hey raccoon, just because i didn't feel it, doesn't mean it didn't happen

Does no one recognize the signs of a stroke? I had a stroke. I was delirious - no blood was going to my brain! Who would actually think I have a god damn boat? I live under some leaves by a puddle. How could I possibly, instantly, afford a boat named "Get on Bitch!"? What I did do, is spend the last few weeks 100 feet from the library, paralyzed from the neck down, sucking dew off grass blades, thankful nobody mowed me. I should have heard search parties and helicopters, but instead I heard only my own labored breathing. Oh, there was a raccoon that sniffed my ass one day, and a crow that periodically stopped by to see if I was dead yet...FOR ALL THE WRONG REASONS! But you, my "friends" are the ones who truly sicken me. I miraculously regained my strength, slowly, on my own, with daily progress I made it back to my leaf pile and once I was able to open a can of Spaghettio's - I knew I was going to be okay. I thought I had done some real deep soul-searching in the slammer, but now I really got to know hate, lying there on the ground, left for dead, by idiots too stupid to recognize the obvious signs of a squirrel in peril. I would like to publicly admit that I did make one "death's door" promise to God while I was face down outside the library. A single heartfelt promise that if he, dear God, got me through this alive, I vowed, I promised, I swore, to stop believing in him.

i never promised you a wildflower garden

Where is me.
I'd like to know.
Where is squirrel.
His wife was a ho.
Where oh where.
That sister-in-law so fine.
Where be he.
That shadow of mine.
Well I'll tell you where i am...on a good day - when I am not getting shot at - i am eating out of goddamn dumpsters, picking up fleas everywhere I try to sleep, looking for any drink of water that hasn't been crapped in by birds, losing a fight with the squatters that moved into my house, finding out that medical care for all hasn't happened yet, wishing I was still in prison and hoping jimmy gets hit with a big goddamn shovel in the back of his big ugly misshapened goddamn head.
yeah i am out of prison and life is one big goddamn field of goddamn flowers.
I guess I have more to say, it isn't all bad, i'll try to get back into the library and type more as soon as I can, but my left arm is getting numb and I can't type animo

Whoa, I think I had a stroke. anyway. I bought a boat. Named her the "Get on, bitch!"

Hell yeah.

free

I apologize to any loyal readers out there for not updating sooner. I had my hearing on Sept. 12th as scheduled. By a vote of 6 to 1, I was granted parole. Unfortunately, due to processing and bureaucracy, I cannot actually leave here (prison) until Sept. 18th. It has been explained to me what exactly "squirrel season" means. For those of you, like me, who thought it was an honor, it is not. I cannot even write of what it really means, I find it reprehensible and I fully expect to wake from this nightmare just to find it was all a silly sad dream. But I fear that what it truly is, is proof that my captors are barbarians capable of the most horrific behavior sanctioned by licensing and some sort of twisted specie-centric law. I fear for all of us, and the photo I posted represents the beauty of the natural world slowly blending into the dismal world of man, helpless and dead, the only way jimmy understands it. free to be hunted. free to be a butterfly on pavement. free in a world of fear. and I just want to make my friends laugh, really that is all I ever wanted. laughter and friends. jimmy, can you hear me?