injustice isn’t dead…

Page One


this is Braon, for whom this and several other of my blogs are named. here she is almost exaclty one year before she died, sleeping very soundly before mommy flashes the camera in her face. she was the youngest of my four dogs, and was the first to die, due to, I was told, a particularly aggressive and fast-growing variety of cancer. her name means “a bit,” or “a little,” and since she was the smallest and last-born of her litter, she got that name.


tuesday 27 may 2008… and then much later… in greenfield

This is a new blog for me:  number three. I never thought I would do much of anything on a computer at all, much less blog, but desperation can drive you to a lot of unexpected things. In March I had an “injustice” done to me by a large and badly flawed (to say the least) social service agency that was supposed to help me. I put injustice in quotes because, although the word accurately describes some of the things that were done, the word itself isn’t strong enough to me to capture the legal and moral wrongness of the events. They ruined both my way of life and me. I can’t afford a lawyer to sue the various culprits, and they know it, so the only way I can try to reach an activist lawyer or journalist is to blog. I’ve been told about the many things that can be accomplished on the internet.  Social injustice may sound like a pair of corny words that we left behind in the late 70’s, but, sadly, it is a fact of life, injustice, a real form of abuse, and it is still happening all the time. My story is one of many, but I do think it’s rather unusual.

Will I find an activist lawyer, or journalist? Wait and see.


saturday 17 january 2009, northampton —– So here I still am homeless and quite possibly a chunk of meat to Matthew Lacoy and his pals,  seven and a half months after I started this blog, knowing things now that I didn’t know then. Things Matthew told me about criminal types, and federal types, and my long-dead grandfather. And whereas I thought I’d only had one enormous, incompetent, uncaring bureaucracy messing with my life (the Department of Mental Hell), it turns out I had might well have had two.

The kinds of help I was looking for when I began blogging have not yet materialized. Perhaps they never will. Still I keep writing away on the internet like some desperate energizer bunny. But with my life gone, what else do I have to do.

If you keep reading, you’ll see poems for Chan and Ziidjian, two of the cats taken from me. They had a sister, Chailin, and though I wrote her a poem, it never made it to the blogs, and the notebook is I don’t know where now. Today is their birthday. They would have been 13. Their birth in 1996 was a big deal in my life, a cliché of a blessed event. Their souls, their lives were happily welcome into my weird Asperger’s world that humans only mock and criticize. They loved me, and they loved each other, and I love them more than any words can ever tell… Scrolling through here I found an entry about a stolen solstice. That was the summer solstice, in June. I have had another stolen since then. Winter solstice was almost as big as christmas for us. We celebrated, we had a feast, the dogs and I walked under the solstice moon. Nothing now.

Update 23 June 2009  This post, when originally written, was much angrier. Many, many of my posts were. Anger is a large part of what I feel about the landlady, the crime-chick, the DMH, Matthew and his cronies, and that wretched randomness we usually call luck. And no, I did not invent or hallucinate a single one of these people, or a single word any of them said to me, or a single action they directed at me. No imagined or fabricated drug-dealing, mafia cars, lies from social workers and sheriff’s deputies. All of it excruciatingly, cruelly, truthfully real. If you choose not to believe it, then I will pipe like a parrot all over these blogs that that is your denial, not my insanity.

I didn’t ask for the mafia grandfather, didn’t ask for the mafia-chick who moved into my building.  Didn’t ask to be hunted, or ever to be “protected.” Didn’t ask for a sociopathic landlady or underhanded, dissembling social workers.


read…   Sehnen…    Spite and malice

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2012 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.



1 Comment

  1. January 12, 2013 at 4:16 am

    I think i have read theseparticular blogs before? I do not remember the photo of Braon.
    As i have told you, you write very well. I only wish i could communicate as poetically and directly.
    My cats: paul, bill, timothy and tyrone seem to have interesting relationships. Paul can be loving to bill and timothy but tyrone is the odd-cat out. He is a love bug to me but not with his kittymates.

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