23.10.2022 4:27 pm

On 19.10.2022. At night. I'd reached out to Another Guy. A friend of family who I've spoken with a few memorable times. I remember explaining to him the entirety of Rant: The Oral Biography of Buster Casey (2007). We were at my vine member's house.

I remember asking him out. We were in Aleister's kitchen.

He was the first person I reached out to. That was also the night I spazzed out. Panicked. When I first messaged him, he didn't respond. I reached out to a vine member attached to him. Then I reached out to another vine member, just in case. When he responded. He was working. We didn't speak til about 40 minutes later. And when we did, I told him why I called. The isolation. It was getting to me. He asked me why I was isolated. And I didn't explain how I grew up. How odd it was barely talking to one vine member at all. After talking to about two or three every day for most of my life. Having to see them every day. Seeing no one else. I didn't talk about how the Covid-19 pandemic did not affect my life outside of Maximalist Essentials. I remembered not being able to leave the house. Locked in. I didn't talk about that. But I still told him the truth. That I'd moved back in with Adam months ago. That I didn't have a job. Money dwindled, couldn't go anywhere nice even if I wanted to. And phone calls? Texts? That's not hermit things. But such would lead to the pot of isolation (living with Adam doesn't count) bubbling over. I explained myself correctly. That I noticed and breathed a sigh of relief.

He was good conversation, and frankly. Very relatable. Works for a publishing company. Reads every day. It made sense. His interest in me explaining the Entirety of Rant: The Oral Biography of Buster Casey (2007). I didn't lose his focus once. He'd even asked me for the name of the book when we last spoke. The title is long, so he couldn't remember it. Thought it was series I'd explained to him. He had to go and I could not help but to sound needy. He said we'd speak the next day, but we didn't. I didn't hold it against him. But I do still think to talk to him. I'd messaged him again. No reply. Still. No offense. I'm like that and worse.

6:25 pm

I'd made dinner tonight. It was what's called a long weekend here. Today's a holiday. Could not have gotten food from Eve even if I wanted to. I pretty much just seasoned rice and pretended it was Chinese:

6:32 pm

I'm feeling and fighting the urge to look for new glasses online. I stick with EyeBuyDirect to avoid the cutthroat prices I bounce up every now and then. They also have a program where someone in an impoverished environment around the world gets a pair for each order. But I still want glasses without that odd reflection thingy. So I might branch out.

6:55 pm

Coping with the loud noises around me has led to me finding my own form of silence.

Through music.

I've just found RYD and Dark Red. I found Pretty Brown Eyes from memory. Eve made the song impossible to not know. She listened- wait no. We listened to it almost every day. Eve never grasped the concept of earphones.

But otherwise. I've grasped the concept of earplugs. I pop them in as soon as the music is done. The relief I'm grateful for more than anything. It makes it easier. And I deserve that. Relief.

This morning I went to the Port-of-Spain General hospital to see if I could fast track the second Medical Officer's Report signing. Didn't work. I was annoyed. I'd gotten my Muscular Skeletal Atrophy diagnosis there back in 2019. Dr. Mendez. But today the lady at the screening window had told me that I wasn't making sense with the description of my diagnosis in relation to pains I was feeling. And that I'd have to go to a clinic anyway. Can anyone relate? What really annoyed me was that the hospital could technically check me, give me the sign off, and send me on my way. They'd done it many times before. Before I knew most of my issues could be handled at the clinic. That's being a hermit for you. I'd only known to go to the hospital then. I dunno if they remembered me but I'd hoped with there being virtually no one around (holiday). They'd see to me. But no. Clinic. They wrote a prescription for the pain. That was it:

7:34 pm

I'd been looking into statute of limitations.

25.10.2022 2:56 pm

Just finished washing wares. That's probably doing dishes for you. Adam gave me $100 last night. So I kept his request in mind. Kitchen still needs bleach though. I'd left the house with him this morning. He gave me a drop to the clinic, to Eve and to the banks. I used the $100 to pay my overdraft fees. That's what they call it. I remember now. Was happy to see my accounts still running. And I didn't need to pick up bottles for it. I got myself my usual cigarettes. Ligger and Myers is my favourite. Second is Xtra. They're on the cheap side but still smoke like whiskey and... Well. Beer. Depending on which lucky pack I get that day.

Eve gave me some good news at the shop. Murray's brick wall had fall to bits. Rain did it. Surprisingly. Now I know that theoretically it's not nice to feel nice when bad things happen to others. But what am I supposed to do in the event something bad happens to someone bad? Am I supposed to feel bad for the Spainard who took syphilis home with him after murdering and pillaging the Americas?

