Anyone who is familiar with the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy knows that Vogon poetry is awful and hideous and hilarious all at once.

So it is my chosen medium to work on all this darkness that still envelops me
and prevents me from functioning some days
and gives me enough strength to carry on

. . . most days.

Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe.

The second worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem “Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning” four of his audience died of internal haemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been “disappointed” by the poem’s reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his 12-book epic entitled “My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles” when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save humanity, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain.

The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paul Neil Milne Johnstone of Redbridge, in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon poetry is mild by comparison.

― Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

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Many thanks to our family, friends, and fans who sent love, light, and prayers about our ordeal in court. I’ve gotta admit, the experience was quite jarring. To place your story in the hands of strangers and watch some sort of twisted stage production of your life and your trauma unfold in front of you is absolutely bizarre.

I am disheartened that I believed in a justice system that was fair and . . . well . . . JUST. As one of my best friends said: (who also went through a ridiculous court case that took years and drained her savings and sanity)
“You can have all the justice you can afford.”
To sit in court and watch case after case with rich lawyer after rich lawyer pleased – no – GIDDY – in some cases to throw hard-working Americans out in the streets so their clients could double and triple rent . . . Our system is broken. But we were some of the “lucky” ones. Research shows that only 11.5% of tenants who faced eviction had attorneys to represent them.

BUT WHO WON?!?!?! I hear you cry.

No one.

No one won here.

We prevailed on our counterclaims. We got nothing for it.

I read recently that some trauma you never heal from.

You just learn to live with it and how to survive around it.

And accept it’s the best you can do.

So this is me . . .
accepting the best I can do.

My Attempt at Vogon Poetry

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Poison

“You need to sign a waver saying we can put poison on the property”
“Are you out of your mind? No responsible pet owner would let anyone put down poison, and I can’t believe any extermination company still uses poison.”
“So you won’t sign the waver?”
“NO we won’t sign the waver. We do not give permission for any poison to be put anywhere on the property.”

despite watching the house
and anyone that went in it
as close as I possibly could
(and after arguing with multiple exterminators that showed up preparing to put down poison)

in a span of less than six weeks

I had to put three of my animals to sleep

because they had become spontaneously

and violently

ill

one of them

had a grand mal seizure
yowling horribly
foaming at the mouth
twitching
choking on blood where she bit her tongue
I held her close
her and I covered in blood
until she died

I’m sure it’s not related.

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Court

Court is a funny thing
You know your side of the story better than anyone
But you pay someone a ridiculous amount of money
To tell your story
And watch as their side goes low
As your side goes high
And I guess the judge just thinks you both lied
Because he believes some of what you said
And some of what they said
And some of their lies
And none of our lies

because we didn’t fucking tell any

And denies us a jury trial

So he can make a decision long after we’ve told him our story
and he’s forgotten it

After they rescheduled us once

And rescheduled us twice

And forgot to put us on the court docket another time

And the only people who came out ahead of the whole fucking mess

were

the

goddamn

lawyers

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I’ll Just Leave This Video Here

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Ode to the Bags of Dog Shit in My Driveway I Found One Christmas Afternoon

Hello, mysterious contents wrapped in brightly colored dog shit bags.
Did you once belong to a witch?
I suspect someone in this god-forsaken neighborhood
or someone who visits it
thinks they are a witch
I found three bells attached to an outside door

I tripped over some sort of weird stick effigy in front of my doorstep
I found odd writing on the sidewalk
But this poem is not about a wanna-be witch

This poem is about the bags of dog shit.

Ok, I didn’t open them up to see if they actually CONTAINED dog shit.

Maybe eye of newt or leg of lizard?
They were placed in a circle around where I park my car,

Were you trying to hex me?

Hex my car?

Oh, you sweet summer child

Witchcraft is all about the intent.
And evil things done attempted towards someone comes back to your ass threefold.

How do I know this?

Cross that salt line and I’ll tell you.

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PTSD

Hey, your honor

Thanks for not believing my PTSD was caused by someone traumatizing the fuck out of me.

I must’ve picked it up at the grocery store by accident.

Someone slipped it in my cart as a joke.

HAPPENS ALL THE TIME I’M TOLD

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You can leave us alone now.

Yeah, you. You know who I’m talking to.

BECAUSE YOU STALK EVERY FUCKING THING I DO ON THE INTERNET.

You can leave us alone now.

I had to close this off.

I had to get this out of my brain.

It’s part of my mental health treatment.

Writing stupid poetry
because this whole thing was so surreal

I had to get it out somehow

And now that it’s out, I’m done talking about it.

I miss that 18th century home
that I decorated like a hotel lobby
and all the ghosts in there that loved us
and hated you.

Oh yeah . . . 

Stop trying to use Wicca against us.
It’s cute.

And somewhat pathetic.

I’m a better witch with a stronger coven
Leave us alone now – so mote it be.

We stood up for ourselves, and I will never ever regret that.

So mote it be.

I hope you find what you need.

And stop trying to take it from others.

And just . . . heal. Learn to be better humans.
And like I said before – in exactly the same words I said before:

. . . most of all, I am sorry for whoever . . . whatever . .  you both have been through in the past to turn you into such hateful, malicious people. Because that kind of trauma runs deep. To treat human beings and especially animals with such blatant disrespect and honestly – disdain . . . is truly horrifying.

With these ridiculous poems
 I close this ridiculous chapter of my life
 like the lid of a jar full of dirt and coffin nails
 from an eighteen day protection spell
 and bury it

in the basement

of a 300 year old house

full of ghosts

who

loved

me

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