Of Night Screaming & The Socialist Party

It’s been quite some time since I’ve written anything on this, or any, blog. There hasn’t been any writing on Facebook, either, until lately, due to an inexplicable ban based on some security issue. Whatever. I’m back on Facebook, so I get to talk to all my friends and comrades again, which is wonderful.

As I ponder what to write, two things come to mind. One is my recent resignation from the Socialist Party USA, an organization of which I’ve been a member for 28 years. Why? It’s a long story. It’s depressing, and tough to get used to the idea that I’m no longer a member. That may seem odd to you, but I’ve met some fantastic comrades in that party, and over the years have had some unique and positive experiences. That’s all gone now. They know why, and most (save two or three) don’t seem to give a rat’s ass that I left. That’s fine. At this point in my life I have problems that require my attention. I’m attending to them. I still detest capitalism.

Depression is a terrible thing, and I’ve had my share of that these past few weeks. Thankfully, electro-convulsive therapy at a Boston hospital has really helped. Some unusual events have haunted me lately. Among them is panic attacks, often in the middle of the night when I’m trying to sleep. Is there someone in my apartment, which is small, that I do not know about? Perhaps hiding in the closet, or around the corner in the living room? Of course not, but such a feeling of terror overwhelms me. I’ve awoke screaming after having dreams that instill feeling that you wouldn’t believe. Sheer horror. This is beginning to pass now. My pets, all of whom sleep on or next to me every night, are very disturbed by my night terrors. They look at me like, “What the Hell, dude?” Who could blame them.

Do you ever have this problem?

Part of all this may be due to PTSD suffered from a hospitalization in April. Again, a long story about how I would have died without medical intervention (A friend called the cops for a “wellness check”). Apparently, I had a stroke of some kind that briefly left me unable to tell time or dial a phone. It passed. I was comatose when they slid me into an MRI coffin and I woke up, and was hysterical, not knowing where I was or what the Hell was going on. That sort of thing stays with a fellow. I almost died? I was hospitalized against my will (again), the pills I took caused a stroke? No, no, no…that is some scary shit and it may have changed me forever. Partially in a good way, in that suicide no longer has any appeal for me. But also in a very bad way. Moments of panic and sheer terror that I didn’t experience before. Not a day goes by when, for a moment, or two, or five, I don’t wither into my favorite chair in my apartment and am so afraid…of what, I don’t know.

That’s all for now. I’m hoping that I’ll have more interesting things to write about and will do so more often. Thank you.

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My Town Meeting Lottery, Flat, and Neighbors

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Of Stair Falls, MGH, Sanders, and Sex

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Waiting on Electricity

This is a picture taken at an electro-convulsive clinic just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. I’m a little over a half an hour away from a session where they will administer a shock to my brain and thus compel me to have a grand mal seizure. This is done to treat major depression, and perhaps by people who enjoy that sort of thing for no good reason at all. I highly doubt that. If that were a mental illness, how would you treat that? I wonder. I’m bald not because of anything to do with ECT, I’m just cultivating a look. The look of a man who made a mistake with an electric razor and had to cover it up.


I like this shirt.

This morning, what is making me less depressed based on circumstances is the defeat of Donald Trump, and the possible victory of Bernie Sanders, at the Iowa Caucus. Depression is defined by the way it exists for no reason, and is unspeakably horrible, yet oddly boring. It is beyond sadness and/or grief, but that shouldn’t be news to anyone who reads this ‘blog, or just knows anything.

The waiting room is packed, as usual, with both patients and people waiting for patients. Waiting for a patient takes a lot of patience, as these sessions are almost three hours long from soup to nuts. The electronic devices must help a lot, I so rarely have one. This is my brother’s computer, actually. Don’t tell him I took it out to McLean Hospital.

Sometimes, they let a person in early. They conduct the procedure every 15 minutes, and there are now two procedure rooms. That would mean every 7 and one half minutes, but my careful math. It’s 10:33am, and my appointment is in 12 minutes, so I should wrap this up. I’ll continue to write to my many readers after my possible headache.

… And After …

I’m sitting in the recovery room and just took a picture, seen below. At the moment, I’m impressed at how intelligent is the level of conversation around me, some of it by nurses and some by other patients who have just had ECT. Pretty impressive for us who were just administered Brevital for an anesthetic, and a current blazing through the


Is that a Mondrian behind me?

