Please Note that while we convert to new blogware to replace that which our website host has discontinued (which should be completed by month's end) posts to the blog itself cannot be uploaded or accessed. However, jpegs & short messages such as those below can be published here at the Homepage for your review, enjoyment and edification(?!!).
meanwhile, 'The Faithful Heart' is still available @ amazon.com and The Whole World Calendar Book of Holidays Around the World 2015 will be ready in time for 2015 @ WholeWorldCalendar.com, where you can always see what's going on around the world in the next few days, as quoted from The Whole World Calendar Book 2014.
11/09/2014: it really is almost always a matter of having the funds to purchase representation more so than having a meritorious matter to bring before the court, but who knows, eh? i've sent out a couple of dozen or more letters to attys in the albany and nyc areas and that's all i'm going to to -- if something pans out, it pans out -- if not; it doesn't, and i will not be obsessing on it. i do intend to begin writing my memoirs shortly, anyway, and have every reason to believe that, esp in today's memoir-as-big-biz climate, my life stories will find a place on the shelf. so we'll see.
November 7, 2014
The Law Offices of…
RE: Representation Sought re Malicious Prosecution Suit re Defamation Suit Dropped “With Prejudice”
Dear Mesdames and/or Sir(s):
I am writing in order to ascertain whether or not you would have any interest in speaking with me regarding my desire to file a lawsuit against my maternal cousin after his having dropped his suit (“with prejudice” – I think – whichever phrase indicates his having forfeited his right to resurrect the suit) against me and my 84 year-old mother, particularly in light of circumstances as briefly outlined below.
A brief recent personal history that might play into your decision is the fact that, after over thirty years in Boston, Seattle, and (for the past 12 years) San Diego (I was born in Troy in 1961 and raised in Tribes Hill) I moved back to this area on my brother’s promise of a job with housing re project management of the conversion of a Broadalbin two-story school building to senior apartments – my having worked in the field on and off for over twenty-five years – to be told only upon my arrival after ten days on the road, that “it fell through” (a debatable depiction of a situation in which he refuses to accept available government grant monies because he does not wish to hire union labor while his own net worth is doubtless over a quarter of a million dollars re properties and insurance brokerage firm in Amsterdam) and, having therefore found myself stuck here without a job, a home (my parents did help me to secure the apartment in which I currently reside), without friends or access to necessary medical care, etc, I plan to sell my car in order to return to San Diego before the new year.
(1) I have no funds whatsoever to provide a retainer or for any outlay of cash whatsoever, but, as I am basically indigent at present, I should be allowed by New York State to file the tort without paying court costs, and can certainly either be billed on an hourly basis, with the prospective defendant (see directly below) coughing up my legal fees upon settlement/judgment, or would be fully prepared to pay an attorney 40% of settlement if s/he were to take the case on a contingency basis.
(2) My cousin, Michael A. Calacone (the prospective defendant) does have substantial assets which must be valued at over a quarter of a million dollars or more, as they include owning outright four parcels of property in Watervliet, as follows (I have saved to my pc and can provide, if requested, a copy of the deed, which is available online at https://access.albanycounty.com/clerk/deedsandmortgages/ClerkDocumentDetails.aspx): Lot [redacted here] and [redacted here] – one of which has a two-family house upon it, in the upper ‘flat’ of which he resides @ [redacted], and the other an undeveloped lot, which he apparently purchased for ten dollars from his paternal aunt and uncle in 1994, as well as Lots [redacted here] and [redacted here] which are, I believe, properties around the corner with garages on them.
Mr. Calacone is probably in his mid-60s, has worked steadily for the State of New York for some twenty years, was married once and divorced over twenty years ago, and has one adult daughter in her thirties. He does not appear in any manner whatsoever to live above his means and does not appear to spend much money at all.
Mr. Calacone is “0 for 4” – having lost an appeal of a judgment regarding monies related to the sale of the home he had once shared with his wife, upon its foreclosure; and having apparently also lost or dropped suits v his employers, The General Electric Company, and The State of New York, as well as, most recently, me (and my mother – which sounds like a play, but isn’t, and won’t be, I assure you.)
(3) While there may well be no such thing as ‘an open and shut case,' I believe mine comes as close as possible re malicious prosecution because I can demonstrate to judge and/or jury that when Mr. Calacone, through attorney [redacted here] – who did not represent him in the matter, probably after having received my 15 page response as well as responses from the two other family members whom Mr. Calacone had at that time in December, 2011, initially threatened to sue – his sister and a cousin’s son – who is himself a lawyer – when Mr. Calacone threatened to sue us three for defamation regarding family correspondence about a family emergency (which, unless I am grossly mistaken, has been ruled by the U.S. Supreme Courts to constitute protected speech) regarding Mr. Calacone’s having placed his mother (my mother’s sister, my aunt) into a very low-grade nursing home without her express consent (after having picked her up from the hospital after a fall while in his care, but rather than bringing her back to the highly-rated assisted living facility which she had loved living in), my 15 page letter noted all manner of situations in which Mr. Calacone had shown thoughtlessness and outright neglect toward his mother in the presence of over a dozen family members who would have testified in court, if need be – Here, in fact, is a true and telling quote from that letter (a copy of which I do have and can provide):
“In fact, it is my opinion as well as that of others that your client has, through his own attitudes, behaviors and statements these many decades, rendered himself ‘libel-proof.’ His reputation generally, and most particularly within our family and most directly with regard to the matter at hand, is so tarnished that it couldn’t have been brought any lower by any statement made by me.”
I ended my letter (dated December 15, 2011) with the following paragraph:
“Finally, I believe it my duty at this time to hereby inform you both, Mr. [redacted] and Mr. Calacone, that I have for two decades been under the care of physicians for the treatment of migraine headache and that I have for two decades been under the care of psychiatric professionals for the treatment of long-term depression and anxiety/panic disorder, for which I take medication on a daily basis. I inform you thusly and specifically because, as claims against me regarding defamation of Mr. Calacone are clearly without substance and could only form the basis of a non-meritorious action, I advise you both that any further communication whatsoever from you to me regarding such claims, as well as the filing of non-meritorious legal action against me, will, under the circumstances, clearly constitute your having decided rationally, deliberately and with malice aforethought to join together in order to engage in an intentional campaign of harassment against me for no other purpose than to cause me harm. Let me state it emphatically: Any further communication from you to me or action taken against me with regard to the matter at hand will now clearly demonstrate that you have done so with the express intent and purpose of harassing me for the sole purpose of causing me emotional distress, mental anguish, and physical pain. I have these past days alone suffered migraine, increased anxiety and outright panic attacks while mustering this necessary defense of my statements, intentions, actions and character against your baseless charges and unprovoked assault. If forced to do so, I will take advantage of every remedy provided for and available to me under the law in order to mitigate against any harm you mean to do me and to seek recompense for any injuries sustained.”
(4) I would also like to take action against the attorney who ultimately represented him, Salvator Ferlazzo, as regards New York State Bar rules and regs re filing non-meritorious and malicious torts, as any attorney practicing law in any US state, must have, or should have, known that the emails I sent to my family members regarding a family emergency while her aged siblings, daughter, and nieces and nephews were making frantic telephone calls to one another and to Mr. Calacone in order to attempt to ascertain her condition and the viability of having her situated elsewhere while Mr. Calacone refused to share any information whatsoever with anyone and uttered the refrain over and over again like a battle cry, “I have power-of-attorney!” – were indeed protected speech, which therefore suggests that Mr. Ferlazzo’s behavior in taking on and filing Mr. Calacone’s action against me, was not merely unprofessional, but malicious, and both men have caused me great mental, emotional and physical pain and suffering, as can be attested to by family, friends, and medical professionals.
I do appreciate and thank you for your time and consideration with regard to this matter, and would be most grateful if you would utilize the enclosed SASE to inform me by note (no formalities necessary) if your decision is against speaking with or representing me in this matter.
