Update (mid November) – Marshalling Up Escape: From the Frying-Pan into the Fire

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Greetings Readers,

Today I have begun to write about some of the most BIZARRE events that have occurred in our adventures in Salt Lake City (and the entire jaunt around the country). This includes a Run-in and extremely frightening situation with a man who was not only dangerous, but preyed on the discreditably and youth of our society. That being said, while I feel we got even, in some minor respect, I feel very conflicted that this man is still out there doing what he is doing. I have reason to believe that he has been acting like this for some time prior to both Christopher’s and my arrival, and that even former employers of his may be aware of his activities. While I am not going to come out and say who he is right now, it is safe to say that this man was a pedophile who worked in mental health of younger boys and he certainly did victimize them and use all the tricks in the book. I am seriously considering what I should do about who he is and what I have discovered.

I am not exaggerating when I also say that I feared for my safety and well-being but more importantly, I feared for Christopher’s safety and well-being.  This was in-part due to the fact that Christopher is a small guy and has similar qualities to the —shall I say — younger types that our new host found appealing in both boys and men (but more often boys).  My presence however threatening, constant, or boasting could not deter this man from trying a myriad of techniques starting with drugging us both, in order to get what he wanted.  This obviously included Christopher in his control and me out of the way entirely.

I was smart enough to recognize an insincere and strange tension when he was around, I noticed without needing any information about the guy that something was not right.

Not only did this guy play that icky part mentioned above, he was the worst elements of everything in this country I have come to hate: An Idiot who puts politics to play like his own toy-soldiers and utilizes idiotic cliches with rhetoric producing some half-baked political moronic sludge that was incoherent and senseless. It is safe to say this guy is one that I both feared and loathed with everything I could feel at first.  This fear grew more substantial as I put myself to discovering what the foreboding atmosphere was all about. It was NOT easy to play the part that I did for a little under two months.

There was a younger neighbor boy living nearby as well and I will go over his living situation, his mother, and another side of parenting for which I feel very conflicted about. All of this in my next post on “Marshalling Up Escape: From the Frying-Pan into the Fire.” From there we move onto the last section concerning our Salt Lake City travesty concerning, “The Trigger-Full-House. Both Aptly named. I hope my readers look forward to the excitement to come and will learn a bit from it.

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A Word on Misfortune, Expectations, and Fate.

Marvin and I - Feb 2011

Marvin and I – Feb 2011

First a Shout-Out of Thanks to a Reader!  Thanks Marvin!

The above picture was taken in Feb 2011, and since I owe a shout-out to Marvin, the handsome guy next to me in the picture, I will do so through honoring some memories I have of us together.  We became dance buddies after meeting because we both really enjoy dancing, are good at it, so it was only natural that we enjoyed dancing together.  I remember some really fun times that we had at Cobalt and Towne Dancebotique.  But that should not suggest that we didn’t spent plenty of time at Nellie’s socializing before our too few DC dance-capades.

The picture to the lower right is after a particularly cold, but memorable night in either, November or December of 2011. In my infinite misguided-infatuations I force myself to do things a little less than reasonable to feel like I got someone— whom I really did not have.  I knew it, but ignored it. Anyway, looking at the picture you’ll notice that Marvin is sporting a nice rabbit-fur hat, which was passed around to just about every guy in the Gayborhood, getting more action than any single guy that ever lived in said gayborhood— I should have charged to let people wear the damn thing.. Whether it was for the warmth or the fact that that hat looked utterly ridiculous,  no one could resist wanting to at least try it on.  Had i thought of it and charged for the benefit of using such a fashion-forward piece of rat-fur, I would have made out like Heidi Fleiss before she began her birdie binges.

To meet this person for whom i had an infatuation, I traveled all the way out to Charlestown WV after one of the BEST times dancing I can remember at Cobalt (with Marvin) and I had a little too much to drink (although I had sobered up I was extremely tired).  I often wonder what would have become of me if Marvin and I would have just stayed and enjoyed ourselves and I ignored the hold this lad from an adjoining state and I would have appreciated what was close-by?  I feel a tinge of regret and considering my other path ended the way it did I may always wonder.

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Anyway, the shout-out:: .

