"What an adventure" from "Escaping The Despondent Sea"

Well, after working in Ludington on a pot farm, and performing a list of impossibilities (as documented in previous twitter posts)- I pulled free from the clutches of a man mad with his own disorders. Being that he is HIV positive, and recovering from morphine use, he is mad at the world. He has a habit of "cock-blocking" anyone over the least of their wants.To keep it short, I pulled out and went to Beaverton with the intentions of seeking refuge at a friend's house with the intentions of helping him for the winter. "Jeff" has had numerous stints, as well as open heart surgery. After moving all of my belongings from a storage facility to his home I find out he has dementia. He became violent and I became to live in fear. I was afraid to do anything at all. I became to be so fear filled that I could not prepare food, do laundry, or go out to the woodstove if he was asleep ( afraid the dogs would bark and disturb him). My probation requirements were to report for drug testing twice a month- which I had to have him drive me. I was afraid to ask him to take me. My medical needs were not met because I was afraid to ask him to take me to where I needed to be. Everything I needed put him out, even though he knew I had need that needed to be met. My mental health care lapsed and meds ran out. The stress went through the roof. He was asked if he would be interested in skinning and quartering deer for deer season, which he initially stated to the head of the butcher shop that he was interested. When I learned that he had the deer job I sensed that there was another position for me, processing deer at the butcher shop. I had Jeff take me there to secure the position. Jeff claimed credit for "getting me the job". Okay, fine. Whatever. Immediately, I began working as the deer poured in. Instantly I went to the top of the cutters. The job only paid me 9 bucks ( haha) an hour but I was thankful and worked as long as I could each day- sometimes working until the store closed at 8 p.m.

The heads of my department quickly became close to me and provided me transportation to and from work each day. I really had no idea how good I was doing. What alarmed me was going home and having visions of carving the flesh from the faces of those I associated with. Six weeks or so later I had earned 1500 dollars. As the job slowed down to less than 6 deer a day I saw my end and prepared to do something about moving out so, I called a girlfriend of mine to drive me to a new opportunity. What amazes me is that I didn't think to call Dennis sooner- like way before the many nightmares that I found myself subjected to. One of those was a near murder of myself! My, so-called close friend tried to kill me with a beer can full of battery acid over the four thousand dollars I had in my pocket! He handed me the can, saying, "This must be your beer". I took the can. It felt very warm. I put it to my lips and let a small amount splash into my mouth. As the substance surfaced my tongue I knew it was acid but that was just before it splashed my throat.

Anyway, my friend, "Tresha" drives a Ford Explorer that her family gave her after her father passed away. It was the least they could do for her. She jumped in it and came to me within an instant. Once we got on the road I noticed a rumble in the front end that told me a wheel bearing was gone. We gor as far a St. John's when it blew apart. We barely got it off the highway. I got out and looked, and sure enough, the tire was sideways. We climbed in the vehicle to escape the cold. A few minutes later a truck pulled up next to us. The driver came running over saying that the truck was on fire. I jumped out and looked and sure enough, the brake caliper was burning where it was able. The truck driver handed me a bottle of diet coke, and I dowsed out the flames.

Tresha got on the phone and called State Farm. They dispatched a tow truck that cost me $295. It flat-bedded the truck 92 miles to where I was going. Luckily we rented a hotel room for the night before, so we wouldn't have to drive in the dark, which was good considering the wheel bearing and cv axle! The parts tallied- one cv axle 70 bucks. One brake caliper and a set of pads, 100 bucks. One 32 millimeter socket and a 3/8 to half inch adapter- 20 bucks. One quart of brake fluid, 7 bucks. And, last but not least, a wheel bearing 109 bucks. Thanks O'Rielly's Auto Parts.
   
Luckily, for me, Dennis has a big barn and a bunch of tools. Coincidentally, Tresha's dad also had a tool box in the truck that nearly had what we needed- aside from a breaker bar. I improvised with a bottle jack to crack some hard to break bolts. Five hours later, and two trips to the parts store, I had her fixed and back on the road. But, that's not to overlook starting off at Dennis's house with a problem. I have no idea how he really feels about it. We got up the next day, (Sunday), and sent Tresha on her way home. After that we went back into the barn and built a cement form for a fire-pit made out of aircrete.

So, I have a new place to live, and a job. The only problem I now have is smoothing over my probation officer so she does not violate me. I am on probation until June- remember the probation for growing pot when my Jenny protested my own protest of grounding her daughter for one day from the internet over pulling a knife on her mom regarding cleaning her bedroom? Yeah. I can't make this stuff up. There's more but that's enough drama for now. I don't want to ruin it. It will all be in my book, "Escaping The Despondent Sea"- that is, if I don't die of a stress related heart attack or kill myself, which I think about a lot.

God grant me the serenity to survive this stuff.

Thank You

 I am sorry for my not knowing enough aboit blogging to keep things consistent. I want to thank my readers, from the bottom of my heart. Thank You. You should know that this title was kept as a temporary one. I wanted the real title not to be stolen- "Escaping The Despondent Sea" I have been publishing blog style under the real name since a year ago April. I have no intention of quieting the comments regardless of opposition. Thank You So Much For Reading. please visit despondentsea.blogspot.com to read further.

Crozier Country

Water made its signature sound as it splattered unseen beneath the house. Siena was showering in the master bathroom since her bathtub had a crack in it. The garden needed tending, which placed me close in proximity of the shower. The sound was recognized but disbelieving, I told myself it was a loud drainpipe. 

