The tone is bleak: God does not speak, the suffering presented is undeserved, and expectations of future redemption are minimal.


– from Wikipedia




Ahoy, mateys.


Last night was proof of the brilliance of my wife’s plan to move us out to le tout petite maison: the child brought our grandson out to us for a ten minute visit, and then the both of them went back inside.






I have this case where this woman is letting her mentally ill son live with her, which is very nice except he keeps attacking her, beating her up, now he’s choking her which is a pretty good indication that the next thing is we’ll be standing over her and zipping her into a body bag. She don’t want him to go to prison, so she won’t cooperate with us. I don’t blame her all that much I guess. But I keep thinking about this other case I had a while back where the kid packed his grandma up into a old suitcase and put her in the trunk of his car and threw her off a cliff and then went back and tidied up and lived in her house and if he hadn’t kept cashing her checks he might have got away with it. I’m talking to this one that’s still alive and the whole time I’m half talking to the dead one, you know?

She don’t want to hear it.


I think the last ten homicides we’ve had, eight of them was a mentally ill kid killing his mom or the neighbors. Mostly moms, though.


“all i do for you, and this is how you repay me?”






I do not bring this up as a condemnation of our mental health system. Or our criminal justice system. Or of loving mommies.


Fact is, it is just a hard old life and full to the brim with inequities and unanswerable questions. You could never fix it, even if you set out to. Which god why would you. We are provisional creatures and bound for slaughter I don’t know why we act all the time as if things were otherwise. It’s an insult to all the suffering we’re in for. Ought to be that we take our measure with more dignity and less complaint somehow although that sounds meanhearted when I say it and it’s not meant so. But. But. But. I admire suffering done well, with some grace in it. Look at the burdens we all bear, we’re none of us exempt. And it’s not that you cain’t cry about it, shit, cryin’s fine, it’s apt. But maybe not whine. Maybe not protest that it’s unfair.  Greet the horror with open arms and fix it a drink and set some good food before it, set down your best china, don’t begrudge nothing. You’ll get the visit just the same so be a good host and maybe you’ll have some fun while he’s burning down your house and murdering your beloved. When he comes for you set your drink down and take him in your arms.

Dance with him what brung you.



I love this mean old world I really do.