go back. Fall into deeper emptiness, deeper loneliness, deeper fear of existing day after day in a life that’s not my own. Deeper anger. Withdrawing more and more into my Aspergers self.

That’s where I am again today, knowing I can’t return to Turners until Wednesday. Knowing I have to find whatever ways I can to murder away every minute until then. Knowing from my therapist that I was supposed to get my animals back, that there had been a plan that was kept from me. Knowing that it fell through, but not knowing why. And this week finally an admission that I will probably not ever really get over this, this stealing of my whole family in one day. Thank you, sir. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. He’s a good therapist, but he has that unwillingness that they all have in mental health professions to accept that some people don’t and won’t get “well.”

~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(jewelry at


Again the windmill

Page Twenty-eight

Thursday 10 Sept 2009…     Turners Fails

Well, as of yesterday, the human friendship seems to be back on, at least for the time being. Jesus, the usual neurotypical roller-coaster. And yet for the days it was off, I retreated so far into myself, into my autistic self, that I’m not sure I want to come out. A large part of me wants to stay where I was.

So what is the advantage of withdrawing inside and staying there? For me? No more seeking that certain purity in humans and suffering when I don’t find it. Staying in the certainty of where I know for sure that purity exists: my memories of animals, and music, and snow and ice and trees and the sky. I can’t participate in these things very much anymore: it’s far too painful without my animals. But I have my memories of all the years of participation in these mysteries, these purities, these joys. On my journals and in my photos and inside me, I have the memories of the only kind of world I can truly inhabit.

Zoë-Jane, six years dead today; a candle in my heart for you.

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


tuesday 8 september 2009

Page Twenty-six


It appears my one human friendship may be over. My only animal friendship too, as this friend has a dog, the only dog I will get near. I still have some few wild animals as friends.

I think I’m the one who decided this friendship may be over, though I’m not absolutely sure of that. Maybe decisions were made on the other side too.

But this isn’t unusual. A lifetime of wandering through humans, and really, in the end, not being able to take it. Looking for the wrong things in all this human-wandering. Looking for a kind of purity that animals have, and water, and trees, and the sky, and certain music. Looking for a kind of purity that I know full well after 56 years doesn’t exist in humans, and yet I go on looking for it, tilting at windmills. Just call me Quixote.

~~~~~~~~~  website  ~~~~~~~~~~~

 (tree at


all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2009-2011 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.