11/05/2014: not that i'm going on a tear or a rant because, frankly, i'm too god damned tired and, frankly, i'll be back on my psychiatric meds as of getting my prescriptions filled today (i'm bipolar2 with anxiety/panic attacks as well as high blood pressure -- and that's just for porpoises of medication, never mind the anal-retentive obsessive/compulsive whatnot -- all of which i often refer to more simply as suffering from opd -- obnoxious personality disorder) but how upset should i be (or would y'all 'allow for' or would y'all be, yourselves) at the following: today's wednesday, so it was a week ago monday that i called the only (the ONLY!) federally funded mental health clinic in albany (albany -- the capital city of the state!) re my situation, having run out of meds after my san diego psychiatrist gave me a 90 day supply right before i left san diego to drive ten days to the new york state debacle which y'all have been reading about and/or ignoring these past 5 months... so this gal who took my call spoke to me for maybe 10 minutes and I could tell she didn’t know a lot of what she was talking about, which I’ve come to realize over the years is not uncommon in such situations, administrative ‘intake’ people either not knowing that they’re talking about (‘but the website says…’) or providing actually incorrect information (‘but if I’m not mistaken, the americans with disabilities act…’) and I’ve come to think that it’s because (a) these places have almost no funding whatsoever (who wants to pay THEIR HARD-EARNED TAXES so that somebody without medical care or without a plan that covers mental health and/or is in a crisis can actually get to see a fucking psychiatrist so as not to blow his or her head off – or somebody else’s? why… why that’s DIRTY DEMOCRATIC COMMIE PROGRAMS!... but I digresss (and don’tchas love it sometimes when I do?...) and so such places can’t afford to hire the job candidate who really is the best or maybe even only better or many even only actually competent; and/or (b) rules change sometimes and the gal (usually) on the phone or at the front desk is working under last year’s rules and regs (but again, that’s kind of related to (a) above; and/or (c) these jobs are often filled by somebody who was once a client who needed a job and a job opened, but that person simply ain’t, how shall I say, the sharpest tool on the shelf? (although not necessarily looking kinda dumb with her finger and thumb in the shape of an ‘L’ on her forehead), but at any rate, she was getting flustered and put her supervisor on the phone, and I spoke with her for probably five minutes, and she not only (a) seemed WAAAY more upset about my being off of my blood pressure meds than my being off of my psychiatric meds and being up and down and back and forth and desperately depressed with sometime suicidal ideation (who else knows that term? It’s the ONE phrase that ALWAYS gets you in rightquick – unless you’re dealing with people such as the administrative gal (above) or the supervisor (currently under review – attack? – no, just ‘review’) but then maybe she’s had somebody in her family suffer a stroke or heart attack re high blood pressure but hasn’t found anybody hanging from a belt in their closet, so who’s to throw stones?... and so, at any rate, this woman insisted that I had to get an appointment with a doctor preagar (i think – I’m too tired to go look up the name again) at something called ‘koinonia primary care, inc’ which is doubtless a native american indian name I’m too tired to look up) in order to get a referral to go to albany’s only federally-funded mental health clinic – which, frankly, did not sound quite right to me – it’s a federally-funded clinic for albany county residents and the website says of course that one does not need health insurance and touts their ‘quality of care’ (although, suspiciously, mentions nothing about the quality of receptionists or reception/intake supervisory staff… hmmm…) and so fine I call that number and am told that I can walk in at any time and complete their intake forms and the doctor will review them the following morning and probably see me the next day or two. okay. and SO… I do that. I drive into albany and I find the address, an old brick building in what people here think of as ‘the iffy part of town’ (please – just because the population is almost exclusively poor black people living amongst a bunch of rundown and boarded up brownstones – because the city was once an industrial giant and both its economy and its population plummeted after its industrial jobs moved down south on their way to india – doesn’t make it ‘iffy’ – I’ve been in such sections of various cities in m lifetime and have NEVER suffered harm IN ANY WAY, AT ALL, PERIOD – but again, I digress (and again, don’tchas love it sometimes when I do? Garsh sakes, you know, sometimes I wish I could be on the reading end of these screeds, but again, who’s to throw stones?) – and so I go there (and that’s where the little story about not leaning against the reception window ledge comes in – if you haven’t read it yet, OMG IT IS A HOOT! Maybe you can find it someplace on my facebook page. Whatever.) and I fill out this LOOOONG ASS SERIES OF DOCUMENTS but that’s fine, they want all the information they can gather, that’s cool, and i spend probably 15 full minutes writing in a brief history of my life re my current situation (the mentally brother who stabbed our oldest, but thankfully didn’t actually murder him, his return to our home after our parents told us three remaining youngest that they wouldn’t bring him back into the house after we specifically asked them because of course we were afraid of him – who wouldn’t be? – the start of the 5 yrs of sexual molestation/assault by a presumed friend of the family who was babysitting us while my parents traded off visits to one son in the intensive care unit and the other being shuttled between the county jail and the mental institution (my having known it was ‘somehow wrong’ and it being, well, rape, and what more to say at the moment about how that feels and damages a human being, most esp a child? But how my societal AND MOST CRITICALLY AND IMPORTANTLY AND ESPECIALLY MY RELIGIOUS UPBRINGING – by a mom who was even then overtly religious but wasn’t yet actually religiously insane – I was told that homoshekshuality was a disgusting sinful abomination against god and nature, and knew from the time I was probably 4 or 5 that I was, indeed, attracted to the older boys and dads instead of the girls and moms – and that homoshekshules ‘recruited’ young boys by molesting them – and so, well, while it felt horrifically dirty and icky and a violation of mind as well as body and spirit and soul… well, apparently, this is how it’s done, so I guess in some way this is ‘normal?...’ AND THAT’S THE DANGER OF TEACHING CHILDREN SUCH SHIT because, in addition, what am I supposed to do about it, go tell mommy and daddy that I’m a dirty sinful little gay boy being ‘brought into the system’ by the homoshekshule adult man who’s molesting me – which is exactly what they’re all saying is the way it happens, anyhow?... (big breath and sigh here – BIG ‘take it in and let it go’ again, Christopher), and all the rest up to the present-day, shaking hands with that brother, who is no longer mentally ill but really is an angry rightwing hater, in my estimation (but who has ‘at least’ moved insofar as his take on the ‘gay issue’ from ‘they all oughta be lined up against a wall and shot’ (late ‘70s) to ‘the church’s stance’ (‘the’ church being, of course, the roman catholic church in which we were all raised, which, as ‘the’ church, has, of course, the ‘real undiluted truth’ etcetra, uhm hmmm…) which is ‘it’s a sin, but hate the sin and love the sinner and let god take care of it – and us) – but and so I digress and digress and lose my way and come back around to his wife of 30 yrs died horribly of cancer a couple of years ago (she was nice enough, although quite frankly she and he pretty much ignored our entire side of the family whilest laying it on thick with hers to the extent that a brother with children hearing her having been eulogized as having been ‘very close to her nieces and nephews’ thought to himself, huh? close to her nieces and nephews? I don’t think my kids ever got a birthday or xmas card or gift… oh, yeah, HER sister’s kids, not any of his brother’s kids… and funny also how the dead are so often AND SO FUCKING QUICKLY beatified – oh my heavens why she was just such a wonderful whatnot – really? I mean, she was nice enough, but… y’know? and y’know me, for saying so, eh?) and so at any rate, said bro, as y’all know, bought this beautifully refurbished old school and was IN THE PROCESS (not ‘thinking of’ or ‘looking for funding to’ but IN THE PROCESS – I seen it myself and the large classrooms were being framed in as one bedroom senior apts, with the offices above set up for refurbishing as office space and/or studio or two-room apts, and a huge basement sports court / auditorium for laundry room and ‘the diane fraumani fiacco memorial hall’ – no, seriously, but hey, it’s a nice touch and a touching thing, for use by community groups such as the boy scout homo-h8ers and senior groups and whonot – i’d even sent a couple of letters with ideas re the HUGE lawn as a sort of ‘private park’ for the residents and hosting a.a. meetings in the diane fraumani fiacco memorial hall and basketball courtyard) and how he shook my hand on my coming back to nys from 12 yrs in san diego, which I loved, and taking over the project and therefore having a job and housing, and how I sold off or gave away or abandoned (because you can’t even sell or give some stuff anymore, there’s so much cheap shit from china out there nowadays) and put my most precious personal possessions, as well as a suitcase of clothing, my two cats in a small dog cage, my 3 gouldian finches, all stuffed into my mustang (which is hardly the most spacious sort of vehicle for doing so) and how I drove TEN FUCKING DAYS to albany (a horrible HORRIBLE trip of endless endless driving and cats having diahhrea on and off in motel rooms from the stress, and having to get up every fucking morning except for the two, I think, during which I stayed another full day in a particular place because I was exhausted – getting up and packing up and stuffing the cats into the cage (which only took two days before they both knew enough to try to get out of the experience by running and hiding, if they could – me trying as gently as possible while having fucking anxiety attacks and getting PISSED OFF but trying as gently as possible to coax and pull a frightened twenty pound cat out from under a bed…) and how I got here to hear my mom do her meak mommy voice ‘oh, well, uhm… that fell through…’ (as I heard that on the telephone just before leaving Michigan on the last 5 hour leg of my ten day journey after asking ‘how does lee want to work this out? Does he want to meet me at the building, or at your apartment, or do you have the keys to the building?’ because – naturally – he hadn’t contacted me at all from xmas through mid-may… my jaw literally dropped – I’m not just using that as a phrase – picture one of those scenes from a movie when the main character (well, okay, maybe just a minor character – at least apparently as far as certain other ‘cast members’ who only ever had to pick up the phone or drop a fucking post card into the mail saying ‘don’t leave san diego until you hear from me/us that it’s all set…’ but who didn’t) my jaw literally dropped and I said WHAT DO YOU MEAN, ‘THAT FELL THROUGH’ – weak excuse re funding which, come to find out, actually apparently means that there’s forty grand available from the state – and that’s just ONE of TWO OR THREE OUTRIGHT GRANTS available for this project – but ‘brother republicanazi’ would have to utilize union labor if he took the money and OOOOOH MY GOD IN HEAVEN WHY HILLARY AND THE DEMOCRATS AND THE UNIONS ARE RUINING THIS COUNTRY!!!!!.... and so, here I am in an apt my parents helped me to fund but without any network of health care or friends etc as I had back home in san diego (which is my home and nothing personal to those who grew up and/or still live here but, this ain’t my home no more, no more, it ain’t my home no mooooore – I’m just a west coast kinda guy) AND SO TO THE STORY I started out telling… I fill out my forms and give them to the receptionist and she says ‘the doctor will review it in the morning and probably get you an appointment in a day or two’ and it’s only then that I turn around and see a HUGE blow-up of a newspaper article, framed and hanging proudly right there on the wall, with a headline re the doctor ‘prays with a patient at the thus-and-such medical center’ who gives ‘spiritual’ as well as medical care… and y’all know that I am not merely ‘not religious’ but that, while I respect everyone’s right to their belief systems and services, etc, it just ain’t for me… and so I think, oh, great, yeah, well, I imagine it’s not something he’s OVERT about… ??? and so I’m scheduled for six days later, and yesterday at 6:40pm I finally got in to see the doctor and they give me another little sheet to fill out asking ‘in the last two weeks’ have I felt this, have I felt that, a psychological questionnaire, and I fill it out marking it appropriately as being very depressed, chewed up by anxiety, trouble sleeping, etc. one question was ‘have you planned your death’ and had only a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ option, so I wrote in the truth, ‘not seriously.’ WHELL! The entire thing took almost 2 full hours because first I met with a 1st year med student who took my blood pressure and pulse and some information which was RIGHT THERE ON THE FORMS I’D FILLE OUT LAST WEEK AS WELL AS JUST NOW… but I merely alluded to having answered the questionnaire… and then I had the pleasure of being seen by a 2ND YEAR MED STUDENT (okay, it’s nice that the doctor is doing this for med students but WTF, you know what I mean?) because he basically asked mildly more probing versions of the same exact questions she’d just asked AND THEN I WAIT AGAIN UNTIL THE DOCTOR FINALLY COMES IN WITH THE 2ND YEAR MED STUDENT TRAILING BEHIND who hasn’t even really given doctor preglaw or whatever a very descriptive version of what I’d just spent ten fucking minutes describing to him… but hey, HOPEFULLY his ability to hear the patient, jot notes, and relay the patient’s information to the next doctor down the line – will improve as his education continues… and I digress… and so FINALLY THE BIG MAN COMES IN and he was really a very nice and kind and understanding and listening doctor. He spent about a half hour with me, talking to me re my situation and history and meds, he gave me three prescriptions which I’ll shortly bring to ye olde target re their four buck generic pharmacy plan, and at the end of it all, after I’ve thanked him profusely and he says that I can call to have weekly sessions with him and a psychologist who works with him re mental health, at what is clearly the conclusion of my visit, he says, ‘can I pray for you?’ and I stifle my natural tendency to do what I just did here – roll my eyes (I mean, he’s a fucking doctor, not a minister, and I’ve said not a word about religion myself, and I have never in my 53 yrs had ANY doctor EVER ANYWHERE ask such a question and it actually takes me by surprise even in light of the big poster in the lobby) and so I say, simply, ‘sure, but not in my presence please,’ thinking that he was simply asking ‘can I pray for you’ and not ‘CAN I PRAY OVER YOU?’ and he stands next to me, puts his hand on my shoulder and begins, ‘dear lord, please help chris…’ while the 2nd yr med student bows his head (who knows whether he’s also ‘in on’ the ‘prayer circle’ or is just there trying to get some medical education and is as uncomfortable as me but certainly isn’t going to say anything and so he bows his head respectfully as those do who are sitting at a holiday table but not really participating whilest the host offers the truly by now almost thoughtless reflexive casual ‘bless us our lord for these thy gifts which we are about to receive from the bounty through christ our lord amen’ (which I don’t do anymore because, hey, i’m just sitting there, so I just sit there while my host and/or hostess say their grace and I don’t make any point of ‘NOT PARTICIPATING’ but I don’t bow my head as if I am, I just sit quietly and then participate in the grabbing for food when the prayer is over – as any goodly ungodly guess otter, no?) AND SO THE MAN FUCKING PRAYS OVER ME FOR ABOUT THIRTY FULL SECONDS WHILE I SIT THERE UNCOMFORTABLY BUT NOT WANTING TO MAKE ANY SORT OF SCENE SUCH AS ‘HEY, DUDE, DO YOU MIND?’ feeling as if my older brother the ‘christian’ republicanazi who INSISTS on saying HIS grace at every family gathering regardless of whose house it’s in… and he finishes up and I gather my things and I make a point of saying goodnight to him and the 2nd yr student as well as to the receptionist as I walk out without even attempting to find out whether or not they’re going to ask me about paying (my understand is that he does this evening ‘free/sliding fee’ thing, so I just left). And on my way out of the building down the elevator etc I was not actually fuming – I’ve got my fucking prescriptions and I’m feeling better and I’m actually already shipping my few belongings out to a friend in san diego in prep for my impending leave-taking which will be as soon as I sell my car and gather my funding and ensure two one-way 1st class seats (because sunny cannot fit in any cage that goes under any seat or even in between the seats in coach) etc, and I’m just saying to myself ‘what the fuck?’ WHAT THE FUCK? Why on earth do religious people think that’s it’s not only perfectly okay, but that they’ve got some right – esp of course a fucking doctor in his own office – but hey, he’s a doctor doing some religious-style work, he’s not a minister doing some doctoring – so isn’t there a difference (that those amongst us who are not of his ilk can obviously and clearly distinguish, anyhow?)? but what on earth makes such people think that it’s appropriate FOR A DOCTOR IN A DOCTOR’S OFFICE – NOT A MINISTER DOING SOME DOCTORING – to just casually stand up (WHEN THE PERSON HE’S ASKED ‘CAN I PRAY FOR YOU?’ ACTUALLY SAYS, ‘SURE, BUT NOT IN MY PRESENCE, PLEASE’ WITHOUT ATTITUDE, I ASSURE YOU) what the FUCK makes them think that it’s a-ok to put his hand on me and pray over me? now, I do know that believers will say ‘oh what’s the harm?’ and even some non-believers (although not many, because if you don’t believe, you don’t like to be bothered by the intentional displaying of somebody else’s belief system and religious undertaking – esp when they specifically put their fucking hands on you!) some might say, ‘oh, well, no biggie’ but it’s just so fucking presumptuous and actually rude. Imagine me saying to him, do you mind if I pray for you, and then put my hand on his shoulder and say, ‘dear zeus’ or ‘lord shiva’ or ‘might Aphrodite, please help doctor praegar in his practice of medicine…’ such folks would not only be put off, methinks they’d be insulted if not actually outraged. YOU’RE PRAYING TO ZEUS OVER ME? HEY, WAIT A SECOND, I’M NOT A HINDU. or something. But wtf, it’s a somewhat loverly morn and I’m not quite pissed off so much as mildly disgusted. I have had religion shoved down my throat since childhood, by my mother, by a brother and sister-in-law (who actually mailed me a copy of a book titled ‘the case for christ’ a few years back just out of the blue AND I FUCKING HIT THE ROOF! I wrote back and told them point blank, ‘I’ve had religion shoved down my throat since childhood and I’ll have no more of it – how would you like for me to send you a book titled ‘the case against christ’ or ‘the case for homosexuality’ – their youngest had just come out as a gay man, to which the rest of the family, except for my parents and ye olde roman catholic republicanazi, kinda went HAha!) and so anyhow, it’s just fuckign obnoxious and off-putting and tiresome. I would like to live somewhere where people just don’t mention their religious beliefs except to those who believe likewise. A place where you don’t hear about GOD (and of course there’s only one and ‘he’ is the abrahamic god, dontchasknow) ALL THE FUCKING TIME, every election cycle or news report regarding social whatnot. I don’t run around saying THERE’S NO GOD – JESUS IS DEAD, GET OVER IT! so why do ‘they’ constantly run around shouting GOD GOD GOD JESUS JESUS JESUS! ?? and why is it that those who profess to believe not only in god and jesus etc but in the great paradise of the afterlife called heaven, where they’ll live for all eternity in sunshine and happiness with every loved one (and now, even pets) who’ve passed on before them… seem to be the most afraid of death? food for thought, or just crumbs to wipe off the table so the dog can lick them off of the floor? You decide. Note 11/06/14: The fucking doctor got my most important prescription wrong, anyhow! I'm supposed to take 2 150mg Effexor per day, which of course would equal 60 pills/month, and the asshole wrote it out for 1 150mg/day, so i've only got 30. wtf, i haven't been on it at all in 3 months, so i'm sure it'll do some good and i'll just get back up to 300mg/day when i get back to the gifford clinic in san diego, where i'd been going for 10 yrs anyhow. jayzus not-so-crispy, this whole move has been an abomination against zeus, i sewayah!...
