Everybody knows this is nowhere

 This is tough but I’m forcing myself back into the habit.  All I’ve done since I left California is work my ass off.  It’s funny because everybody acts like because you are from California you’ve never worked a day in your life.  The fact is I had to work twice as hard to support a wife and two children, you have no idea. It’s all gravy from here on out.  That’s what they don’t get, I needed two years of sleep to get over the PTSD from the experience I wrote of previously.  

Literally, no one understands.  It’s fine.  I’m over the shell shock part, thank you.   There are stages of traumatic stress disorder and don’t let anyone tell you different.  For me I have the tools and the experience to deal with this kind of thing myself.  I got a cabin in the woods and a good dog.  Started reading the bible, taking long walks and sleeping.  I have insurance through my job so don’t trip, I’m squared away.  You can call off the goon squad, okay.  I cut ties with everyone except for my children and they are both fine adults so there you have it.  All that matters to me is that my kids had it better than me, and they do.  When I started this blogging thing they were both small children. As I look at photos of myself from back then I look young. Today I look broken down by comparison after years of working like Conan the Barbarian on the wheel of pain. I might be getting old but I’m still strong as hell.  

The dog, where do I begin with this hideous beast.  I found her, on the side of an old country road as the sun was going down with a light rain falling, there she was standing at the crossroads lost.  A young black and white dog, she looked like a hunting dog.  I stopped the car, rolled down the window and yelled, hey you! 

She looked over at me and barked so I threw the car in park and hopped out.  I walked around the front of the car and said, hey you!  I’m talking to you.  

She took a few steps closer to me and growled then she started barking defensively so I stopped walking and put up my hands and she began advancing. I lunged aggressively at her and she turned tail then turned back around and stood her ground.  

I told her, come here and she just stood there.  Finally I said, to hell with you dog I’m going home. I got back in the car and said, hey you.  She looked over at me and I said, come on, then slowly began driving off. I looked in the rear view and she was trotting behind the car.  

I pounded on the outside of the door and gave it a little gas and she tried to keep up.  I realized at that point someone had dumped her off out here as she followed me home about a quarter of a mile.  Obviously, whoever dropped her off thought this was nowhere, and they were in luck because she’s been here a year now waiting for them to return.  I named her Ashleigh after my calico kitty who died last year at my ex wife’s house.  She’s wicked smart.  As it turns out she’s not a hunting dog at all but a border collie mixed with a pit bull.  She wouldn’t hunt for a pork chop if it was in front of her under a bush.  This poor dog was abused by someone before she met me that’s all I know.  I’m glad to keep her because no animal deserves to be hurt because a person gets mad.  She has food water and a place to sleep.  Sometimes I think she eats more than I do.   

The reason

 The reasons for not writing are multifaceted, there is some harsh truth in there and I don’t want to face it.  I decided to compartmentalize the whole thing and trudge forward balls out into oblivion.  Who needs it?  Push past the trauma.  

Like I wrote, you can’t stand in the street and shake your fist for the rest of your life, just get on with it.  Providing whoever tried to clip me is finished.  That’s kind of a big deal, and when they locked me up I tried to tell them but they railroaded my ass, period, paragraph end of discussion.  I don’t care what anybody says I was poisoned, then mistreated terribly by those fine professionals at the county lockup.  To top it off, these cute fucks wanna tell the cops and everybody else I’m on a goddamn drug trip.  Yeah, I was on a fucking drug trip you provided me without my knowledge or consent.   Who should I see about that?   Right, it’s all bullshit because they say it is, everybody knows how that place operates, persona non grata.   

The entire place was founded on a throne of corruption and it remains that way until this very day.  

Fortunately, I grew up in the oil fields so you’re gonna have to come up with something better than that to kill me off. That’s just all there is to it.  

