Good Tidings

"An artist is always alone-- if he is an artist.--Henry Miller, in the early and rough edges of The Tropic of Cancer

Alice Sara Ott has a wondrously acculturated life brought about by her discipline as a pianist who handles the levers with her bare feet. The discipline is admirable because no disabled woman with my type of developmental brain injury can achieve it, but in the confusion of her Eurasian identity, the legacy of Germany's link to Japan as an Axis power, is a saga not wholly unfamiliar, even for those outside the glass of her high octane lifestyle, the privilege of her mobility (unless the Russians blow her airliner out of the sky too in Putin's quest for winning the pissing contest in the waning days of this remorseful presidency via Harvard Law). I did not tell you about my superheated crush with my Eurasian when I was 36. Hormones and slavering insanity in the early days of cyber coupling pursuits before it made the satire of Letterman's top ten list, prepared to give my father a legitimate reason to kill me when I begged him for money to fly to Dusseldorf in pursuit of my own high yellow biracial cosmopolitan fellow with his charming Japanese German dick.

"I couldn't handle it," he told me, and freaked out with regret at the thought that he hurt me, not anticipating the lethal humiliation that the former Linda C Richman would have in store for me soon thereafter.

*
My elder cousin asked after me, and I would prefer a friendship with his wife Adele over that of the fractious succor I have with her mother in law, but the simple act of her husband's query gave me a sliver of hope that I can get the fuck out of Riverside before it is too late. (Conversely, the wagons may be circling around my waning strength and emotional terror at the hands of Presby's bitches). Clarity Media for some reason has given me a promotion. Because I growl? The African American inner city stoicism on its broken regressive back, its authoritarian Stalinist mindset, has scarred me irrevocably, and I can't throw a holy high fucking fit at Jerry for doing this because he advised me not to, but what was that really about? I wouldn't have been able to handle coercing his virtue even if I had the capacity to tempt him. Always running, without the finesse appreciation such as this requires.