Nah.

Now I could be wrong in my narrative of events. Most of the info on that situation comes from Eve and Aleister so I'll leave the disclaimer that this hearsay. But right now, and well, for years. Aleister has been in unwanted "land bacchanal" with her neighbours wanting to do whatever they want on her land.

Land bacchanal can be defined as a situation where there's a dispute of property between family members and orneighbors. The dispute usually entails machete choppings and orwitchcraft to kill others to get the property. Very rarely wouldit involve proper legal proceedings. In rare cases there's guns involved. It also mostly happens with shared land. Sometimes the "perpetrator" in the situation is aware the land isn't theirs. But they just it or want to do whatever on it. So they do whatever they can to get that.

Murray is one of the two parties fighting Aleister for her land. Murray had gone and built a wall. Put up big water tanks on Aleister's part of the land. On top of the house she'd already built there illegally. She was told to stop many a years now but went ahead with construction. The authorities were sought out many a times to put a stop to the encroaching. Was a fat nothing burger. Well. What the authorities won't do God will. Rainfall iced that shit. The wall. I'd joked with Eve that the cheery on top would've been lightening striking the large water tanks. She didn't find it funny. More seemed shocked that I thought of that. I've come to the conclusion that Aleister is deserving of every woe she has. Land bacchanal or not. But knowing that Murray's blood money went down the drain was very satisfying.

And yeah. There was a rumour about that. The building up of "Murray's land" was via blood money. It didn't surprise me. Her vine member was involved in gangs, as small as they are their vines are heavy on crime.

Hey.

That rhymed a little.

Anyway.

The blood money isn't someone else's blood. No. It's Murray's. A seer in my vine saw what happened and saw Murray's possible fate. Saw that the money was stolen from a dyed in the wool gangster, and that eventually she'd be found. Chopped up. I was up early that morning. In Aleister's kitchen. Was about 4 am. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Well. Not really. I did believe it... Until months passed. And now, over a year Murray's still living. Still encroaching on Aleister's property. I reckon a gangster would have finished the job by now.

4:59 pm

So I have to wait until Friday to get the Medical Officer's Report signed. To my annoyance. But I'm here now. I try to refrain from calling Adam's house a home. Because it isn't. So I'm "here" at the house. All my weed's done. The lorazepam works but doesn't get me as high as I'd like. And my cigarettes only do so much, compared. I've got edible weed oil left. But man. It takes soooooo long to hit. I can dose in the afternoon and the high won't come knocking til 9 pm. And I shouldn't be like this. Feeling this way. I was sober for.... months. Wasn't checking the days. I find it easier to stay sober that way. Oddly enough. And luckily, through this 3-month stint I hadn't crashed into the dormant state I'd been in on weed a year ago. Two years ago. No. I for the most part keep myself together. Or at the very least, did not get worse.

I'm left with nothing to speak on much. I could write about my theory of The Great Oppression. Otherwise known as Black Savery in the Americas. But truly my knowledge is limited. I'm like a pseudo-intellectual besides my actual functioning intellect. And I don't want to seem that way.

5:18 pm

While writing two nights ago. I thought about this movie Nerd Explains explained. About a young man voyaging the sea to escape the second world war. Only to end up on a small island where hybrid fish people encompass in the waters. The young man is left with no choice but to fight off the fish people alongside the crazy old man just living on the island. Not trying to escape or anything. But one night the old fucker locks the young man at the top of the old lighthouse. To fend off the fish people and fend for himself. Old fucker doesn't open the door til morning and when he does. He finds a wide eyed, bloodied, mentally scarred. But alive young man, and bodies of fish people at the bottom of the lighthouse.

That's how this feels sometimes.

Unnecessary.

5:39 pm

I'm thinking about this man I'm obsessed with. Known as Onision. I call him Greg, mostly. I'd started hunting him again. Got a few things together. But truly I'm left demotivated. I'd emailed The Pierce County's Sheriff's Department all of what I could. A contextualized documentation of the sex trafficking, the child grooming. The solicitation of child pornography. Racked up 50,000-word document. With about over 200 pictures and links all in there:

https://1drv.ms/b/s!AoMDK8MOWbh3jk9JrgqZT88Vijpd?e=yo3U8qq

What you see there is only part of it. So I reckon you know why I'm finding it hard to carry on with what I'd promised myself I'd complete. The next round I'm looking at upwards of 75,000 words and 500 plus pictures. Don't even get me started on the links, videos and timelines of events. All wrapped up in what are two very dangerous child predators.