It don’t hurt anymore

 It’s been ages since I wrote anything.  After what I went through who wouldn’t be shell shocked as hell.  It’s been two years since I skipped town and I’m better off now than I was then. I lived with this insane left wing Hollywood lunatic for about two months.  She went full on psycho on me so I hopped on I-40 and split, who needs this shit.  I was already at my ropes end and I rent a room from this nice Jewish lady who just so happened to be a fervent democrat.  I was like hey it’s cool we don’t have to talk religion or politics.   Alas it wasn’t enough and she was totally insane.  She had the worst case of Trump derangement syndrome I’ve ever seen. Literally frothing at the mouth at the mere mention of his name. It was terrifying. 

I turned the page on that relationship without providing forwarding information, no need to complicate the matter, she ripped me off and I moved on.  You can keep the money, please just leave me alone.  I’ve had that effect on women in the past.  It was clear she wanted to know me in a biblical sense and I was having none of it.  Plus there was all this other nonsense going on which I can’t disclose for legal reasons at this time, but it sure as heck didn’t involve that nut job.

I don’t want to go into a lot of details about my life nowadays, other than I left California because the secret police were out to crucify me. 

It really doesn’t matter where I live now I’ve established residency in another state, landed a good job where I can stay forever, theoretically, until I drop dead or they fire me whichever comes first.  The divorce was final two years ago and I don’t speak to my ex at all now, I was the best thing that ever happened to her and she knows it.  I gave her the Frank Sinatra treatment because she is definitely not a person I can trust.  I still have a great relationship with my kids and that will never change but their mother is a total stranger to me.  I’ve reached the point of total indifference about our broken relationship.  Just like the old Hank Thompson says, “It don’t hurt anymore.”  

My daughter had a baby and we were always close, so it’s been tough for me not being there but these people weren’t messing around. I blew town with a suitcase and a guitar to bum across the country for old times sake. You wanna talk about trusting god this is where I was like dear god you’re the only thing I’ve got I’m on the road, stuck on the run for reasons I don't understand and I was like please get me out of this.  That’s enough for now.  

The beginning

Not to be mean here, but the mountain of circumstantial evidence lends credit to the theory somebody wanted me dead and they almost got their wish.  The problem is they continue to get away with it, and short of a confession the cops aren’t about to do anything.  For all I know the cops were in on it. 

 Because in addition to poisoning me somebody told the cops I owned firearms so they came to raid my house.  I foresaw the entire thing and had already removed them from the premises.  You’ve got to stay one step ahead when fighting for your life.  The joke was on you.  

Somebody buys me a funeral and a grave a week before they poison me, tell the cops to raid the house, try to serve a bogus restraining order, and I’m still dealing with the consequences of your actions 3 years later.  

How much can one man take. They just rat packed the fuck out of me until I split town and then continue the ball busting no matter where I land.  

This is the only way I know how to fight back.  Not even fight back, just defend myself.  Because it didn’t end there for me three years ago it was only beginning…

I literally had to sell my soul to find some sort of meaning from it all.  When you look at it from an Old Testament perspective it’s not that bad.  A lot of people have had it far worse than me, even right now.  I have no reason to cry.  Can’t undo the past.   Water under the bridge.  What else do you want from me.  It’s exhausting, you gotta move on.  I have to keep living.  But the kind of wacky nonsense I had to go through to get to this point is unbelievable. You might as well make it into a horror movie.  

 

Once upon a time in Kern County

 What are you gonna do? 

Stand in the street and shake your fist for the rest of your life?  Im not doing that. 

I will never get over the fact that three years ago someone tried to murder me and I got punished for it.  Those memories will never fade and the people responsible will not be forgotten.  I don’t give a rats what anybody says I’m not keeping my mouth shut. 

Buckle up, it’s gonna be fun…

First of all when you’ve got a man under subpoena set to appear that week and he turns up half dead saying someone’s trying to kill him you don’t slap a 5150 on his ass and subject him to torture for a week.  All these so called professionals rat packed me and the DAs office knows or should have been informed, just the fact I never heard back from them speaks volumes.    

I’ve got a really nice list of suspects with motive and opportunity but they don’t want to hear about it so we can do all of that right here.  It’s been three years, it’s all water under the bridge…