letting go

the saddest thing for me is that i live in a garbage society. i didn’t know for the first 50 yeas. I had done what i thought was real. followed my peers into a deadly fight.

now that’s flicked up. i see my life laid out and brutal. the threads of connection cut and burned and sexually conditioned, assaulted, forced, interrupted. deadly cut, bruised, drugged. homeless.




and somewhere beyone the keel, peel, –peaceful. i doubt it. but it is spoken of at times.

Love, fitch


laying on a bed; lens flared.

coming into focus

with the heavy shwoosh beat. hammering it’s lentil bean.

ha. not queer enough.

angar had seeped out during the mid morning break when all the students cam up and prepair for a fight. out of all the other classrooms with their binders under their arms. sweaters and pants (no skirts–flashing knits and waves, woven styles from elsewhere and hena. eden school was north ten kilometres.

nobody dared walk it. why i don’t know. but if you were caught going to slow you would get a ticket and put in an put in an old folks home. True story. My grandfather.


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