re-point

sits now in emmy j’s, it do.  rode dirt out to the sprint store, which cleaned and thereby fixed my phone, but since the screen blanked for the fixer guy, he considered it a fail and did not charge me.  how often do policies/humans work out to solve problems of the poor for free?  more often than i probably deserve.  stop that.  you deserve all your dreams.  i know.  i do.  i am.  this is one of them.  after that, i rode to my crash pad to switch bags (get my computer/office), and then to a friend’s house to find a container of spiced lentils and a pink sparkly bandana, which i promptly added beneath my camouflage hat.  i mash lots of concepts.  it’s like real-tree, hunter camo.  you know, the center-pivot irrigation, distress flag, foundry, and hunter’s safety patch number.  all those things.

sits now leaning against its sleeping bag liner on a curbed futon on the floor.  2nd story, hip hop show on the radio.  not a good one, unfortunately.  you can tell a lot about a dj by which tracks they pick.  most importantly, whether they have good taste or not.  i’d play different hip hop, is what i’m saying.  whatever.  i talk shit about everything.  i have single-handedly re-written society.  every role, every dole. every take, all shall wake. see me shake, catchall bake.  perma-stake, fleur du lake.  grammatical correctness doesn’t always rhyme.  but when it do, see it through.  alphalegers, cymbology tew (12:18 am, 5/31)

i have to work at nine, and it’s over a half-hour drive from here.  should sleep.  post this? i closed the browser already.  perhaps, but later.  we can fill this out to an actual entry, don’t you think?  actual?  you have lost your actual mind.  heheh.  no doubt, but my back hurts.  pick up the desk chair and table, eh?  that’s the plan.  sleepy.  go go gadget early-morning-wake-up.  right.  on it. 😀 (12:23 pm, 5/31)

4:53 pm, 6/2/12, back in emy j’s.  i can’t tell what the reaction here is.  typically, i feel like dictatorial fuck-heads dislike me being around, and everyone else thinks it’s pretty keen.  what with the fact that i make the dictatorial fuck-heads listen to all people.

so, what has happened to me since last we spoke.  that ultimately depends on who you are, because i have updated a few close friends.  ok, one internet pen-pal.  and my tsweets.  i told ya, tweety kids got priv’d infoze.

i drove to scandinavia after surfing the internet for a few hours after ambushing my landlord bright and early to ask him to help me out.  he did, with as much extraction and presumptive pushiness as he tends towards.  i said, “i didn’t even invite you in, and gestured towards the open door.”  he left relatively quickly.  i do not consider you a friend, sir, pulling shit like that.  i have important legal matters to discuss, and until we get those out, all i want to do is scream at your talking-loudly-about-unrelated-to-anything shit.  i got a key, from your daughter.  she acts as the house secretary, i guess.  she’s a capable person, and i think she can help all of us, as can all of us.

so, the last i heard from you, you want an LLC with you in charge and a bunch of slaves.  fuck you.  no.  a) that’s lawyer work, and you can’t afford my rates b) if that’s the case, i do not want to live under your fascist roof.  i will go live in the domestic abuse shelter, because your lack of communication and changing of plans is paramount to lying.  my mom pulled the same shit.  to get me to move in, she told me that she wanted to set up a chicken coop on the property.  then, once i got there, there was no way in hell to even initiate a conversation about that.  according to this website, lying (see: “Apologize and make promises they don’t keep”) is a sign of domestic abuse.  my last landlords were terrified anti-talkers also, and the landlords a few back refused to put up a mailbox or give me a key, forcing their ability to spy on my mail communications.  this kind of shit is entirely unacceptable, and if you refuse to fucking talk about it, you are a worthless piece of shit and i have no interest in living there.  your fucking house is beautiful, but your fascist ways keep it mostly (like 99%) useless.  why?  i have no idea.  you like it empty when you’re there, because you work at shitty jobs where assholes with more money than you order you around all fucking day, so when you get “home,” that’s how you treat every fucking body else.  fuck you, you fucking drunk.  i work twenty-four hours a day.  i am ready to do important projects when humans are cooperative.  so far, any and everybody with the self-appointed “right” of fascism refuses to even talk about the minimum, YES FUCKING MINIMUM conditions for my presence there.