and re NYS DMV F-U-C-K-D (yeah, i know i left out the 'e' but one more syllable would've destroyed the disneyesque beat -- i'm holding off on the 'I H8 New York State' t-shirts until further notice -- and not only does it always amaze me how quickly one hears from one's elected officials at vote-gittin' time, as evinced (not 'evidenced' but 'evinced') by the letters which follow these two, but funny (?) too that i never did hear a peep from nys dmv commish falala, but the final outcome?...
apparently, although i had enough 'points' to get an nys license the first time i visited the fonda new york office in may (under the stewardship of 'patty the supervisor' [the woman who called for security before telling me there was 'an issue' i needed to resolve in ca before nys dmv could give me a license]) my license was suspended in california in june because i hadn't renewed it within 90 days of expiration -- so, actually, ALLLLLLLLLLLLLL of this SHIT could have been avoided if only the gal at the fonda nys dmv had realized that i had enough 'points' accumulated on my first visit in may instead of telling me that i needed another form of 'point accumulation' such as a life insurance policy of two years' standing or longer, etc -- AND MY LICENSE WOULDN'T HAVE THEN BEEN SUSPENDED IN CALIFORNIA RE NON-RENEWAL, which, apparently, it is now, and so now i have to figure out all of that shit, probably by doing what i should have done when i first got here to learn that the property mgmt project (with housing, which i moved from my 12 yrs in san diego to here to take on re my brother lee and me shaking hands on the deal during last year's xmas visit) "fell though" (which he didn't even have the balls to tell me himself, but which my parents did finally tell me just before i left a hotel in michigan for the final few hours' of the 10 days' drive which brought me to a local nys best western with two cats with diahhrea from the stress of 10 days on the road, and nothing left to me but what i put in the car to drive here...) and it never has actually 'fallen through' -- it's just that he's such a right wing republicanazi that he refuses to accept tens of thousands of dollars in state and federal grant monies he qualifies for re the conversion of an incredibly well-built and amazingly-remodeled two-story brick school building with offices and sports court/auditorium, parking lot and HUGE piece of land surrounding it (w/elevator and plumbing in every room!) to senior housing bldg w/solar power etc -- funding which he could STILL get but refuses to accept BECAUSE THEY'D REQUIRE HIM TO HIRE UNION LABORERS AND OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH MY HEAVENS why it's the unions and the democrats and hillary and the chinese suing the auriesville shrine who are ruining the country OOOOOOOOOhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!....
the whole situation, me stranded here like this after 12 yrs of a life in san diego without medical care which i had there, and so much more, is so fucked up -- SO FUCKED UP -- that i probably actually NEED to sell my mustang and just get the fuck back to san diego with sunny and take whatever studio apt i can find and re-start. but, then, what to expect when one returns to the land of the fucked up, thinking they've changed after 20 yrs, somehow, only to discover that no, the fucked up are still fucked up (we all are in our own way, but at least i'm not fucked up in ways that impact other peoples' lives to the extent of telling them that there's a job and housing waiting here, when they already know that there isn't, but they don't bother to say anything until you're already on the last few hours' leg of the 10 day drive, and THEN they tell you...) but oh me bruthermen and sisterwymn, what a memoir it will make, eh? memoirs of a nobody -- ask for it by name (if you want; and if not, no biggie. memoirs being the big biz they are these days, i have a strong feeling that mine really would be one for the books, as they say...)
all of which garnered the following responses, to which i responded to the three in red -- just fyi and entertainment...
i wish to FUCK that people like this would figure out that every 'i feel violated' IS NOT THE SAME AS BEING RAPED or having had a SEX CRIME committed against them. NO, little miss oscar-winning whozits, your nudies finding their way onto the web IS NOT ANY KIND OF ANY SORT OF ANY MOTHERFUCKING SEX CRIME!!!! and if you and others like you who keep claiming that every time 'i feel so violated' is IN ANY WAY 'like' being raped or having had a fucking SEX CRIME COMMITTED AGAINST AND UPON YOUR BODY, YOUR MIND, AND YOUR FUCKING SOUL, you wouldn't be so motherfucking IGNORANT if not actually STUPID as to make such a motherfucking STUPID statement. it almost -- almost but in no way would i wish such a thing on anybody just because she's young and stupid -- almost makes me wish that YOU actually WOULD become the victim of a sex crime so that you'd know the motherfuckin' difference between 'my nudies went viral' and I WAS FUCKIN RAPED. and every time one of these assholes compares their embarrassment or chagrin or sense of 'i feel so violated' to having been raped etc, it just yanks the rest of us who HAVE been the victims of sex crimes back down into the roiling broiling emotional horror vomit that such victimization shoved so deep down our throats and so far down into our very lives and souls that no one who HASN'T actually been the victim of a REAL sex crime, can't even understand. it cannot be and is never 'gotten over' -- it is 'dealt with' as best we can deal with it when we're reminded of it now and again and again and again and again throughout the entire rest of our lives, usually when we haven't even thought about it for a long time but then something, or someone such as ignorant fucking idiots like this one, make ignorant fucking statements like this one. and i'll bet i'll be the only one to say or post anything like this anywhere around the world. and i'll bet that the happy little miss oscar-winning whozits here will be picking up some sort of "sex crime victims' award" or two somewhere soon -- doubtless in fucking hollywood -- even though she CLEARLY has NO FUCKING IDEA WHATSOEVER what the phrase 'sex crime' actually means. i shouldn't finish up with this, but i'm going to because it's how i feel at the moment: FUCK YOU, JENNIFER LAWRENCE, YOU STUPID LITTLE FUCKING CRYBABY CUNT. your nudies went viral? ooooh, why you've been raped! NOT! stupit stupit stupit. (whew! okay, now i feel a little better. thanks for reading this, if you have. and if you haven't, well, have a happy friday, anyhow, then, eh?!)
and you did, of course, read this here first, no?
if 'the graduate' were to be remade today, the word would not be 'plastics' but 'patients' -- specifically, ALLLLLLLLLL of the patients who have been in need of v.a. medical care for the past 15 yrs PLUS ALLLLLLLLL of the patients who will be in need of v.a. medical care during the next two to three generations as they (a) get back to the states in need of medical care as well as (b) age.
I HONESTLY BELIEVE THAT ANY COLLEGE AGED 'KID' OR PARENT OF A 'KID' IN HIGH SCHOOL OR COLLEGE SHOULD SERIOUSLY CONSIDER CONTACTING THE V.A. NOW (via website for just a look or PERSONALLY VIA A V.A. OFFICE IN ORDER TO SPEAK WITH SOMEONE (always the best touch is the personal touch -- except of course when it's sexually diseased, but that's for those who wish to attempt to sleep their way to the top to figure out for themselves, then, eh?...)
