I contracted a fatal disease. Dementia sets in. I do get lost, and find it rather interesting as it is usually somewhere I have never been. I have a 16-year-old (going on 27) “helper” who does everything. His spelling is bad but he proofs my stuff which is always a challenge. My photography is getting better, and there is no way I’m slowing down. What are walls for if not directions. This is Appalachia. I never did lock the door. There is nothing to steal. Everything I own fits into one canvass camera bag. My helper boy insists on my seeing a doctor who is the most rigid, mean, individual I have ever had the misfortune to meet. I deeply hate her.  This witch is beneath contempt. “I’m only here to help you.” Right. I do not believe it. She lies through her cigarette teeth. I do not take her disgusting medicine, and throw it down the toilet. When you die, you die. No big godamn fucking deal. So what. Death is simply dull. Dry as desert dust. Look at what our dismal species has done to the earth. Why are we around for this. Because we’re special. Because we can make it better. Because we care. Give me a break. We are a fat, stagnant, moronic, tedious people. Or should I say patients because that is all we are to the medical grotesque perogative who are no different than organized drug trafficers with a license to kill. Most people hang on until they don’t. Why are we here. I am here for revenge. I am not going to give up on my revenge against the ugliness of life. All of this death fiddledeedee is hardly new to me. I am here to fuck with your head. I do not like being in this breathtaking pain, but I am not happy about dealing with a monster. I am poor. I can only go to a public health clinic where moms change baby’s diapers in a filthy waiting room. Public health is a travesty. It takes an entire day to get there, and there is no health care anywhere around here. What Doctor wants to live in Appalachia. She doesn’t listen, she snarls. As someone who was horribly sexually abused as a teenager, I don’t allow anyone to touch me, and that means her, too. She spits about it. She rages. It is not listening. I am an insult to her authority. She needs a real job. She can’t get a real job. Her jurisdiction ends at the front door to her ragged clinic. I go there for the 16-year-old. And anyone who thinks I am going to give up my motorcycle can go fuck themselves with a hammer.