on other people:  if you retain ultimate fascist right to determine who enters the property, i have to trust your judgments of humans.  that being the case, i would rather have a means to lock my few meager possessions, whether that be in a kitchen cabinet, my living space, or a shed or basement full of my tools.  if you want to give me a say in who lives there (the right of block), then i will reluctantly drop my demands that they all be lockable.  my living area is not negotiable, as you have already violated that TWICE with your uninvited physical presence.  like i said, abuse shelter is the next choice if other landlords are unwilling to incorporate my tiny life for reasonable consideration.

whatever.  maybe the avoidance script is a good way to manage this.  i don’t want to be around you, primarily because you’re a loud, frightened, childish drunk.  you don’t want to be around me because i constantly demand that we talk about the most important business of the moment, which, until i consider myself no longer homeless, my homelessness IS THE PRIMARY BUSINESS OF THE MOMENT.  another example.  while you were interviewing another potential roommate, who you let crash on the couch without even telling me, you kept talking over me when i stopped in the room, clearly wanting a moment of your time and attention.  i appreciate the fact that you told me another person might be sleeping under the same roof (you are a money-grubbing dick, and your fear tactics are pretty fucking rapey), although you were far from providing me with a means to audit him for my own purposes.  whatever.  you don’t even qualify.  i want all my shit locked around you.  your friends and network seem pretty trustworthy.  you seem like a criminal who doesn’t want anyone to talk about your crimes, because you’ve committed them against every person you’ve come into contact with.  i see this in you because i either have mastered that same skill, or i used to have it.  i think a lot.  i am a feral lawyer on a never-ending sea of owned-by-profit-driven children who don’t even know what their rights are, let alone how to convert them to cooperative exchanges.  whatever

tell me your conditions.  now.  do you require that i fulfill my labor for the property within the first week of the month?  are you going to keep childishly moving shit-tons of matter into the way of what was previously understood to be my living space (you neither agreed to that, nor vetoed it at the time), or did you decide that space would be better used for something else, but not decide on a new place for me to go?  what the fuck is wrong with you, douche-tard?  if we are in the middle of negotiations and you go off on some fucking retarded tangent about one time when you were wasted, i assume that means your tiny poisoned brain is full and i ought to leave.  i honestly don’t think you are capable of understanding or following through on the bare minimums that would be required to run a business of any kind.  you still demand that everyone bow to you on your property, and nothing gets done.  more will not get done by being a childish liar.  i apologize for the name-calling.  you fucking piss me off, though, and i will tell you why.  i have no interest in getting in a yelling match.  if you want to fight, i will gladly fight you, with the understanding that it is not to the death.  you have no fucking idea how much pain i want to inflict on you right now.  bruises, swelling.  constant reminders that you DON’T FUCKING FUCK WITH A HOMELESS FUCKING LOSER, especially when it’s offering you a means to not have to worry about most of the shit you worry about now.  we can help each other in many ways.  if i have to change my attitude or demeanor during certain interactions, say so.  if you only want me working/moving in the house when you’re not there, say so.  i will keep an extra water reservoir in my bedroom so that i only have to leave to exit.  this is where i’m at now.  the last time i was in the house while you were there, i feel like you chased me out the door.  i have no idea why.  wanted to shit without house noises in your own house, eh?  i can’t say i blame you, but you ain’t fucking rich enough to not have to share your space, and you never will be, so knock off the retarded drunken asshole landlord act and start acting like a conscious participant in the cooperative, or i will move all of my resources to another property.  your misleading lies sicken me.  what the fuck do you want?

that being said, i suspect you want me to work as agreed.  what did i say about that?  write it down.  we need a common bulletin board or white-board to discuss budgetary items and to-do’s.  i wouldn’t mind cooking, cleaning, and gardening, but i will not have you ordering me around.  until you stop that, i can’t force myself to work.  believe me, i’ve tried.

agenda for monday

  • what is locked/accessible
  • who may enter and when
  • how much notice must be given for exceptions?
  • my contributions: public assistance, food stamps, and labor on cooperatively agreed projects.
  • schedules.  cleaning, dishes, cooking, presence.  i don’t mind working around your schedule, but that means you have to share it in/on a common communications medium.

i love you.  i want you to be happy, healthy, and more comfortable in our shared home than it ever was when it was only “yours,” but for that to be the case, you must agree to think/believe differently about your role with me and everyone else who shares those spaces with you.  seriously

i do not understand.  we had the chance to talk, just now, and you refused.  shall i assume this is 30 days notice?  i don’t want to assume anything.  put it in writing, and put it in public, because communication is essential, and i am sick of being walked on.

take care,
t

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~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2012-06-2 (Saturday).

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