FIND OUT NOW EXACTLY WHAT'S WHAT. my own experience in state govt, granted in the 80s and within h.r., convinces me that EVEN WITHOUT A BACHELOR'S DEGREE FULLY COMPLETED RIGHT NOW (and even perhaps with 'merely' an associate's under the belt but 'working on' the bachelor in business admin which every other applicant is also going to have, anyway) THIS IS THE TIME TO HIT UP THE V.A. AS WELL AS YOUR OWN CONGRESSIONAL REPS & STATE SENATORS IN ORDER TO LET THEM KNOW WHO YOU ARE, WHERE YOU ARE, AND HOW MUCH YOU WANT TO HELP...
WRITE A LETTER TO PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA AS COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE ARMED FORCES OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA and let him know how much you want to help...
because NO U.S. PRESIDENT, U.S. SENATOR OR CONGRESSIONAL REP IS GOING TO NEGLECT TO REQUEST/ADD MONEY TO THE V.A. BUDGETS OR VOTE AGAINST INCREASING FUNDING FOR THE V.A. WITH ALL OF THE "WOUNDED WARRIOR'S" (and their spouses -- all of whom vote and vote heavy -- in addition of course to their parents etc) WHO ARE MISSING PARTS OF THEIR BODIES AND MINDS as a result of what will be probably 30 yrs or more of our nation's consistent if not actually continual middle eastern warfare.
I MAKE NO JUDGEMENT INSOFAR AS THIS MATTER IS CONCERNED -- THIS IS THE WAVE OF THE U.S. FUTURE, LIKE IT OR NOT, AND THERE ARE JOBS TO BE HAD BY PEOPLE WHO NEED JOBS, and IF YOU'RE LOOKING FOR A JOB or planning for a future with as secure a job as you might ever be able to hope to get for yourself here in ye good olde U.S.A. -- HERE IT JUST MIGHT BE.
And consider this even if you're not 'into' the military or medical fields -- IN ADDITION TO DOCTORS, R.N.s, P.A.s, PHYSICAL THERAPISTS, MENTAL HEALTH PROFESSIONALS, the v.a. will require ALL KINDS OF ADMINISTRATIVE PARSNIPS such as ADMINISTRATIVE PROFESSIONALS, EXECUTIVE ASSISTANTS, EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT TO THE WHATNOT OF WHICHEVER DEPARTMENT OR MEDICAL FACIALTY and...
there will be LOTS AND LOTS of folks involved in developing and producing and outfitting THOUSANDS OF AMERICANS IN and NEWLY or SOON-TO-BE OUT of THE MILITARY with all manner of prostheses and heart valves and medications, etc.
THIS IS WHERE THE MONEY IS, KIDS, AND WHERE THE MOST SECURE JOB MARKET IS GONG TO BE FOR THIS GENERATION JUST COMING INTO THE JOB MARKET (and possibly even their own kids when those as-yet-unborn kids hit college age) SO GET IN ON IT AS EARLY AS YOU CAN!
having worked almost a decade in state government, again albeit in the 80s, i still maintain that a guy or gal with an associate's degree working on the bachelor's degree (WITH THE FINANCIAL ASSISTANCE OF THE VERY GOMMINT FOR WHOM S/HE IS WORKING SO LONG AS S/HE SIGNS A CONTRACT STATING THAT S/HE WILL WORK FOR THAT AGENCY FOR A SPECIFIED PERIOD OF TIME -- generally five to seven yrs -- WHO IS ALREADY KNOWN AND WELL-LIKED in the department IS GOING TO HAVE THE EASIER TIME when it comes to climbing the ladder than the guy or gay who will be a resume without a face or personality whom nobody's ever met but who submits that resume along with the LITERALLY HUNDREDS of others submitted for a particular job ALONGSIDE THE GUY/GAL IN THE OFFICE WHOM EVERYBODY ALREADY KNOWS AND LIKES AND HAS 2 OR 3 OR 5 YRS EXPERIENCE IN THE DEPARTMENT -- ESP WITH THE CAREFULLY NURTURED but NEVER obsequiously obtained RESPECT AND ADMIRATION ('what a great kid -- just what this country needs...') of his/her CONGRESSIONAL REP AND STATE SENATORS (plural) REGARDLESS OF POLITICAL PARTY or your personal opinions about them.
and so, in closing -- there are jobs out there and out there, these are going to be amongst the bestest of the best jobs out there, so -- GO GET 'EM, KIDS! the gommint is a GREAT place to work for 95% of the time (unless one happens to be in a particular place with particular problems which are YOUR particular problems...) -- benes out the yin yang, cost of living adjustments, grade upgrades, paid holidays and vacation time, medical leave, family leave, and so on, so long as you couldn't possibly give a fat flying fuck about the opinions of those who don't like gommint (and, puh-leeze, working for the v.a. -- who's gonna give you a plateful of that shit at any party? and surely, you, you who will toil with pride and ability while garnering the respect that will be your due at the v.a. -- you will be not only at the ready at all times for such crap but certainly capable of delivering an appropriately vigorous, direct and sustained defensive retaliatory retort such as, "i beg your pardon? surely you're not against the veteran's administration? surely you're not telling us that you don't support those of us who are trying to help our fellow americans in uniform who have sacrificed their limbs and their bodies and, some of them, for heaven's sakes, their minds, so that you can sit safely at this barbrecue scarfing down pork rinds and swilling your home brew without the threat of some jerking jihadist jumping the fence and beheading us all because we aren't right-wing conservative extremist 8th century islamists? SURELY that's not what you're suggesting?...')
and so, again, in closing -- GO GET 'EM, KIDS!
https://www.facebook.com/christopher.corbettfiacco.7 (09/27/2014): no, i'm not losing my mind, i'm just a tad emotional about certain things, such as abuse of the powerless. and i honestly wonder if (who am i kidding, i honestly think that) i would be content to be one of the hunters who slices the bastards' heads off while asking them, right up close right into their ears, 'you like abusing animals, huh? well, here's some animal abuse for you; how does it feel?...'
i then picture us all singing 'another motherfucker bites the dust' as we dance around the corpse.
but that's just me.
09/23/14 - 09/24/14
CS reply to CCF: God made man and woman to be fruitful multiply. God did not make man to have babies with other men . Sexuality is only between a man and woman . Sexuality is religious for man and woman . What goes on is between a man and woman . It's a abomination sex with man to man. The word gay is a man made word of sin . Gay is sin . The word gay is sin as Lesbian is a sin. There are no gays in heaven . Sin (gays) are in hell stripped of memory of the things they did on earth . In torment burning but there's no fire they thirst there's no water they scream there's no one to hear. There engulfed in there own sin called gay . They eat there own flesh in hell to end the hunger pains but get sick and there flesh grows back again in repeated eternal torment of horror called hel
CCF reply to CS: and the easter bunny shall lie down with the tooth fairy in the glory of the abrahamic god who instructed the hebrews to invade their neighboring tribal lands, salt the land so that nothing would grow there for generation, slaughter all male humans as well as all female humans who were not virgins, bring back the chattel including the female virgins (who are, of course, chattel, which are, of course, farm animals) from whom he took his share both of cattle and human virgins, undoubtedly not merely for the meat of the cattle but for his own sexual purposes re the virgin female human chattel, just like the men in whose own image he made them and gave dominion over all including the human females who are chattel. your god is a truly horrible being. if he was a neighbor, most people within your community would have absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with him. you, however, i am sure, would be one of his most self-righteous accolades doing his bidding insofar as gleefully smiting them who neglect to 'maketh unto the lord a sweet savor' with their barbecued offerings. the bottom line, anyhow, is that zeus is the father of all the gods, and your god is not merely a minor deity, but an asshole, to boot. read your vaunted holy book -- it's all in there. meanwhile, why is it that the religiously insane such as yourself and your brethren engaged in religious warfare in the middle east and other religious 'hotspots' around the world are among the most illiterate people in the world? even if you paid absolutely no attention whatsoever in english class (as was undoubtedly the case) your holy books have been edited for proper spelling and punctuation in the languages in which you read them. ah, well, to quote the great barney frank, 'dumb as a couch.'