Marvin,  I really appreciate your feedback which, for one, lets me know people are actually reading my blog, and it also serves to provide me direction to better improve my humble efforts. By letting me know me your opinion, I feel confident with regard to the reflections you had on life and living my adventures vicariously though this blog. I genuinely don’t feel as though it is very different from anyone else’s mis-step (be it intentional or not).  I just know my comfort zone and that it’s been flexible of late. Forever clinging to the notion that everyone is equally capable of doing what they want, I desperately do not want to believe  that some people are suited to endure certain things that others would succumb to the same trials..  This is elitism and it justs just as well we believe it to a certain extent because some of us are more capable than others when it comes to anything, be it leading a nation, boxing, interpreting the law, or survival. What are you content with whereas someone else might need luxury,  Probably not, but there are those who will work hard to earn comforts so they no longer have to be capable.

To quote Shakespeare,  “Poor and Content is Rich and Rich Enough.”  There is a lot of truth in those words.  Even when living with someone you can identify where extreme discomfort hrt in a difficult situation emerges and I would hope for myself that someone would coax me into being content with the status-quo.  It’s really a way of surviving.  I am of the firm believe that people can become far too content with too little and perhaps shouldn’t be— but I am not referring to matters of wealth.  Marvin, you paid me a few compliments earlier in the day concerning  you !  More importantly, he flattered me with a line of compliments that was really the most satisfying a person could be paid in reference to the way one lives.  I try to live a satisfying life and, most importantly to experience as much as I can and try not to waste time.  Have I succeeded?  Who knows.  I said earlier in the month that some might find my life someone exciting or even accomplished but I really am not quite satisfied with myself.  I’m naive to whether or not that is a good thing.  Being dissatisfied certainly leads one to be more a person of action, but misfortune also begs the concern for weather it is safer and predictable to simply by stay home.

 A Theory On Living:

I have often tolds myself that bad luck is something that is rather invited into someone’s life.  I have been told this by others too.  These others seem to be supreme optimists— even if it is just idiotically stupid to keep with such a mindset.  At some point one must be realistic over optimistic.  The difficulty is sometimes in knowing when.  Hope drives us to keep going, but it can also drive us to foolish decisions.  There comes a time when if decisions are not made situations can me made exponentially worse.  It was at such a time that Christopher and I left our first place in Salt Lake City.  It was actually significantly outside of Salt Lake in a part of town called Draper.  It was a wonderful tech corridor if I could have broken into a solid position.

Our first three months there really saw the money that we arrived with gone.  Not only that, Christopher and I had been given the primary responsibility of taking care of two boys, ages Seven and Six.  I really loved taking care of them, but had really forgotten that taking care of kids is a full-time job in of itself.  I find it important to mention that the kids were expensive too.  Christopher and I were the primary suppliers of food and daily supplies that keeps any household running.  We were not required to pay rent, but the situation was a bit odd either way.  The house was full of people and a bit too small.  If I was independently wealthy I would have taken care of the boys until they were grown.  I loved cooking for them, introducing them to new foods, teaching them and just participating in their lives.

The boys got both Christopher and I up in the morning because if someone wasnt awake with them there would inevitably be some impending catastrophe without a sane presence.  I remember coaxing them away from the X-Box.  I had bought heavy whipping creme from the store and I asked the older boy, James, if he wanted to whisk the heavy creme for me.  He was not certain of the purpose but obliged as I prepared strawberries, bananas and chocolate.  Whisking heavy creme is actually really tedious when equipped with just a whisk.  But it’s how I always made whipped creme.  I added sugar and had the boys trade off in whisking while I finished, I have Christopher take over the whisking as their little arms get tired and they are questioning me with ever more frequency what is supposed to happen.  When I point out that it is thicker than it once, they found renewed will to whisk.  Either way, I finish it up for them as it gets difficult until there are soft peaks in the creme.  I then have James taste it with his fingers (clean fingers) and his response was:

“I love eating butter!”

“Well…. I guess it needs more sugar!” I generally remark, as Christopher laughs at how honest the boy is.

The minds of these children— and all children– are really wonderfully simple.  The simple notion that the whipped creme tasted like butter was a simple reaction to tasting something similar to what he has tasted before.  Of course, if we had continued to whip that creme it would separate into butter, but it was simply that he had not experienced having whipped creme before and he had tasted butter.  Similar taste without enough sugar.  My mind was worried before that point if I may have already added too much.  The important aspect is that I had an expectation for what it should be and the boys didn’t and I got a really honest reaction for something as simple as whipping creme for strawberries.  I had hope that my expectation was really what it should be, or good enough for the kids.  I got a slight adjustment with the frank “butter response” and couldn’t hope that it was sweet enough at that point.  It makes me think every day if our expectations don’t need to be re-assessed, and often at that.

