Swords

Dealing with cow-orker condolences has been a little trying. Usually mentioning that I found out about my father's death by googling my own name and finding his obit does the trick. The look of disbelief and horrified realization across their faces is so expressive. Oh, that kind of family. Not that they totally get it. One said that children NEED affection, and it's hard to explain that I had affection, on their terms, and it was often mandatory. I wasn't materially neglected, given our near poverty. Certainly not middle class. But everything cost too much, and too much gratitude was demanded for far too little.

They wanted me to love them, they didn't want to do anything much to actually love me, or know who I was. And I spent a lot of time and effort loving them, to no avail.

I think last week I was sobbing into the gaping emptiness.

I deeply suspect there will be no inheritance at all. I don't mind, but it is telling.



Been laying out the tarot cards, keep coming up with the Ten of Swords. A betrayal, an end of illusions. Killing off the old bastards. Rasputin and the tsars lie there, pinned corpses.

Again, this is for ways to open up thoughts, it's shit at prediction. A sort of random visual poetry, to turn thoughts in all directions and work through to solutions.