fri 10 oct 08

 

yes, it will be seven months tomorrow since the sheriff came and my whole way of life, not to mention my heart, was ripped apart in completely illegal fashion by the machinations of the FBI. i have called this agency a number of things: fascist, sexist, classist, amoral. to those let me add machiavellian. look it up. to those let me add a much simpler term that no one will have to look up: evil. evil in the name of good, which to me is the worst kind of evil of all. evil for evil's sake, or for profit's sake, or for power's sake, are bad enough, but evil done in the name of good is to my mind the worst. to me there is no psychological difference between terrorists killing people in the name of their god, in the name of holiness, and the abuse the FBI has perpetrated on me in the name of keeping a bullet out of my head and catching mafiosi. to keep me alive while spending seven months beating on my psyche, beating on my heart, beating on my autism, is evil done so that they can puff themselves up as heroes at my expense.

 

PSYCHO-WOMEN AND MAFIOSI:  smoke. yes, smoke. little smoke, big smoke.

 

last night i said to an agent, who will of course not admit he's an agent (he might as well be wearing a sign. i've had so much practice with agent energy and agent demeanor and agent shtyks that i can smell them twenty feet away), that if he and his 800 colleague monkeys all dropped dead tomorrow, i don't think i'd shed a single tear. there was a time when i cared about the agents and detectives, that they should be safe. gone. i am learning from all the people who have mutilated my heart and soul for seven months how to turn my conscience on and off with a switch. i have studied my enemies and learned from them. there was a time when i even did certain things to help my protectors maintain their cover. gone. they are as odious to me now as the mafia itself. as odious as my criminal relative, for whom, though this person was dead before i was born, i had always had a kind of wistful love in my heart, wishing that i had known this person. if i disliked and mistrusted all neurotypicals before the FBI mauled me, and if i had post-

trumatic stress disorder before they mauled me, how much worse is all of this now.

 

referring to the poem (in tyrannos) i posted on september 10th, i still hang on their hook in the name of their greed for glory, and perhaps a little glory for georgie bush, whose presidency is about to end in extreme mediocrity, at best. they have not taken me off that glory-hook and given me a home in seven bloody months. they should have given me a home from the beginning. that's what's supposed to be done for people under protection. people under protection are supposed to be treated reasonably well. until someone gives me a cogent explanation and rationale to convince me otherwise, i will continue to believe that i have been illegally used and abused by the FBI because i am:

                                           1. poor (therefore i'm no fucking good anyway)

                                           2. female

                                           3. single

                                           4. a relative of mafiosi (therefore i'm  no fucking good anyway)

 

again referring to the poem, honor still, a whole month after writing that poem, comes from no spot, at no hour. how should i do anything but loathe the 800 monkeys that turned me from a  human being (however weird a human being) into a worm?