More on that next time, as the situation becomes serious in Salt Lake.

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In Suspense ~ No Blackfish Banter ~

Publishing tonight: The Conclusions Concerning the Collisions & Terrible Trigger Tirade

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Living on Hopes Gambles & Rambles

Coming Up:  The Conclusion of the Rollover Accident

Also, the dilapidation of the Trigger House and what ill manners, distasteful habits and somewhat awesome company it was!

Take a peak at the kitchen:

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Amidst the Wreckage

Immediately after an extremely traumatizing and traumatic event, there is a discernible change in one’s thought process.  What was once important takes a back-seat to those that are important, but are often taken for granted.  More immediately still, are the thoughts that flooded my thinking.  While I was concerned with those things that I took for granted, I often give the appearance of being a cold and distant person.  It gave Christopher a cause for pause and made me have to think about being slightly more aware of how I was reacting in reference to the people around me.

One of my many flaws is the way I emote around others.  In a very old-fashioned brand of thinking, I am of the idea that public portrayal of emotion– or even non-public portrayal, let it be to friends, family, whomever– should be avoided at all costs.  This is because letting people know what you are feeling can be an insight into one’s weaknesses, making one vulnerable to the scheming of others.  Now, I would hate to be a pessimist and represent the belief that people are generally bad.  When it comes to question of whether or not people are good or bad, I have two strongly held convictions, one for which I quote Morgan Freeman.

“There are no perfect men in the world, only perfect intentions”

The second is concerning desire and want:  “One should always be aware of the negative his negative feelings.”

When dealing with people, particularly people whom are not well-known to me as well as those that are well-known to me, I never have these general ideas far from my thoughts.  I do this in an attempt to both be pragmatic and be flexible in my understanding of others and what they may want, as well as aware that everyone is in search of something for themselves, and not always through honorable means.  Without being on the defensive, I have always reflected a certain cautiousness coupled with an  undimmed and exceedingly sociable, charming, and likable character.  Those that know me might agree that when it comes to getting to know me, I can often be an alluring and intriguing conversationalist that piques the interest of those around me.  In my opinion, this can be mainly attributed to my vast set of curiosity-driven interests, an extremely good memory, and general fun-loving attitude.

However, in-turn those that have gotten to know me, also know that my self-directed opinions can be somewhat dark, macabre, and uncertain.  Not only that, but I often lack any kind of authentic emotions and can appear to be very vacant and devoid of real emotions concerning others around me.   When it came to the accident, this was no different and I seemed to have escaped inwards.  Christopher had told me that he wanted to run to me, hug me and hold each-other.  He had been severely traumatized by the rollover.

I am not sure to what I can attribute my lack of fear when it came to the whole incident, I can without any hesitation say that I was somewhat unaffected.  Even disturbingly unaffected as someone has relayed to me.

The vehicle had done an aerial in the air, after having struck the beginning of the guard-rail while traveling sideways.  I remember feeling the sensation of not being in contact with the road, weightlessness, and fear of the impending impact, after which the truck had rolled another two or three times before settling up-side-down.  my real fear had occurred when, calling out for both Rob and Pookie and hearing nothing but the still, quiet, cold.  Even hearing the sleet on the underside of the vehicle had an ominous kind of ring to it. I noticed how discomforting the loss of the hum of the engine was in its absence and the fact that I heard no one calling back at me for those first few instances was what I really feared.  There is nothing that can describe the dread and terror I felt welling up inside of me– the same terror that I felt when finding my Nathan those four years ago.  Since that moment I had never thought there was ever a time when such helplessness and dread would find themselves back into my life.  Even today, I cannot bring myself to thinking back to both this moment and that of finding Nathan without suppressing tears.  This time I was only scared of what I might discover not what I was going to discover.

In turn, the sudden elation I felt when I heard movement and the voices of both Christopher and Rob, echoing in return of my shouts was no bit short of the most amazing thing I could imagine experiencing.  Therefore when Christopher sought a bit of reassurance in me that we were alright, and a display of affection regarding that sentiment, it was not easy for me to show how satisfied I was.

We could have been seriously hurt or even killed but we weren’t

It was as simple as that for me and the fear of it all had very little lasting effect.  I’ve even joked about it.  It seems to me that I may lead a charmed life, albeit a jaded one.  Often, in wondering if there is a God, I feel that he is full of jokes and the cruelest ones are at my expense, but there is an irony in thinking God’s jokes as cruel because they would often display an equally kind side to his sense of humor.

