The Following was written while under under duress*

Dang if I know why but I seem to have begun a number of things in the past year but with my house in such a state of disarray and unfinished tasks piling up like miles high I feel totally overwhelmed to the point of a kind of paralysis.

Nothing to say and too much to do.

Nothing satisfying about it at all. Just a feeling of disaffection and disassociation.

Horrible, deplorable, ugly and sad.

Meanwhile, there are parts of the house that are finished and lovely. Overall, however, I just seem to want to sleep all the time in order to ignore the monumental tasks that lie around and before me.

* Said duress began when Sorry Siggie next door married Testosterone Charlie some 25 years ago more or less. More or less time-wise, not duress-wise. T.C.'s first neighborly act was to open a bedroom window and shout out in a hostile and aggressive insensitivity that I "...get off 'my' (meaning his---{actually, Sorry Siggie's lawn...but for the fact that T.C. had recently married her [which information he did refuse to give me when I asked what had happened to Siggie, but closed the window leaving me in the dark, on that bright daylight hour], and the house was in her name, and now that he had married her it -- and she --- as his chattel --- were owned by him.".
When next I saw her and asked who was that nasty sounding man who so crudely abused me by shouting at me...she informed me that she had married the brute, the thug, the less than socially acceptable creature.

I mean it was loud and cruel, mean and nasty the testosterone he spit out that bedroom window. And it took some years for me to find out just how sick a man he is, or just how incredibly Sorry was and is Siggie. The duress started there but I didn't know it until during perhaps the past ten to fifteen years culminating on this year...2009 which we are about to leave behind us... we children of the 21st Century, we adults, we old folks, we erstwhile lambs of God.

Ok. now that I think about it became



<88888888888**********>
clear about 1992, I think. Here it is 2008 about to be 2010 (This private piece being written and kept private in early Feb of last year, and amended today, December 22, 2009 and further on 12.24.2009.) and I have finally realized what a persecutor that testeronic, moronic creature really is, and what a victim his sorry wife is in having to live with him. She fears him, and loves him...a typical abused woman of the 21st century who joined forces with him as a persecutor, both of whom joined up with the local Dictrict Court Judge in persecutory (my how complex this persecution)

behavior "...she is a nothing but a pain in the neck...."
he said (He being named Jordan, possibly related to Stanley Jordan who broke into Beethoven's Record Shop"in 1961 or so, while I managed that store and was courted by a kid from town, but I seriously doubt it...he is more likely not closely related to Stanley at all.) the City Hall while lording it over the police desk and being convinced that the law was his to wield and that going away to cower was my only choice in the matter which it was not, to my mind, since I told him that I could hear what he was saying after which the lowly peabrain walked down the steps and out of the building but not before also I said: "If you had to live next door to those people you just might change your mind about precisely who is the 'pain in the neck'".

Now says John Prine, in the song: Don't Bury Me

Woke up this morning
Put on my slippers
Walked in the kitchen and died
And oh what a feeling!
When my soul
Went thru the ceiling
And on up into heaven I did ride
When I got there they did say
John, it happened this way
You slipped upon the floor
And hit your head
And all the angels say
Just before you passed away
These were the very last words
That you said:

Chorus:
Please don't bury me
Down in that cold cold ground
No, I'd druther have "em" cut me up
And pass me all around
Throw my brain in a hurricane
And the blind can have my eyes
And the deaf can take both of my ears
If they don't mind the size
Give my stomach to Milwaukee
If they run out of beer
Put my socks in a cedar box
Just get "em" out of here
Venus de Milo can have my arms
Look out! I've got your nose
Sell my heart to the junkman
And give my love to Rose

Repeat Chorus

Give my feet to the footloose
Careless, fancy free
Give my knees to the needy
Don't pull that stuff on me
Hand me down my walking cane
It's a sin to tell a lie
Send my mouth way down south
And kiss my ass goodbye

Repeat Chorus