James and Lucas Jackson. They always seem to change their names in the worse of timings. Imagine changing your name to blindside a snitch and that's one of the first things they see upon hunting you down again. But I regress. Not even the emails were my proudest moment in nabbing the fuckers, no. Even with all the long nights and days and work that I did.

What are the odds of catching your archnemesis committing PPP loan fraud right behind the machinations of your smartphone? From over 30,000 miles away? In a different country. Well. The odds are small if you aren't me. I just put his name and area in the search bar. Then boom. A PPP loan showed up:

https://www.pppdetective.com/ppp/wa/puyallup/james_jackson

Had Greg's name. James Jackson. I looked into it and thought that maybe, with the James Jackson name being so generic, it could've been anyone. Matter of fact. I did find another James Jackson who fit the description of being the potential loanee. Except he lived in another county. He wouldn't have a Puyallup address. It was something about the address on the loan (public information) that ticked me off. And what'd ya know. It was from a house right down the street from Onision's real house. I thought. Something's up. A James Jackson's lives right down the street from Onision? Who is also named James Jackson? Nah. That didn't make sense. I thought maybe the fucker owned two houses and tried to hide one from Anti-Onision folk like myself. Then even that I wasn't sure about. So I'd gone to Yoghurt Baby since they were the one who did the first documentation dump showing where Onision now lived and again, all public information. I gave him the address I had and he pulled up the Assessors Treasurer on the property. It belonged to two people and their names were not James and Kai Jackson:

So basically. Out of sheer luck and nosiness. I'd found that he'd taken out a PPP loan using a neighbor's address. People living right down the street from him. The lazy fucker didn't even think to walk a block or two or three before picking an address to do his fraud. Shit even I stayed out of my district for the cigarette heist.

Shit I'm thinking of a gameshow.

Are You Smarter Than Your Average Onision?

26.10.2022 10:25 am

Did you know that before black slavery (formally known as the 400 Year Chattel Enslavement of East and West Africans). There was the enslaved Indigenous Amerindians? It's not talked about much because that didn't last. Because like most humans. They weren't built for slavery. Also, measles and smallpox. I take great pride in knowing my Amerindian ancestors gave Europe syphilis in return for their genocide and diseasing of their people. A great Karma. I picture some power that be at the time being delighted that measles and smallpox was successfully paving the way for the enslavement of Africans in the Americas. The satisfactions then immediately followed by a burning sensation in their pants. And eventually. Death.

I'm up early. Since 8 o'clock. Surprisingly. Even on the Risperidone I was still clocking 11 am instead of 2 pm. I meant to brush my teeth. Said I was gonna then didn't. It's only 10:50 am right now. I reckon, that even though I smoked some weed and a few cigarettes I found. It still counts if I brush now.

It's still morning.

11:06 pm

I'm back. It's raining now.

I got a reply from HDC yesterday:

After reading that, I was left with the feeling they wouldn't honor my request. Which was to have my information be reviewed by someone, whoever the "directive" is. So that the possibility of moving forward goes in my favour. But who knows. It might not even with the emails. They might still stay at a standstill for whatever reason. But even then, emergency housing is emergency housing. Ya know... The ZEAL to take on such. You know, given the definition of the word emergency. Seems really non-emergenced. And nowhere did they say my information would be reviewed in the allocation process. I'd like to think my reply was fitting:

I got no response. So I reckon that's a no on my request. Anyway, here's what I had sent them:

https://1drv.ms/b/s!AoMDK8MOWbh3jlbDm3Ooh2w4HqeQ?e=qBkU8z

11:38 am

I'd found Black Sleep by Metric, vocals by Brie Larson. I couldn't hear silence in her vocals, or the instrumentals. I saw Him. And my heart was breaking all over again. It made me think of how I lost my Saturdays. All those Saturdays. 6 years of Saturdays. I think of calling it. I could think of crueler ways to love someone. But man, I wasn't ready to have it as cruel as it is now. In the sense that He's no longer here, in his place, only grief. He would always say I could move on if I wanted, his suggestion. As I would say to him, my suggestion. But he still stayed. And I still did, until I didn't. But I do. Even now. Even after everything. Still want Him. I'd ask the question How do I leave, losing Him? if I could get an answer. I've known him since I was 15. I'm 24 now. And it's only been two years now. Our anniversary would have been this month. This year I'd have written Him yet another poem. I still remember the one he doesn't know. Called Birthday. It was for his birthday:

When the clock strikes 12,

It marks a special day,

The birth of a gem,

About you, so much to say,

A madman, a funny man,

A brother, a friend,

An immortal being,