09/19/14: not to be either maudlin or pathetic, but do tell the loves of your lives that they are, and laugh at the laughable little shit that should only lead to arguments on old episodes of 'all in the family' and 'the mary tyler moore show.' and don't merely love them but cherish them. because one of these days, and it won't be very far off even if it's fifty years from now, one of you -- unless you're lucky enough to go together, which almost never happens -- one of you is going to find yourself crying to every love song that comes on the radio or cd player, or to any odd little ditty you haven't heard for years, but sang and/or danced to even while maybe making fun of the ridiculous little song, and it might happen even months and months and months and months and months and even months and months after the love of your life has died, and even if you really are certain that s/he did indeed know that s/he was in fact the love of your life, but you're either not sure you ever actually said so, or you know now that you never actually did. 'soul mate'? gimme a fuckin' break. if s/he really is the love of your life, then just say so, and ring all of the enjoyment out of every bit of life's mundane minutia that you can. because one day, one of you is going to lose not only the big happy stuff, but all of the mundane minutia you had together, too. and that is the day you will honestly, actually know what the term 'broken hearted' means. because that is gonna hurt like a butcher knife through your chest wall and straight into your heart, with the tip of it poking out the backside of your heart. and there will be nothing to do at that moment but cry and cry and cry and cry and cry until that particular spasm of loneliness and that particular crying jag are all cried out. and that's all there is to it, because that's life.
091214 comment to facebook friend’s comment to my comment on his original comment re life’s painful paths:
Christopher Corbett-Fiacco i was about to write 'except for starting the day making somebody smile'... but then i realized it's what i do, too. the somebody is my case is my 16 yo cat, sunny. he is the most interesting animule i've ever known, not because he's mine, but because his mind is completely original, he's very vocal and makes all sorts of sounds which i understand about 90% of the time, and he does the most interesting things. those of us who are unlucky enough to have demons, have different ones. same with experiences, as you said. my long story short started off well enough with 4 older brothers, a twin, and a younger brother i adored. then an older brother started having mental illness (i think we've connected re this before) in which he screamed 'i'll kill you all some day' and when he was 17 and i was 11, he viciously stabbed our then 19 yo brother and almost murdered him in his bedroom while my mom and twin and younger brother were there. oy. my eldest brother was in intensive care touch-and-go for 48 hours. he survived, thank goodness. the other brother was in prison/mental hospitals for 2 yrs and then released. my parents had promised us 3 that they would not bring him back into the house but would get him a room at the ymca and he could get his ged etc. about a month after the stabbing, while a presumed friend-of-the-family was babyshitting us 3 so that my parents could visit, on alternate nights, my brother in the hospital (he was there for 2 months) or my brother in jail/mental hosp, the man took the occasion to begin molesting me which included rape, naturally (what pedophile would be content molesting an 11 yo when he could rape him up the ass, eh?). then my brother was released from prison (having committed the crime one month shy of his 18th birthday in 1972, he was automatically legally a juvenile, etc,, so no 'big time in the big house'). what ensued was almost a decade of abolute horror for us 3 young ones growing up in a household in which our parents had abrogated their authority (the mentally ill brother would literally yell 'shut up' from his bedroom if we were too 'noisy' and my mom would literally hush us up -- she is a religious fanatic who actually believes that she is a prophetess of god -- that god has chosen her to prove his existence to the world through a historical novel she's been working on for about 45 yrs now) but abrogated their parental responsibilities in the most egregious manner -- a parent is supposed to protect a child, not enable someone, even another offspring, to endanger that child's existence through his presence in their lives and his literal sometime physical attacks and threats. meanwhile, after 5 yrs of being raped by the guy up the street, at 16 i finally had the guts to say 'no.' and it stopped. meanwhile, i was growing up gay in a world which told me in no uncertain terms that i was a sick and disgusting perversion of nature yadda yadda yadda. suicidal ideation since age 7. manic/depressive 2. anxiety/panic disorder. chronic stress. completely and totally fucked over to the tune of loss of job/housing @ over $40K/yr by a man i not only liked but trusted, so that he could give the jobs to the 4th or 5th young woman with whom he had an extra-marital affair, and then sued me (the case is still pending in california) when i blogged about it, as is my right as it is something which i experienced during my own lifetime. alcoholism/drug addition. 16 yrs clean and sober. than last year the love of my life blows me over by telling me that he had become an alcoholic. long story short, the afternoon before he was scheduled to go into rehab on the wednesday morning, he relapsed and his mom came home from work to find him floating face down in the pool. and i might have even forgotten one or two other things that've happened along the way. bottom line today: i'm in the process of finding an nys psychiatrist and therapist, i'm reconnecting with some family members i'd like to reconnect with and am learning who exactly was a factor in the many factors (mostly being wanting to live in a larger city) as to why i moved away at 20. 4 months into my one year experiment in living back here, i've at least learned that i am not living her beyond my lease end next may. i'll move to the adirondacks or perhaps rhode island or portland (either maine or oregon) or lower northeastern canada, if doable, or northern/middle california. and my priority in life right now is my cat, sunny. i have two writing projects which i'd like to accomplish/finish before i die (my memoirs, which i believe will have meaning not only for me to write, but for certain other people who might find it of interest and benefit) and a book i've entitled (copyright, folks, copyright notice) 'biblical bullshit: why the bible cannot be the literal word of the abrahamic god unless he's an asshole and modern-day christians are heretical blasphemers.' and so making sunny as happy as possible is the only thing which i truly, truly feel i should do and need to do right now. the humans in my life can deal with their lives as best they can. sunny is a cat with the intellectual and emotional capacities of about a 3 yo human. and that's enough for me for now, and clearly enough for me to write here in the comment section of your facebook page/post, eh? happy friday, bud! there's something about friday, isn't there? no matter where you are or what you're doing, or not, friday is friday, and fridays really are a bit of terrific, no? take care. -chris.
09/02/14: In a good mood singing along to the radio on my way home from Starbucks and Sunny met me at the door and followed me into my little office here and lay down beside me to continue his morning nap and I opened the Starbucks CD "Mele O Hawaii / Songs of Hawaii" and just started crying when the very first lyrics of the very first song ("White Sandy Beach") were sung by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole: "I saw you again last night / I saw you in my dreams / We were walking hand in hand / On a white, sandy beach of Hawaii / We were playing in the sun / We were having so much fun / On a white, sandy beach of Hawaii / The sound of the ocean / Soothes my restless soul / The sound of the ocean / Rocks me all night long / Those hot long summer days / Lying there in the sun / On a white, sandy beach of Hawaii..." I cried, and am crying still, and listening to the song over and over again in order to continue to remember and to cry until I cry it out again this time, because it brings back to me the most beautiful memory of a white sandy beach in Oregon where Ramon and I stripped down and sunbathed naked because we were the only ones to be seen along the miles-long coastline, and I had known even then, during a weeklong trip we took down and back up the Washington and Oregon coasts when we were living in Seattle, that that was, and would always be, one of the most beautiful and happy moments of my life during one of the best vacations I've ever taken, just driving down the coast, camping out, lying on beaches, driving back up, camping out... It is now fourteen months since the love of my life drowned drunk in the swamp of his Florida swimming pool the day before he was scheduled to enter rehab, and now I'm sobbing, listening to this song over and over again because I've learned that, for me, if I can, this is what to do until this one is all cried out, too. This will not kill me any more than the hundreds of other sob sessions I've endured in my lifetime, including those I wrote about just a couple of weeks ago, when I comforted and petted and sweet-talked into death my adorable and adoring little Bunny the Cat (see below if interested). And so it fucking goes, then, eh? [To see the video and hear the song on Youtube, Click Here.]
the sweetest little girl who ever shared my home died of pneumonia yesterday morning at the grand old age of 12, which actually wasn't a bad age for a feline runt who’d come down with sniffles and colds that’d often turn into upper respiratory infections every few months since the day i adopted her from a san diego shelter as sunny’s little sibling a few months after his litter-mate and brother, sammy, was hit and killed by a car (the last time any of my animules have been outside -- but at least sammy died without really knowing what hit him, as was obvious from the single wound on the side of his head and the ‘testimony’ of the weeping gal who’d hit him just three or four houses away from me and had called and met me where she’d lain him on the grass).
at any rate, i'd taken bunny to the animal emergency hospital on friday morning because it was obvious that the upper respiratory infection which she'd come down with every few months since she was a kitten and was just a part of life with bunny -- vet visits and shots and pills and vitamin supplements (god i loved it when she'd get better and be herself again, esp when she'd bound into the bedroom and jump onto the bed and onto my lap or chest while i was reading or watching tv or napping!).