Diane, who had seen the whole accident was a woman sent as a favor by the fates themselves.  I cannot explain her presence, with all that it offered and all she did for us, but she was the representative for a league of angels sent to earth.  As the aftermath of the accident unfolded, she waited patiently, wanted to make sure that we were OK.  Patiently waiting, she allowed us time to process what we could of the whole situation.  One by one we were checked out by nurses.  During that time i remember hearing that there were multiple accidents not a couple miles in either directions that had just occurred.  Not noticing the cold, we salvaged what we could from the mangled wreckage of the truck as Diane insisted we fit it into her car.

Looking back, I sadly remember having to leave certain items behind.  Many of which I have particular and fond memories involving this stuff.  While it was mostly clothes and jackets, I had kept them for myself after Nathan’s passing, a great many of the clothes that I have were his.  It was there on the side of the highway only miles past the Dalles,  amidst twisted metal, snow and ice that I left them.  From that place we were taken by way of Diane’s kindness and were brought to Portland. With weather far temperate than that from which we came.  The dreary, misty, foggy weather seemed to be somewhat warmer and temperate that I could ever remember.

Once in Portland, Diane insisted that we all stay at her house.  In light of the accident, she broke out a bottle of whiskey and we all served up shots to our good health and our survival of the journey through the treacherous conditions. Shots of whiskey!  Glad to be alive I shared in the merriment and good intentions for which the shots were brought out.  But I am partially of the belief that any kind of traumatic event should not be followed by drink or drugs.  Either way, the quickly down alcohol went well with hot tea afterward and put me right to sleep.  It was not until the following morning that the reality of what had occurred that night would set in, or the pain of it all.

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Just another Brush with Death

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Heya Readers,

(and I know you are at there– thanks for reading by the way.  Leave comments below if you have something to say).

On the previous post I gave you a few images that looks really strickingly similar to the moon.  Heres the story behind them.

10100802338189787In all honesty, I’ve already received encouraging feedback.  However, I am not certain that will always be the case, depending on what I say.  Again in my attempt to be honest with myself and everyone I might have to dance a little bit.

So, last year both Christopher and I had experienced a bad Christmas.  This was single-highhandedly the most depressing Christmases you can imagine.  I remember spending a lot of my time in out apartment.  No real decorations or exchanging of gifts had occurred because we had changed living situations in Salt Lake City three times already things were not quite stable.  Both of us had gone through two jobs— and they were meager jobs.  Consequentially, we were really coming to the end of our rope with what sort of mishaps or bad-luck we could endure.  Now, since my hours were cut back at the job I had, meant that I could no longer afford our really cheap rent.

I believe it was on the day of Christmas that I spent much of my time repairing an imac that was given to us.  After it could not be fixed by her friend the Computer Guru of the Trigger House.  (more on the Trigger House later with media).  The story goes over this imac that if it could be fixed, it could be had for FREE!  Well, considering we only had my netbook, I wanted the damn thing.  Having the item in my possession, I found out that the previous attempts by another to repair the Mac had all but made it really difficult for me to repair the thing.  I muscled my way though it anyway, identifying that the fans do not cool those earlier models very efficiently.  After pumping the fan speeds to a relatively high, and noisy level, the thing ran like a dream!

I guess you could just call it the natural order of things, by my acquaintance who had gifted us the computer (because I fixed it) demanded its immediate return.  My response was a little less than eloquent.  I believe I re-told her how I got it and if she wanted to pay for the repairs she could have it back–which was refused— so I basically told her to fuck off.

Now why everyone thinks the police are their friends, I’ll never know, but she threatened to go that route.  With that in mind I was NOT going to allow myself to be relieved of this imac or what it could provide me, so I saved the documentation proving I fixed it and quickly sold it off to the highest bidder, so that I couldn’t be relieved of any benefit of my efforts without compensation.  Despite the fact I made it clearly known that we were no longer friends, this girl continued to talk to Christopher and act as a wedge between him and I.  (She was not the first to do this, nor the last)  Everyone it seemed either wanted to be with Christopher himself, get Christopher away from me, or hook Christopher up with a friend.  You can imagine how after a while I might get really pissed off.  In response to these many attempts I demanded solidarity in our relationship and wanted him to never show any kind of discord between us in public.  Either way, this girl, whom we shall call Amanda (I think that every girl should be Amanda), knowing what a poor situation we were in, made attempts to get Christopher to leave me to live with her, another guy and a little twink with whom Christopher was supposedly supposed to get together.  This kid was really young, was rumored to be just recently cleaned up from methamphetamines, arms torn up as if they went through a cotton gin and was from Pocatello, Idaho.—!?!  Of course after discovering this I was like WTF?!

