Supernatural Silhouette

This Jazzy is basically fucked, (and called, in impoverished futility, this medical supply company from Twitter which has no Pennsylvania location) and since it only charged for an hour and a half after I got back from the libertarian committee meeting last week, where, after three years, I was educated that getting into the Cafe through the back alley was less strenuous, and no asshole in this city could tell me that before, right, so, staying in the building, I have run the battery down, carefully, on very small spurt plug ins, and just managed to get it to charge two hours, meaning I have to charge it less frequently, and by so doing, just perhaps realign the memory, despite the short, I don't know. I am basically doomed, and should have selected ABC's Somewhere Between over Midnight Texas. Somewhere Between takes the inexplicable desperation of damaged mother and the blackout drunk cop seriously, and is plausible in the sense that something happened to alter dire circumstance. Do I care? No.

I am rattling my saber at my mother's sister on glorious Facebook, and if so desired could really start shit, black bile from the gorge secrets never to be forgiven. Pause.

Benjamin is only my half brother, and never deserved what our mother's wayward life inflicted, so I will not really start shit, in an age where low pressure storms suck our ligaments back into the space wave particle dimension explained by math but just barely within the configuration of our brains. If I can, I'm lying down an hour or more. Not that I wish it, having listened, slept extra, ate heavy Spanakopita. I have to hold myself together long enough to deploy my plan of action, not that I know if it is plaque, impeding stroke, pancreas, or appendix. I have learned to chase law firm 800 numbers during claims court television.