sat 20 dec 2008 Northampton
I may have spelled swarte wrong. Is it z or s? What the hell do you CARE, and how the heck would you know. Doubt there's anyone among my readers who's a fan of flemish. They don't even CALL it flemish in belgium anymore. After hundreds of years of flemish (from which we get the names Fleming and Flemming), they've taken to calling it Dutch. Anyway, if there's anything at ALL going on in my existence of possibly fascist abuse possibly from the FBI, it's uproarious laughter from just such a creature, de swarte duivel.
Thursday there was another one of these odd, koo-koo-malilcious -looking men here in Northampton, though I didn't know it yet when I was in here making the previous post. This one was more affectionate than most, he wanted to get very close to me on the sidewalk and have a few words with me, which we did. He was a reasonably nice-looking guy and he was short, and I could look right into his eyes without raising my head too much. Too bad he didn't like me. Later crazy rick appeared. That's what he told me to call him. He came around and looked after me three different times during the night, as I had to spend it outside because the shelter didn't have a bed for me. He said I was pretty and I was a nice person, and he would lie with me on the freezing cement to make sure I didn't get unconscious and all that. I gave him some fried japanese noodles which I had paid an arm and leg for. Rick did a cute, whacky shtyk and was never nasty. It's only the second time I've ever had any company on a night of one of these suspicious men, and the first time it was matthew and I had to BEG for it. But Ricky has disappeared, and I'd like to find him today, because I'm boreder than usual. And the suspicious guy? I haven't seen him again, and, as in Greenfield, I expect I never will.
God bless latent-fascist amerika.
merry bloody christmas. Ho ho ho.
shoot me. shoot me. it's a lot quicker.
Update 18 Sept 2009: And if indeed I was being protected from very serious people who seriously wanted to hurt me, I did want to be shot. I meant it. I wanted the protection to fail. All that was my life, all that I valued and that gave me meaning and purpose and love had already been taken away. If shooters there were, I wanted them to get me.
