BTRIPP

(sigh) ... One of the things I miss from writing my poems into the keyboard is having to make a major effort to transcribe them. This, as I have mentioned, involves decoding my tiny pinched scrawl from the little bitty shirt-pocket-size notebook pages. Due to the effort involved, I typically have to book a block of time for this ... well ... lucky you ... I just got the stuff from this HELL of a week typed up. Fun. Fun. Fun. Herewith and following are the nasty blood trails of where my insides have been dragged. Do enjoy them. And, as always, if these are not enough, there's always more misery to immerse in over at http://i.am/btripp





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So many people that I know from L.J. are going through financial crap these days. I guess it would be creepy to list who has beeing going through what which has resonated with my own struggles, but there are those who, with perfectly good resumes, can't get a decent job, others who are valiently striving to live by their art, who are being swatted down by the Mundane Machine, others who just can't get a toehold on that first rung out of economic chaos. All of these folks are intelligent, talented people. None can catch a break. Why? Because the machine is made that way. The mundane world is a huge web of snares and limits (like those dystopian visions where the bright are dulled, the fleet are hobbled, the strong are drained) created by the sleeping mass for the explicit purpose of smothering the bright, the creative, the Gurdjieffian awake. We are anathema unto it, and it to us. A conversation has been floating over in ana's site about the possibility of getting some communal thing going somewhere ... but as somebody already has pointed out, you can't get far enough away from The World to be able to avoid it bitch-slapping you because it can. Bleh. Well, here's a poem sort of on this subject ... taste the bile!





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Not only was this well hell from the whole damn bank aspect, but in the middle of it, my Mom dropped a fucking bombshell on me about a thing that has been up in the air for nearly two years. Not to get into too many details, but she gave some stock to my eldest daughter, and from the get-go has been CONVINCED that the reality around said stock was 180° from my reality on it. My initial recall was that no certificate was ever issued, instead being in an account with her investment people ... SHE insists that I insisted that we wanted to have the certificate issued and sent out to us (and anybody who knows anything</i> about my so-called "filing system" would immediately recognize this as being laughable). Since we could not locate the stock certificate (uh, having never been sent to us ... ya know) she started a whole process on getting a new one issued. We went through this last fall, did all the damn paperwork, and ... waited. Nothing. It appears that the paperwork "got lost" in the process of the account changing from one financial entity to another. Note ... I have NO CLUE of any of the details of this since I NEVER DID ANY OF THIS. I signed the papers when told to (being the custodian or whatever) and perhaps also mailed the forms ... but NEVER had anything actually to DO with this. Well ... she started up the whole process AGAIN when I was already in school this Spring. She tracked down the new place, cut a new check (to cover the re-issue fees) and got everything rolling on this. Again ... I was "out of the loop" 100% ... no idea of who/what/where/when on any of it. Well, on Wednesday she launches into me about "WHERE IS THE CERTIFICATE???" ... and, when I told her I had no idea ... that she had handled it all, she rips me a new asshole about how I had handled it all and how I had all the paperwork on it. Hell, I wouldn't know what the damn paperwork looked like if somebody was stuffing it down my throat!

Needless to say, being in "damaged psychological condition" from this weekend's bank onslaught ... I went over the fucking edge. I have tried to not mention suicidal feelings to her since my Aunt killed herself last year ... but, for pity's sake ... DOES SHE HAVE TO KICK ME OVER THE DAMN EDGE OF THE FUCKING ABYSS??? The next poem is more about this than this one is, but this one pretty much sets up "where I was" emotionally when THIS crap hit.





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OK ... now I'm missing Farscape, so I need to quit blithering in here.

The world sucks and I can trust nobody in it. Some days suicide looks like a big tasty banana split ... somedays getting a case of ammo and going on a mass-murder spree sounds like a plausible plan. Some people have tried to convince me that "since the universe tends to work in cycles" that I have a whole lot of good coming my way since I've been immersed in the worst sort of excrement for as long as I can remember ... but I don't trust that thinking ... hell, I might have been born into a "shit life" cycle which takes 3,000 years to make its turn ... which would be just my luck. Here's the fourth of these from this week ... this one has a lot to do with my Mom turning on me.





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