still wed 1 oct

 

800 monkeys and a worm...

 

this is a sad month anyway, even when i wasn't bait for the FBI. one of my favorite months it always was, maybe THE favorite, until too many favorite souls ended up going away in october.

 

oh, Mr. Please Listen, i listened. i wasn't THERE anywhere in your swirling time. and where YOU were in my wormhood, in my grief over 14 great souls, i wasn't free to say. it can't be. you're too much a putter in boxes: one box for this, another box for this, another box for me. try to grasp that that has been the problem with neurotypicals and me all my life. they want to put me in a box of their own design, and i can only wither in such containers. look what the FBI's box has done to me. certain people have told me over the years, in various ways, that i am too threatening to most people. i'm too intelligent, too creative, too spiritual, all at the same time, it has been said. they have said that i am too big, too threatening, too likely to cause others to question themselves, which they don't want to do, and so there is this great need to contain me, which is, in the end, to kill me. i can't be trapped. to trap me is to kill me on some level. my intellect needs to roam, my soul needs to roam, my creativity needs to roam, i need to grieve because grief is one of the proofs of the value of what was lost, and i honor that process, that honoring. i need to learn all the time, to feed a brain that's never satisfied with what's already in it, always demanding more knowledge. and because i have such a brain, not by choice but through genes, i cannot be very tolerant or patient with less hungry brains. i don't understand a brain that isn't hungry all the time, because it's all i know. at 55 i'd like to be able to shut it off already. i've stuffed enough things into my head for two lifetimes. but the brain cells just won't have it. they're hungry, hungry, hungry. my BRAIN needs to go where it wants, my SOUL needs to go where it wants, my BODY needs to go to the water and the woods and the ice and the snow and wherever else it feels the energy of the quantum field at work. and ALL of me needed and wanted those animals. you can't replace them. you can't put me into the boxes that you've made for yourself. i can't exist that way. truth is the holiest thing to me, in a completely non-religious sense. you can't live in truth, and i can't live outside it. that's one reason these FBI lies and games and all the undercover shtyk has made me so ill and so depressed: i have to live in truth, even if it's ugly. and you participated in so much abuse. it fits no definition of love that i can find within myself.

 

i will find out where she has gone

.......................................................

and pluck till time and times are done

the silver apples of the moon

the golden apples of the sun.         (yeats)

 

i live in my own autisitc world, and it's not exactly like any other autistic's world, but it is the only world i can survive in. every time someone has tried to rip me out of it and deprive me of it, it has been disaster. the FBI has done the worst tearing ever, and has done me irreparable damage. someone reading this cannot feel or see or know that damage, but i do. i know how much darkness, how much coldness, has been added as a result of what the FBI has done. i know how much further the FBI has caused me, in its cruelty, to withdraw from the neurotypical humanity around me.

 

on the first day of a sad month, i send my love and gratitude out to the energies of Liam, and Maman, and Seamas, and Kimmy, and Tina, and Rabbit. and Sean. i'm a homeless bum with no candles and no place to burn them if i had them, but my heart is a flame in memory of each one of you, and for whatever short time i have left in which to remember you, you are not completely lost.