022892

Depression. This bland, bleek weather. How long now. How many of

these terrible winters what I endured. I cannot stay awak. My lives

fall apart. I go crazy. I hate living for eight months. For the male

dominated part of the year I am in servitude and in pain. I want to

be taken care of. I want to die. I hate myself and everyone. I

cannot stand this. What should I do. I become a lunatic, and yet the

moon is even distant. I have taken too much of this and want it away

but I don’t know how to make it do so.

022892

Depression. This bland, bleek weather. How long now. How many of

these terrible winters what I endured. I cannot stay awak. My lives

fall apart. I go crazy. I hate living for eight months. For the male

dominated part of the year I am in servitude and in pain. I want to

be taken care of. I want to die. I hate myself and everyone. I

cannot stand this. What should I do. I become a lunatic, and yet the

moon is even distant. I have taken too much of this and want it away

but I don’t know how to make it do so.

22192
Celtic Cross Tarot Spread
4 Swords

1 -King Swords
R2 -Queen Cups
3-Judgment
4 -8 Swords
5 -10 Swords

6 -4 PentaclesR

7 -King SwordsR

8 –Devil

My brief career as a mother began somethyme at the end of January.
Just like the prophesy said. Six months and I carried the seed. The
day it was confirmed was February 22, 1992. Six week pregnant. Due
date October 22. That night I told the little being inside of me I
loved it. I did. My brief career as a mother ended March 6, 1992,
eight weeks after it began. My first child laying in fragments of
it’s own 1 inch body and blood and the system it used to grow life in,
in the bottom of a vacuum suction jar in the Akron Women’s Clinic.
Why did I do it? I really don’t know. Because it was easy. Yeah,
sure it was…

22192
Celtic Cross Tarot Spread
4 Swords

1 -King Swords
R2 -Queen Cups
3-Judgment
4 -8 Swords
5 -10 Swords

6 -4 PentaclesR

7 -King SwordsR

8 –Devil

My brief career as a mother began somethyme at the end of January.
Just like the prophesy said. Six months and I carried the seed. The
day it was confirmed was February 22, 1992. Six week pregnant. Due
date October 22. That night I told the little being inside of me I
loved it. I did. My brief career as a mother ended March 6, 1992,
eight weeks after it began. My first child laying in fragments of
it’s own 1 inch body and blood and the system it used to grow life in,
in the bottom of a vacuum suction jar in the Akron Women’s Clinic.
Why did I do it? I really don’t know. Because it was easy. Yeah,
sure it was…

It is this at the inn of the dreamer that I know of. It is here that

I sit in the once crowded tavern conversing with others somewhat like

myself. Now the inn is empty. The fat burns in the oil lamp a dull

amber and the wind whistles through the open doorway. Most have left

this place. The dream goes unrealized. I stay however and protect

Cacique. Once in a while a wandering finds their way into this inn

and I greet them and speak to them kindly. They tell me of the way it

is now. Of the happiness through drug induced euphoria. The night

that never ends. “You should try it they say.” I think not. I am

happy here in my inn with the wind as my silent converser. But at

thymes I doubt this existence. Do they doubt theirs. Do they even

think any longer. Or do they let the chemical think for them. I

wonder what happened to my friends? Where did the chemicals take

them? They seem happy but are they? All I know is that melancholia

is my way. I am not happy, but I know this. I have tried from thyme

to thyme to be like you. The conformist, the raver, the popular, the

jock. But although I can adapt to the style well enough. The show is

always a bit awkward and after a thyme I slip comfortable back into

the way I have always been. Alone here I sit, come talk for a while,

but just until I begin to bore you with listening. Then leave and

tell the tale of me to others. I will be here forever. This is my

post and as much as I would like to leave somethymes, I sense that it

is my duty to remain.

It is this at the inn of the dreamer that I know of. It is here that

I sit in the once crowded tavern conversing with others somewhat like

myself. Now the inn is empty. The fat burns in the oil lamp a dull

amber and the wind whistles through the open doorway. Most have left

this place. The dream goes unrealized. I stay however and protect

Cacique. Once in a while a wandering finds their way into this inn

and I greet them and speak to them kindly. They tell me of the way it

is now. Of the happiness through drug induced euphoria. The night

that never ends. “You should try it they say.” I think not. I am

happy here in my inn with the wind as my silent converser. But at

thymes I doubt this existence. Do they doubt theirs. Do they even

think any longer. Or do they let the chemical think for them. I

wonder what happened to my friends? Where did the chemicals take

them? They seem happy but are they? All I know is that melancholia

is my way. I am not happy, but I know this. I have tried from thyme

to thyme to be like you. The conformist, the raver, the popular, the

jock. But although I can adapt to the style well enough. The show is

always a bit awkward and after a thyme I slip comfortable back into

the way I have always been. Alone here I sit, come talk for a while,

but just until I begin to bore you with listening. Then leave and

tell the tale of me to others. I will be here forever. This is my

post and as much as I would like to leave somethymes, I sense that it

is my duty to remain.