tomorrow

I think I’ll be moving this weekend to a spot in South Tucson. I’ve heard of it before and prior to voicing an opinion I’ll have to give it some time to see how it really is there. It is along Old Benson Highway.  I’ve been well taken care of since last September and have mentioned some of my “sheltered existence” in earlier writings. It was fortunate I was there when I took some big hits healthwise. Could have been pretty serious (for me at least) if I just went to sleep. I had friends around me that looked out for me – like Bill and Charlie. I owe them a debt. My Caseworker, Stephanie Robles, did a fine job in getting my SPDAT info where it needed to be and that was the key to this Rapid Re-Housing opportunity with Primavera.org.  God bless them all.

About to reboot my Artistic self that has been hard aground since last September. When you are sitting proud on top of the world – working nearly 24 hours a day, living for the weekend, paying dues for being married and raising a couple of children, you never imagine that they’ll all attack you and drain the blood from your veins someday. You’d expect someone to have your back – not be planning the most damaging shot into it. My family is like a Cicada shell jettisoned onto heavily traveled cement years back. Ground daily into fine dust that even a forensic detective would have a hard time finding with a microscope. (Like my love for them). Those people? They have to see themselves in the mirror every single day. Perpetuate a lie from Mommy that they apparently believe. Inbreeding on the Ex-Wife’s side. Check that DNA. (Theme from Deliverance) Hey, please… Prove me wrong. Not my problem. Not at all. I miss my late brother and my parents but it stops there. Even my friend in New Jersey has gone silent. Lots of dead people there in the East. I miss the paintings in the Brandywine River Museum. Wish I had one of those paintings. I will. I really will. Starting fresh in the Sonoran Desert. Ready to enjoy most minutes of most days without guilt or remorse. Done the best a man can. Hand me my pen. Thank you.