In which our heroine finds herself clutched in the monster’s filthy, razor sharp claws, afraid for her life. Introduction: The scripting process begins and ends This narrative slowly opens and possibly took several years for the writer to realize the finished script. Editing the story of a life continues beyond publication, past the timeline of […]Read more
If “it is what it is,” why is it so the collateral damage of metastatic cancer so fucking hard?Read more
Should FEDEX and UPS have required a signiture as instructed by my agent the special victims unit of CVS Carremark located in India? My chemo came in cardboard boxes including VOLUMOUS amounts of Phizer literature. I used their web site irrespectively, even if the loads of junk mail in both boxes were important they went unread, causing more environmental ugliness that helped my breast cancer to spread in the first place.Read more
Depression and cancer. The locks to my prison, to which keys do not exist; there’s no cure, and there’s no future with happiness together as a team, the team I really counted on – but as Einstein said not all things that can be counted, should.Read more
The pain in your veins, heat aghast, you faint.
The hole swallows her body and soul.
Why in the universe do we know something exists at all,
If we pretend to see, to know, bite a fruit and fall.
Algorithmic syncopated circus acts,
And drums tight as a father’s facts.