Lacking the money to pay the rent and the money to leave, Christopher and I had to think of a plan:  Good old Craigslist. I am going to allow myself to go off on another tangent.  If ever there was a resource for those in need it was the internet.  More specifically, that resource is Craigslist.  At one point or another we were in need and posted for something as little as someone getting us food and low and behold we were given $400 dollars right off the bat, no questions asked, no favors needed, and no introductions needed. This kind of human kindness is really a hallmark of some of the kindness that Christopher and I discovered all over America.

You never know how much good there is out there in people until you are dead broke and in need of assistance.  In all candor, it really is heartwarming and inspiring.  Well such kindness was crucial to finding our way to Seattle.

We in order to leave quickly we arranged for a ride out to Seattle.  It was in Seattle that we were to start all over, again— with a friend of mine.  So we arrange for a ride on Craigslist and are fortunate enough after a couple days to have found one going to Portland, Oregon.

On our way:  It was a couple days after the New Year that a guy named Rob, in similar age as Christopher and I, who had come to our apartment to pick us up.  A couple comments on escape.  It had only been when Christopher and I had left the Trigger House that we had left in an honorable and halfway respectable manner.  The two or three previous escapes had included, eviction, a drunken pedophile with guns, and escaping a wholesome home where we had taken care of two of my favorite kids.  This was another one of the times where it seemed as if we had to quickly steal away like thieves in the night.  As we had quietly packed up the night before, as soon as Rob came we quickly loaded up his Ford Explorer and made our way to Portland.  From Portland Christopher and I would decide how to make our way to Seattle.

As fortune might have it, we were not able to decide much.  About two hours outside of the vehicle hit some ice and was quickly recovered.  That would have been alright if not about three seconds later we hit more ice, over which snow, had fallen and the vehicle which was going at about 40-50 mph, without loosing any speed, went completely sideways and impacted with the start of a guard-rail, flipping three times and rolling before coming to a halt on the rocky outcropping about twenty to thirty yards from the road.

A kindly woman named Diane, who was behind us and driving a Chrysler-300 (and who has a damn sexy daughter) witnessed the whole accident.  She quickly stopped, called authorities and tried to see if we were alright.  I would not have known it, but we were all out cold for about five minutes.  Fearing we were dead she kept calling out to us and eventually I woke up to find the explorer upside-down, with me dangling from the seat belt like a puppet.  Fearing for both Christopher and Robert I asked if everyone was alright myself (I couldn’t hear Diane).  I heard no immediate response.

With dread growing inside me, I called out again–only more frantically.  I was not in the position to turn and see Christopher, I could see Rob, who appeared to be asleep.  Without another answer I yelled.  Then movement from both Robert and then they both said they were unhurt.  I was OK, but a little bit stuck–and a little bit pumped with adrenaline.  I started struggling frantically to get out of the car and had to calm myself before I wound up actually injuring myself.

Without too much difficulty Rob forced one of the front doors open.  Luckily Christopher had not been impaled by the skis in the back.  He made his way to the front and out of the kicked door. Struggling to free myself with a little more patients I was able to crawl out of the Explorer.  Looking at the sight outside, was one of the most disheartening sights I’ve ever seen: keepsakes, clothes, and our dwindling possessions strung out all over the road…

(to be continued)

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On Myself & This Blog:

My Name is Justin. Most people to whom this is going out will know me. I am currently an unemployed DC-Resident living in the rougher parts of Baltimore, Maryland; albeit the wonderfully historic neighborhood known as Reservoir Hill. In fact, I have been waiting for the Ghosts of DC / Baltimore to do a piece on this neighborhood. Considering what I know about it, I may blog it for him and spare Tom the research.

justin plotting

As of August 29th I am 30 years old and what I can tell you is that while I have probably lived by many accounts and comparisons an extremely fulfilling and experienced life thus-far–forgive me, I’m going into a Disney-princess-moment– I feel very unaccomplished, unsatisfied, and in many ways cheated. With that being said I am my own worst critic and conscientiousness has never strayed too far from my fore-thoughts.