My mind wanders. Is this all worth it? There are certainly quite a few aspects of life of which I’m fond. Sex is good, as is letting Annie off of her leash to dash through the snow, watching a good move, and talking to my brother. Coffee is also a fine thing, indeed. None of it, any of it, can be enjoyed when depressed. So if it takes this, then yes, the answer is a clear, “Yes, it’s very worth it.”







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Trump Is The Worst Person Ever

You can find my video HERE. I hope you like it. I did, but it was me. I’m no nihilist, but if I didn’t like it, it wouldn’t be alive.

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Opening Day at Fenway, The $8 Hot Dog, and I Miss My Dad

Good day to you all. Today my mind is on a panoply of matters and concerns; ECT twice this week, a meeting with my lawyer, a Town Meeting thing, and various and sundry other concerns. We all got something. But happily today is Opening Day at Fenway Park! Sports are not something I generally give a rat’s ass about, but the exception is baseball. Just a spectacular game, the Red Sox is a great team, and Fenway Park is the best park in baseball. Boston fans are the finest, with a deep knowledge of the game and unrivaled loyalty. And it’s also the most expensive park at which to see a game, something else in which we excel.

Actually, that does suck, but what can you do? You have to lump it.

I’ve amassed a few pictures of Fenway below. I’d love to have a few seats on top of the, “Green Monster.” The very tall green wall in left field. I could get seats for myself and Nancy there for between about $100 (standing room) and $900 (premium seats), depending on when and who they’re playing. Upper bleachers are about $20 a pop. And that’s a Kosher hot dog for $8. It better be. These prices do not make me love the Red Sox any less, it just ensures that I’ll never be at a game!


The magic Fenway frank.


A lovely day, like today. Close to 70 degrees, warm sun, and a sure victory against the Nationals.


Here’s a sight I’ve never seen.


Make sure you don’t buy one of the obstructed view seats. They’re only OK if you’re blind.


Isn’t she a beaut?

So a happy distraction today. Rick Porcello will be pitching for the Red Sox, while Jordan Zimmerman, a formidable opponent who pitched a no-hitter (yikes) on September 28, will be on the mound for the Nationals.

I’ll really miss my father, who died two years ago as of June 29. He really loved baseball, and Opening Day. Fuck. What do they say? As we age, the heart breaks or turns to lead. I miss you, Dad. The heart breaks. Anyway…

Go Sox!

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A Naked Skarsgård, The Mountain and the Viper, and Waffles

It’s Sunday morning, and the sun is shining and it’s just lovely alfresco. It’s irritating and making me uncomfortable. A lot of children are outside playing, in ways I suppose they’ve always done so. A lot of bikes, some of those scooter things, and just running to and fro, and yelling for no reason. Kids enjoying themselves doesn’t bother me, I’m no misanthrope, have fun in the sun. Good for them. It’s not that. Some people are returning from church (I assume), or heading out somewhere. To get big, fat Sunday waffles, maybe, at Renee’s Cafe or Mr. Crepe or one of a million cafes and restaurants that are just all over the place.

I don’t envy them…quite the contrary. This apartment is exactly where it’s at for me. Doing a little cleaning, drinking a lot of coffee, napping with the pets, cuddling and just talking with Nancy about this and that; Hillary Clinton, “Pretty in Pink,” how great Alexander Skarsgård looks naked, and personal stuff. The Skarsgård thing came up because he’s going to play Tarzan in a big budget movie coming out next summer. We’re thinking he’ll be wearing a very small loin cloth.


He is why I’m bisexual.

However, because it’s “nice” outside, it seems wrong to be cooped up in here. Shouldn’t I take Annie up to Menotomy Rocks Park up in the heights? Well, that’s too far away. Other side of town, but it may as well be on the moon. But a walk somewhere. Even going to the movies would be something…an “out.” I’d love to see, “It Follows,” over at the Somerville Theater in Davis Square. But no. That costs money, anyway.

Besides feeling fat, and brooding over a Facebook “friend” I hate calling me a, “creep,” I’m happy. Hell, “Game of Thrones,” premiers tonight. I’m a big fan, deal with it. I’m still upset about The Viper’s demise, but the fight scene with The Mountain was epic. And I just love the Burlington Bar reaction video, particularly the fellow in the white T-shirt up front. I felt his pain. Check it out.

So it’s sunny, but I’m not going anywhere, and I may wash the kitchen floor. Happy day, my friends! You should go out if you’re in New England, it’s a beautiful day.

Posted in Autobiography, Creep, Fat, Home, life, love, naked | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment