Metamorphosis

My face is ashen to the point that the Market Street public has noticed; maybe they believe I am terminally ill. I have set a baseline, and that is, give my state representative and others time to respond, and then maybe I will prepare to go to Pittsburgh. I have been to Pittsburgh, and probably have enough strength to take flight there; maybe the beatnik community would help, I don't know. We'll discuss it after the exterminator leaves tomorrow.

Tired as I am, I'll add that I refused even to look at Erik sitting outside the entrance on my way to the store; without his bulldog Goth bitch around we still talked, Erik and I. Not anymore, even though I relented after Joey's demise my displeasure remains. I do not hate him, but I simply can't play the game anymore and no longer wish to see. My own lungs are burning, and though he turned toward me, I pretended, like his partner, that the three of us never had connection.

Aside from the political story, which I have doled out  in fragments, Jimmi and Erik play our former interaction like a bipolar disorder. Jimmi despises me for my contempt directed at his intellectual arguments, and Erik, when he still recognized me, would say, "I thought we still were [friends]" Then Jimmi would convey, when I tried to force him to listen, that Erik treats me with the same disdain he reserves for Linda's denial.

My disillusion, at this point, is eating away at my physical health, and I am weary of trying to ferret out sincerity in any of us, this freak transgender couple, my scarred intellect that wants established street cred but may be too constrained by illness and biological entropy to jump those hoops, and the sociopathic chief operating officer who I internalized far too highly in superlative terms.

I hate to say this, but the Vatican is right, chronic conditions and some disease is simply evil, and my heart and soul have been too corroded, living as a life long cripple.

As I suspect Louise would protest, I am not as bad as my online tone suggests, but that tone carries a great deal of restraint, and by that I do not necessarily mean foul rants, so much as blunt hatred. I hold it back because I know I'd come to regret it and hit delete, if I wasn't banned first. Hard snicker.