Now, The Juice Concerning my Blog: I am not certain as of yet how my thoughts will shape and organize my story, but I will be telling you a story of Life, Death, Lies, Sex, Fun, Discipline, Danger, Love, Romance, and Hate insofar as the few experiences that have just happened to cross my mind and I am going to try to be as honest and transparent as I can. The difficulty in this is that I have lied to people I know and trust for one reason or another. I will explain of myself in every detail that I can and let you decide. I will say this: Some of you know a bit of the story about which I will relate in the next 30 days but NONE know of it ALL or the intimate details, except for Christopher.

A quick revelation being that I am a former heroin-opiate addict. Not so very shocking in this age–such is the times we live in-and many of my friends know about. At the times many of my friends discovered it, I made no secret of it and often went through the practice of keeping syringes somewhere within my apartment. One might ask “why?” The short answer being, for the very reason a diabetic might carry them around: Convenience. Another question may be as to why I made no attempt to hide it.

The fact of the matter is, I did hide it in many ways, however, after the Death of my boyfriend, Nathan with whom I had shared nearly 7 years together, I no longer had it in me to fight for pretenses: They simply became unimportant. The fact that I had hidden it before very may have been a mistake that had the potential to make for a different outcome other than his death. His death is something that still burdens me to this very day. Returning to my indiscretions when it came to hiding my own drug-behavior: I know it is and was a dangerous practice. It is a dangerous drug and when bought clandestinely the potency can change to a degree from one day to the next in such a manner that I have once awoken on the floor from a very “standard dose,” feeling EXTREMELY lucky to be alive without intervention. But I was physically addicted, unhappy, and inconsolably in pain.

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When you are ill for a fix of opiates small little delays really only serve to piss you off. To remove these little delays really seemed to make my day go much better. Unfortunately, I was not happy, but fortunately there were people such as my friends– my real friends– that didn’t care. They would check up on me, and visit me, call me, invite me out, and be there for me–regardless of how many times I didn’t pick up the phone they always found the way to my door. Although I was in a bad way I felt very loved and very protected: even valued. This is yet another topic to be re-visited.

I have a twin brother, whom I partially detest with extreme malice and love with a great desire to protect. It seems to me that my brother has difficulty in being an individual. While we are both genetically the same as far as genetic makeup we are very different. One such difference he has always seemed to have difficulty in dealing with is the fact that I am gay, and he is NOT.

Now, I say that he has difficulty in it for a number of reasons. The first one being that he asked my sister, shortly after I came out to both her and my father, whether or not that made HIM gay. Wouldn’t by the age of 19 you have the slightest inkling on a predominant attraction to one sex or the other? Sheesh!

In turn, he takes some enjoyment in spreading some of the silliest and most ridiculous lies about me. More on that: while my brothers ability to be convincing has nothing to do with the content of the particular lie, but a combination of the persistence with which he lies and the ability to be aware of certain channels of communications. He knows, for instance, that I have little contact with a patriarch of the family. For those of you who haven’t guess it, my father. I call him a patriarch because he really has two families, a neglected one, and one which was a little more planned. Well, since my brother is aware that my Dad speaks to his mother and they speak to each other, whatever my brother tell either my grandmother or my father will be exchanged, and maybe with more family members. My poor sister always stays out of it. She’s just tired– and who could blame her? My brother and I bicker like some old married folk sitting in their rocking chairs waiting to die at the raisin-ranch where they’ve stayed the last twenty years. So, when my brother starts the grind at the rumor mill some of the most ridiculous and unbelievable shit can be said, but since no one is there to refute or deny it (and I certainly do not care enough to pay it a thought) these ideas about how terrible and odd I am start coming back to me in whispers. They usually just make me look so deviant that my brother is a rising start in comparison– even tho he is as stagnant as a swamp–but more on that later. It was not until recently I put an end to damn near a year full of lies and deceit which my brother had begun to infect my mother’s side of the family with–a part in which I take much joy and happiness in because my mother, and my sister are the only family I really consider, outside of that bumbling fool I have for a twin. who really does shame me.

For the two reasons I outlined it is apparent to me that he has problems standing out as an individual. Let me know if you think I’m wrong and then I’ll just throw more stories with proof to win my point.

Before I conclude, I am as yet undecided in how this blog will unravel itself or how I will end it. In fact, I don’t know how it all will end. It has yet to be written. But be that the reality of it comes or yet another ill-fated mishap should befall me, I shall faithfully and dutifully blog until my end or the end (of the blog).  Tomorrow I’ll start with my life in the Capitol.

Three of My Favorite Pictures of Nathan. along with the obituary.

Three of My Favorite Pictures of Nathan. along with the obituary.

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