friday 30 april 2010

Page Seventy-one

Turners sprouting snowflake trees…

for my fourteen stolen friends:                                                                                                    

~~~  Hello… in the last day of April, crabapple snow. We should be together  in these petals. Thank the frigging humans that we’re not. Remember what I so often told you; remember it even in death if that’s do-able: human beings ruin everything.

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neurotypical love

Page Seventy

monday 26 april 2010                     turners turning grey

“Love isn’t worth anything if the actions don’t match the words.”

                                                                       ~~~~  val mcDermid

This quote came from a detective novel, of all places, but it’s very similar in wording to a conviction that I’ve had for years, and means the same thing: love isn’t just words, it’s actions too. And if the actions aren’t there to back up the words, then the words are hollow sound vibrations.

I’ve written in other, earlier posts on this subject too. The subject of love as I’ve experienced it from neurotypical (non-autistic) people. There are always many words, and even tears, and even yelling, about love. But the actions that in my strange, autistically-wired mind speak of love, are very rarely forthcoming from humans. Many words and actions that in my strange mind are not evidence of love show up too. And yet I’m supposed to believe in their love. I’m not supposed to call it a fairy tale, or a performance, or a temporary glow they had that left them. I’m  not supposed to speak disparagingly of their love; I’m only doing this to  hurt them.

And that’s total crap. Because when I speak in these ways about their love it’s because that’s precisely how I perceive it, how I feel it: something dicey that will abuse me when it wants to, abandon me when it wants to,  will be fickle and flimsy and only occasionally there.

the Asperger’s page of my website

(tree banner at www.gaelsong.com)

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avon (amhain)

Page  Sixty-nine

friday 23 april 2010          tossing in turners, of course

   I didn’t forget, Will Shakespeare. Thanks for having been born, and for every single word you wrote. Why can’t I go where you are.

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adrift

Page Sixty-eight

Wednesday 21 April 2010       Turners Tumbling

Friday is Shakespeare’s birthday. Don’t want to forget it…

A year ago tomorrow I was released from a form of imprisonment that I’m sure wasn’t legal, and it certainly wasn’t moral…

Ordered a new audiobook from the library by Margaret Atwood (I can no longer read books in print — can’t open a book anymore without my family). Love, love, love the title: Moral Disorder…  As a town, as a sampling of one human society, Turners Falls could be the poster child for the category of moral disorder…

On the 24th, it will be the silver anniversary of my moving to the hell-hole of western Massachusetts… twenty-five bloody years…   I was only 32 when I came to this pit, and my kid was only 5…  I still believed there could be a good future…

                                                                      

Eleven years ago this week I was moving myself and my animals from one address in Turners Falls to another… straight into the clutches of an alcoholic, lying, sneaking, underhanded, landlord…  though of course at the time of moving I didn’t know exactly how warped he was…  I’d learn that later, at great emotional cost… I still see him from time to time, and his brain-dead daughter (years of killing the grey cells with alchohol) is “working” in one of the stores. She has a job that seems to have been specially created just for her: she wipes things. I’ve never known the position of wiper to exist in this store before… who’s she boffing? … If you’re an alchoholic in this town, especially one of long-standing, there’s nothing they won’t do for you. I close my eyes when I encounter her, and her father, and make a silent wish for them to suffer…

(face at www.toscano.com)

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april, come she will

Page Sixty-seven

1. Tuesday 6 April 2010, Turners

     Tari     the feisty sister

                 25 December 1991 – Fri 4 April 1997

     Saturday 3 April 2008   My animals and I moved onto the property

               of the deranged professional woman who would

                                           destroy us    

2. Friday 16 April 2010, TF

              Antoinetti     determined, lovely amputee

                     April 1991 – Tuesday 15 April 1998  

3. Friday 23 April 2010

             Coco     reduplicated innocence, happiness

                                    1995 – Sat 12 April 1996

             Melvin      orange and big and got along with m.

                        born 1976; moved 1977; died 25 april 1978

4. Friday 30 April 2010

             Mugsy got out of jail on Friday 30 April 1999

            one of the happiest days of my life, and of his

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once more unto the breach

Page Sixty-six

Monday 5 April 2010         Turners Falls hard

Well, last Wednesday, on the last day of March, I moved back to Turners Falls to live in a square footage of space that I wouldn’t even inflict on a dog. Shiloh-Chailin came with me, of course, and now Turners Falls is her town too. This is not wholly a good thing.

And this move was at nearly exactly the same time as another move my animals and I made in 2004, on Saturday April 3. We had a Saturday April 3 this year too, as you may  have noticed.   That other move in 2004 was supposed to be our last. Millers Falls Road was supposed to be our final and permanent home, or so I was told by the deeply mentally mangled landlady, whom I did not know at the time was possessed of so little sanity and so little truth. I believed her. So I moved into that place on that Saturday six years ago full of relief and gratitude and hope for the future. No more moving. A landlady who loved animals and wanted to have a friendship with me.  She wanted cooking lessons. She said we’d have the holidays together, since neither of us had relationships with our human families. She said she’d take  me to see my father’s grave, which I’ve still never seen. She said that now that I could stay in one place, maybe I could start making cards and things like that with my drawings and photographs. Maybe I could do the re-write on my novel.

And it was all bullshit. She started showing me exactly how much bullshit it was only six days after we moved in. Then her true colors started shining away, and they were ugly, I can tell you. And only got uglier the longer we were there. May the ocean’s dogs devour her. May the wind blow always straight into her pock-marked face. May (for once) what went around come right back around to her.

more on this   Two.  Three.

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(part of the book Spite and Malice)

(snakes at www.gaelsong.com)

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