anyway, by friday morning it was clear that she wasn't getting over this one as quickly as in the past. in the spring she'd lost 2 of her 6 lbs but put back on 1 lb (and i luvluvluved feeding her the moist canned food she luvluvluved and patting her little tiny belly) and this time the sniffles had turned into pneumonia pretty quickly and long story short, after the vet had given her a shot and a round of rehydration and pills, it was pretty obvious to me by friday afternoon that her body probably did not have the wherewithal to rebound. so i did what we do...
first, i made her 'comfortable' in her special spot on the red blanket in the wicker basket under her ‘sun lamp’ (she LOVED lying in the sun, whether natural or artificial!) and i encouraged her to drink and/or eat, which she was not doing, and i even fixed up a slurry consisting of a dab of vitamin gel and a dab of a high-calorie/protein gel and her pill and the beef gravy from a can of cat food, and i mixed it all together in a kitten bottle i’d bought for the occasion (i’d done this before and it’d worked insofar as bringing her around to wanting to eat and drink and put weight back on, but of course she’d never been this bad off and i knew it was a long shot) and i fed her and she drank it and i held her and petted her and told her how sweet she was and how much i loved her and hoped she’d get better, as i always did when she was not merely sick but really sick, and i put her back in her basket because i knew that she wanted to be left alone to sleep in peace.
i had her in bed with me through the night and woke up every couple of hours, the way we do, and she was just so emaciated and spacey, i could tell that her little body had probably gone beyond the point at which it could come back. and when she vomited a gush of watery brownish/green bile that was probably the entire contents of her stomach, i just knew what was coming, and i dreaded it, but i knew of course that i had to help her to as comfortable and ‘loving’ a death as she could have, and deserved to have, not only because she was a fellow being, but she’d given me SO much love and even comfort (when ramon died last year, her and sunny just being there with me), so i cleaned her up and laid her on my stomach and chest the way she loved to lay on my stomach and chest, the way i had of course always loved for her to do (except when it was actually time to turn onto my side and go to sleep, which i’d do so gingerly you’d think i’d have a half-dozen newly hatched chicks on fresh-laid eggs on my chest instead of a little cat who was quite adept at insinuating herself into any position as i changed positions on the nights she wanted to snuggle alongside me, which were probably hundreds and hundreds of nights over those dozen years) and i petted her very very gently so as not to discomfort her, and i talked to her for a while, and i fell asleep a couple of times but each time i woke up, she was still breathing, which has always amazed me when i’ve been in the presence of those who are passing on ‘any time now’ – seems our bodies don’t need to expend much energy when the heart just beats and we just continue to breathe, because it seems sometimes to take SO much longer than it seems it will.
luckily, she was never in any distress or pain, and she drifted in a kind of daze (or maybe she was more-or-less asleep but her eyes were open because cats don’t have eyelids and it takes muscle power to close their eyes and her body simply wasn’t expending that muscle power on closing her eyes, it was utilizing whatever energy it had left just to keep her heart beating and her lungs inhaling and exhaling as it wound down [I often think of animals, including us, of course, as being like those old wind-up toys, when it comes to the energy our bodies have – at birth, it gets all wound up until you can’t wind it another notch, and we’re a wound-up bag of bones and organs that’s wailing and flailing and doesn’t even know where or what it is; and as we age, the wind-up mechanism plays out – we’re kids running and jumping all over the place – we’re teens full of life and love and dreams and lots of whatnot – we’re adults still full of energy and then we’re older adults still with energy and then we’re middle-aged adults with the energy of middle-aged adults and then we’re older adults and older and older until, if we make it, we’re such old animals that our wind-up mechanism can be clearly seen to be winding down and our skin doesn’t have the spring to cling tightly to our muscles anymore and our eyes aren’t really bright anymore and this and that ‘system’ starts to wane and whatnot and ultimately, should we make it, there’s a deathbed on which our bodies just wind down and wind down and wind down until there’s no energy left in the wind-up ‘mechanism of life’ – and at some point, that’s that, the wind-up toy has stopped moving at all and doesn’t have one more little burst of energy to get one more movement out of it, and that’s the end]).
it honestly took hours, and it honestly actually shocked me – i was honestly SHOCKED – at how long a span of time – HOURS – from the time she vomited and was clearly dying, until she actually breathed her last breath. and i was lying there, as you can imagine, literally hour after hour from about 5AM until 11AM, and the sun came up and i heard people about their business, and sunny would come and go, usually lying near the bed, every now and then actually hopping up and coming over, sniffing her, knowing what was going on, i’m sure (their sense of smell is so much better than ours – they can smell water from miles away, an ability which we probably once had, too, but have lost – they can smell disease and decay and that’s often why dogs and cats sometimes either stay away from, or stay with, those who are sick and in the process of dying) and so at any rate, she heaved a few final deep breaths and as i lay there crying, not just for her and my loss of her but for ramon, the love of my life, whose death just last year was brought back to me because there were so many, many times this past year that i’d lay in bed on my back crying for ramon, and for myself, and for my dead dreams of us being together again, and that was the exact position we’d be in – i’d be lying on my back in bed with the sun outside but the blinds still down, and i’d be crying for ramon, and sunny would be somewhere around, and bunny would be on my chest and i’d be petting her and honestly so, SO grateful to have her there on my chest, so sweet, so loving, and there i was yesterday morning and the tears were just streaming from my eyes as i sort of ‘petted her into death’ and when she finally breathed what i knew was her last breath, and i looked and saw that she wasn’t breathing anymore, i just wept, not merely for her or for me or for ramon, whose death seems again so immediate to me and whose loss feels almost as fresh as the week after he died, but honestly, i was crying for all of the deaths which all of us have suffered, and will suffer, since the beginning of time.
i just lay there and i just cried for all of the pain and the loss and disease and the death that we suffer through, being alive. from the first human who understood death and suffered the loss through death of the first human whose death made the others cry, and for millions of others through millions of years up to and including the current round of disease and destruction and death in africa and the middle east and eastern europe and missouri and any other piece of earth with an animal living, and dying, on it. i just lay there and i quietly let the tears roll down my cheeks for my little bunny and for ramon and for myself and for a friend’s little dog who died last week and an in-laws’ in-law who died just a few days ago, and the people and the animals who were dying at the same moment that bunny had just died, and those who’d die five minutes later, ten minutes later, a half hour later, a day later, a week later, and even those who haven’t even been born yet but will one day suffer that pain of the loss through death of a person, whether a human person or a feline person or a canine person or an equine person or a rodent person or whatever other kind of person there is – i honestly felt sorry for every single one of us and was crying for every single one of us and our dying, deceased loved ones.
but my heart kept beating and i kept on breathing, and after a while, unable to sleep (i would actually have liked to have fallen asleep with her on my chest, even knowing it wasn’t really her anymore but her dead body, on my chest, just to be able to feel one last time what it had felt like, because it had always been so sweet; but i couldn’t fall asleep, and i couldn’t lie there with her body on me any longer than i did), i got up and laid her on her blanket, carried her on her blanket into the living room, where sunny was hanging out, and laid her there on the floor and sat beside them both so that he could know what had happened before she disappeared. i’d done the same thing with sammy’s body when he was hit by the car over a dozen years ago in san diego, and sunny did the same thing yesterday as he’d done then – he got up and went over to his deceased sibling, he looked, he sniffed a couple of times, he looked, and he walked off and lay down a few feet away from us, in the same room, but looking away.
i took her collar and tag (a red heart-shaped metal tag – the same as sunny has – with an ‘inscription’ that says, “Hi, I’m Bunny! $100 Reward! Call 619-889-9270” which was my phone number before i changed it last week to an east coast 518 area code) and i put them on the fridge next to the picture of sammy, alongside which i will shortly place a picture of bunny, too. and i wrapped her up in her red blanket and i wound almost an entire spool of string around and around her blanket, and i put her inside of a box into which she fit just right, and (because i don’t have a yard of my own and am not about to ask a family member “hey, can i bury my cat in your yard?” especially as they’ve all got dogs, anyway, and…) i put the box into a dumpster on the property (yeah, i know, but what else to do in the city?) and i figure that her body, which is not my sweet little bunny and i honestly know that, will end up at the dump, and from there, dust to dust.
