untitled

she died.
probably should have saved that for the last line but, that's what happened;
she died.
dead almost a year,
then me and pills and insomnia (still)
and depression/exhaustion/loneliness coupled with the human condition , the never-ending elephant
in the waiting room
and tax time to pay the piper figuratively and literally, but no ones playing pipes
and even the dirges have ended


it's weird but not good-weird


and that's likely the reason I whisper in my sleep

8 minutes in

tried to watch a documentary film, Shakespeare Behind Bars,
got 8 minutes in Caliban describes how at 9 years old his Tshirt was torn while being molested by the older boys in the
neighborhood.

When he got home his alcoholic old man calls him a lying punk and asks if he knows how much he had to pay for that Tshirt.
Within a year the old man is raping him on a regular basis.
Within 2 years his mother is.

Caliban sits in his cell and shares everything,
no blah blah blah scenarios,
none of those.

I couldn't watch
I feel guilty for not finishing the film
that's as much as I can share.