The Russians Are Coming?

"Lazy days, my razor blade, could use a better edge."-- my favorite switch hitter

This lyricist shaped my childhood, even my pleasures in subversive tendencies. I spent my adolescence and my adulthood chasing after satiation of my Elton John adulation, in the Kantian timbre with the rest of you, solely in this one instance, and I've always been disappointed. Never a concert, not even when Elton was at the art museum (it was horrible for me, wading on three wheels amid all those bodies) and in 17 years of pixels, it never occurs to me that Taupin would have an email link for slavers to dash down a rabbit hole.

My aunt wants me to accept my life at Riverside as the best I am going to be able to do, at this point, given my age, and the shared genetics of spangled Italian colons; it is not ideal but for the most part I am left alone and do as I please. True and not, but I now understand she is frightened Richie and his wife Adele are going to put her in a facility. I am weighing how to address him on these matters, because I see both sides of the argument, with her voice ringing in my ears about my independence, my ass nearly fell off my shower stool twenty minutes later, and I've not had my rinse, such as it is, because I hauled myself back into the Quickie with one arm, chair nearly inverted on a 45 degree angle.

A bad transfer isn't the end of the world, and I know how to handle my laterals, but Marie doesn't realize if I stay with Presby Presby will one day move against me. I'm vulnerable, and that vulnerability is contingent on slapstick artists like Timothy Artis. I am angry at him because I have hated his stringy ass for a number of years, but here we are, my life overwhelmed until I find a new stringy ass. He won't be coming back. In my discussions with Trudy, with my implied racism, I said his mind operated on "horse and buggy time."

For what these jobs entail, he is not the worst slovenly minority to have. Women are afraid of me. Tim wasn't, and knew better, did his work and stayed off the fucking cell, but he has jeopardized my safety, once seriously, by not showing up. It doesn't get better for people like me, with no money, in HUD's nigger enclave.

This is a literary life, c'est pas?