as i’ve written this, and now finish up and wipe away the tears that have fallen as i’ve written this (as i’m sure you can imagine – and have imagined, those of you who know me well and have stayed with me to this point), my little punkin, who is sometimes known as my little punkinhead, but more often than not just ‘punky’ or more simply, ‘punk’ – as in, ‘hey, punk, what’s up?’ – (because he made a ‘ball’ out of a little pumpkin i’d put on my dining table his first halloween – and i let him keep it because, why not?) and as he was rolling it around the floor, i’d asked him, ‘are you my little pumpkin?” and, of course, without another thought, that’s what he’d become, my little punkin) – sunny – my little sunny sunshine (who is also known as sunny cherry – a story for another time) is sleeping underneath my desk and i am sooooooooo grateful and lucky and happy that he’s been in my life the past sixteen years (!) as healthy and happy a cat as can be. and while I know that his death will be the one non-human death that will REALLY rip a hole in my heart (and let’s be honest, it’ll hurt even more than a lot of human deaths i’ll have to deal with in my time, simply because he’s been my sweetest boy and little buddy for so long and through so much of my life – 16 years of my 53 is almost a full third of my present-day lifetime!) – i will leave that to be dealt with on the day that’ll need to be dealt with, and deal with today as i can.
and today, this afternoon, right now, at this very minute during this particular segment of the time allotted to the life i am living on this little parcel of the world on which i am alive, it really is a lovely afternoon with clouds listlessly rolling around the sun, temps in the 70s, a marvelous breeze, a migraine that just won’t quit, and with sweet music on my little desktop stereo, parents in their 80s whose love and support has never been in doubt, countless other family members with whom i’m reconnecting after thirty years away and, without seeming syrupy (because we all know i’m not that – oh, no, not THAT!) at this very moment, i have 53 years’ worth of gladness and sadness and love in my heart and my head – memories of people and other animals i have loved and been lucky enough to have been loved by, and there’s the blessing.
and, final note, i guess (because the line has been going through my mind for days now – ever since i saw ‘a streetcar named desire’ for the first time from beginning to end, just a few nights ago – and it echoes what i’ve told myself so many times but not in so many words) as eunice tells stella before the stranger has come to take blanche away in the final scene, ‘Life has got to go on. No matter what happens, you've got to keep on going.’
so here i go.
08/12/14: i guess it's also as good a day as any to reveal what i'd only told one person thus far about the drowning death of the love of my life on 06/25/13 (waiting for 'the right time' to just say it and start to talk/write about it), which is that, about a month before his death, ramon had greeted me on the phone with a resigned but hopeful-as-possible, "hi, chris, my name's ramon, and i'm an alcoholic." he could have blown me over with a breath. month-long story short, he'd not only been drinking to excess with a dui and more recent black-outs and a few falling-down-in-the-house or out in the back yard incidents sometimes resulting in mild injury, but had twice had to have his mom take him to the emergency room and spent a weekend and then a week in detox, 'drying out' and testing the waters of rehab. i was actually excited in an odd way -- it would bring us closer and i would help him get sober and stay sober and we would finally have that 'i love you as you are and am committed to you for life and will help you always' relationship we'd tried several times but couldn't seem to get 'quite right' (maybe trying too hard to get it 'quite right'?) -- and we could even, eventually, marry -- the possibility of which was always a dream more his than mine. but within the month of phone calls and encouragement and remniscences and laughter and meandering daydreamy tentative plans for whatever might come our way, on that tuesday that he'd finally come to the conclusion that he actually, really was an alcoholic (it's not something ANYBODY wants to be or admit to being and takes a person as long as it takes that person to actually fully understand it when they realize it as they finally sigh and say, 'yeah, okay, it's true -- i am an alcoholic. so now what?') on that tuesday, after a month or more of not quite really being certain that he was, after all, an alcoholic (and i know that place, and can never blame anyone for taking as long as it takes him or her to move through and beyond it) -- at some point in time after he had clearly, really realized and understood and accepted it, at some point in time after he had called his mom at work at ten in the morning to let her know that he had made an appointment to enter rehab the next morning, he stumbled again out in the back yard and drowned drunk in the in-ground pool that had become a swamp in the back yard. and that's where his mom -- such a wonderful, hardworking woman who'd lived through so much in cuba and here and had come to fear exactly that, and had told him (as he had told me) that that was exactly what she had come to fear -- that's where his mom found him floating face down when she got home from work around 5:30. and i think about him, and about her, every single day. and i know, i really do, that if he had lived through that day and entered rehab on the next morning, he would have gotten sober and maintained his sobriety because he was the kind of stubborn personal promise keeper who succeeds in recovery. and as difficult as it has been and doubtless always will be knowing that the person i loved more than i've ever loved anybody else in my entire life died in an accident which he set into motion because he hadn't yet really understood that he really was an alcoholic, i cannot even begin to imagine how horrible it must be to know that that person actually consciously intentionally ended his or her life because it was too painful to endure another moment, and that's what mrs robin williams is going through, and as difficult as what i've been going through, has been, i don't even want to try to begin to imagine what she's enduring. ho fumbling hum, eh? - chris.
And if at all interested, Click Here for the poetry collection The Faithful Heart by yours truly @ Amazon.com.
CLICK HERE TO READ ALL ABOUT HOW "THE PURDYS THICKEN(ed) THE PLOT" BY SUING ME for telling my own true & telling tale as if Americans don't have the right to free speech when it comes to their own life stories ? ! ! Aye, Carumba! Muchos Lococajones, Batman!
AND IF YOU LIKE THOSE, YOU DEFINITELY WANT TO READ "the latest little purdy turdy" & "Ladies and Gentleman, Anthony DiVincenzo!" & "Further Proof Provided to The Court that Apparently Even Under Penalty of Perjury Jim Purdy Is A Liar and A Fraud" & "Purdjery. James Purdjery." & "Jim & Minnie Purdy's SLAPP Dance" & "Anti-SLAPPing the Sorry Asses' Sorry Asses" & find out what "Malicious Prosecution" is all about!
But wait! There's more! Because the Purdy/Prime lawsuit itself has now set us (and so many more of their past victims as well) on a path along which we have already learned some incredibly incredible and important inner insights I've shared and continue to share such as those that led me to send "from the bottom of my heart Regret" and to receive a reply by way of a note of appreciation that just blew me away even as the "Purdys Maintain 2 for 2 Loss vs Corbett-Fiacco and Free Speech" and "harassment continues" while I undertook my demonstration to the court and to everyone else that Jim Purdy is clearly a liar when I began "Page 1 of 26, Your Honor, With Exhibits A-Q" and followed up with "Plaintiff Jim Purdy's Untruthful Statements and Accusations (continued), Your Honor." And so the saga continues with "flyering" and "california dreamin" while the Purdys and their attorney continue the bullshit with which they only end up smearing themselves.
And along the long and winding road that has become the storyline of this part of my life, I post other posts, some fun(ny), some not, such as "wwid?" ~ "August 1st, 2012" ~ "Thurs 080212" ~ "Sat 08/04 @ 11:15am" ~ "WHEW!" ~ "Tuesday, August 7, 2012 @ 11:45ampst" ~ "080812 @ 5:30pm" ~ "excuse me, sir? madam?..." ~ "nobody will remember you as a whore (unless you acted like one)" ~ "week's end project" and "09/12/12." Of course you can also Begin Reading the memoir "Memories of OPM, Ferret Face Purdy and the Farr Irrish Brraying Brridal Whoorr" ...
All of this and so much more about the people and places in San Diego and around the world who think they can treat us any way they want to and get away with it because they think they've got the power and the smarts and legal teams to do it. Until now. Because in the 21st Century, the truth (and telling it to the whole wide world on the worldwide web) will set you free and change your sense of victimization to triumph by doing nothing more than simply telling the truth. And who doesn't feel better after getting something off their chest and alerting the rest of us to be aware of the people and places we need to beware of before they do unto us as they've done unto others? You may not believe your ears, but you can trust your eyes when you Read All About It at TellingTalesTold.com!
* Even when we ourselves [and me, myself & I (sofar)] are the ones we're telling a telling tale about! And we're even courteous enough to provide notification of the publication of the telling tale told to those about whom the telling tale was told... about... as well as the opportunity to offer reply. Because, honestly, fair is fair.
** Our Reader Reviews include comments and stories such as those about "Paul Perv" ~ "BMW of San Diego and The Bartending Academy in North Park" ~ "SOS & CalProp" ~ "West Star Properties" ~ "Mossy Nissan of Kearny Mesa" ~ "Staxxs on Deck" and "Atlas Construction" as well as Readers' Telling Tales about other people and places, too, such as "Highya, Neighbor" and "Brown Hot Steamin' Friday."
© 2012-2013 Christopher Corbett-Fiacco. All rights reserved.