i don’t need to hear from my lawyer or my sister to know that i’m reasonable and still exist. i can stay in nature like van gogh or like the poor glassy eyed alcoholic,  in the small lean park on presidio in san francisco who wanted to talk to me about himself and i said hold onto that thought to see what came next. he types with his one index finger. he takes off his black glasses that make him anonymous. he has things to do. has the lawyer who looks like john wayne with a wig and hated her mother and loved her rancher father been reading my blog? am i too indecent for her to steward me?
does she not care about my feelings? has she discounted me as a  father? she said that my tweets were too angry and that i should tone them down. i thought they were political in nature and benign. all these lawyers’ and doctors’ gazes intersect. thirty year studies link diseases into one big chain around my neck. i’m sure some of my diseases are from being a slave to a king on somedays and on other days from being a late sleeper or a slave to class, time, and place. the boy has curly black hair and a purple t-shirt. i had one of those purple t-shirts. i want another one to replace the one i used to have. mine had a red sheen. i need to have another special t-shirt that gives me super powers. i wear the neat shirts my ex got me. they don’t feel as much the t-shirts she got me as my t-shirts. i have worn them enough to make them mine. they are like a second skin. there are times when i really know what i want. i see the clothing item and i have a feeling inside me that corresponds to the shape and the color of it and i speedily purchase it. there are the times when i don’t know what i want or feel and i wear the same shirt. my jeans are usually too long and i have to roll them up one time so
that i don’t step on them with my white vans or black converse. my t-shirts are too short or too long or too wide. i have a choppy serous gaze. i need a lawyer to police my lawyer. i need a doctor to treat my internalized doctor. literature is an account of morphing disease. we should sell golf courses, churches, banks, and museums to fund health care for everyone. she thought the vehicle had a nose bleed. i thought it too was having one. i said that i thought when an adult has a nosebleed it can mean that there is worse to come for her and that when a teenager had a nosebleed it was usually harmless. i don’t think she agreed with me. she was talking about something else when i saw that it wasn’t me but the vehicle that was having the nosebleed. i was figuring it out. she doesn’t always stick with one subject when there are many other thoughts to override it. when i was eleven i wasn’t worried about my height, not that i can remember, like she has been for the past two years. i was worried about it when i was fourteen and fifteen when i was growing steadily passing the adult teachers in height. i have a sympathy that overwhelms me when she talks about her height because i know how vulnerable i felt when i had no control over my body and how the perceptions of adults and kids alike changed for the better and the worse.