Several days passed until I got up the nerve to do what my conscience said, and that was “get under the house and inspect it.” The year started off quick for me since I was released from prison one week into April 2012, beginning with our new Akita having gotten into it with a Porcupine.  One hundred and thirty quills later and six hundred dollars for the poorer, I found myself behind the eight ball of life. Now, six and a half months later, I am climbing down under the house. This was not something I looked forward to doing. I had already avoided going down for the two years we have lived here, especially after discovering this year that we were infested with Black Widow spiders. The first one I found was in the woodpile. 
There was a tree on the edge of the driveway that needed some trimming up, dead trunks etc… I cut it up with my chainsaw and had it in a pile with all the other tree messes from a recent storm. It was a good sized pile of wood, about two face cords. Jenny wanted to chop wood while I was entering a recent hand written manuscript into the computer. After about a half hour I began to feel guilty because I had just “sat around” for a year in the joint while Jen was left to fend for herself out in the forest; recently transplanted from Lansing with no prior life outside of the city.  
I went out and started throwing the cut wood closer to where it was to be stacked while explaining that I couldn’t let her work so hard by herself. I had her move to stacking, and started chopping. Placing a second piece on the chopping block, I noticed a glossy black spider. On it’s back were two red dots. 
“Jen, I said. “You know, I have never seen one before but I am willing to bet that this is a Black widow. My father always told us about them being in the log piles and dead limbs.” She ran into the house and jumped on the internet. She hollers back a few seconds later and say’s, “That’s what it is.” I told her to get Siena’s bug box to put it in. 
Days went by as I studied its habits and traits. My computer took me to files about them from many different sources. I learned to recognize their web and where to concentrate my search in the yard. Twenty-two Female Black Widows, and two males later I am even more afraid of going under the house. These spiders were all found within twenty yards of the front door. 
Finally one day I just say “fuck it” and slide the couch away from the trapdoor. I open the door see the ladder and climb down. Everything is nice and dry like it’s supposed to be. The concrete block foundation wall and footings look great. The framing looks nice and cleanly put together. It’s a nice addition job to a trailer. One problem is I can’t access the other side because there is no entry made to be able to. There is a spot where the blocks are stepped down in one place, a couple missing blocks, allowing me to be able to see a little bit. The other side is a concrete slab with a about a foot and an half to two feet of space between it and the underside of the trailer. It just depends if you are between the main beams or if there is blanket insulation hanging. The trap door side is more of a full basement depth, earth exposed, and a dirt floor. It is suprising how free it is of cobwebs and insects. 
Now I go around the house to the crawl space access under the back door. Removing the steel door panel, the first thing I see is a spider web and a spider. It is a male Black widow. “Dammit,” I yell. Shining the flashlight back toward the shower, I see water puddeling, trailing from the shower drain. There is a piece if grey sheet metal hanging from one side where it is nailed to a joist. There is black woven fiber fastened to the underneath, covering the insulation. It is sagging in the middle as if being weighted down with something heavy. The water main coming into the house is sticking up through the cement floor within reach of the access panel. It has insulation taped around and a blue electric heat-tape to keep it from freezing. I wonder if it works. The water heater is above it, sealed in the walls of the laundry room. This place was just remodeled while I was in prison after a pipe had broke and sprayed water for weeks unnoticed by Jenny, causing the subflooring to lose integrity.
 The people who remodeled it were hacks, low-balling the bid and then going back and raising the price as they went along on the job. I went inside the house to look down the drain to see if I could see anything, and there it was… the cement floor. “Unbelievable!” I yell. There is a small piece of the joist that falls in-line with the drainpipe, making for it to need to be carved back to fit. They never hooked the drain up to the shower when they installed it. 

A few more days go by while I stew over the situation, me, having a habit of blasting away at people, and not wanting to mishandle the opportunity of working the contractor over because of it and everything else he did fraudulently on this house. 
Finally I decide to go in. The thought of sliding underneath the house with the spiders and sewage does not settle well in my stomach so I put together a suit consisting of an expensive pair of fishing waders, a hooded rain/windbreaker, and a pair of safety glasses. Checking to see if my flashlight is good, I head for the panel. The spider at the door is nowhere to be seen. Diving in through the opening, I keep making the phone in my pocket come on, so I lay it underneath the deck between the rain lines from the planks above. Walking with my elbows and forearms, I drag myself under the house. There is even more standing gray water than ever before. I grit my teeth in spite. The dangling sheet metal becomes reachable and I turn to look up. The wood joist is about three inches wide and the drain rests a quarter of an inch over onto it, keeping it wet. I roll and maneuver my body to get a different perspective.  The black belly liner is all ripped up around the drain area and the insulation is all removed under the shower. My hand does not reach onto any pipe that it could have been hooked to, thinking maybe they just forgot to glue the pvc together but then again there are no parts lying on the floor either. I conclude that it was never hooked up. Looking around I see the best place for me to tie a drain in is about ten feet away. This is going to make for two cuts in the main line, a cut on the pipe to tie it in, one cut on a drain stub, and a trap. Plus a street Y: six inch with a 2 and one quarter fitting. Already sliding in sludge, I inspect the rest of the area while rolling and crawling/crawling and rolling. The heat is leaking out in several places. They never put the material back as it should be when they did the work. So, now I have two bathrooms and three bathing units. The bathtub/shower in the main bathroom has a hole in the bottom. The shower in the master bath is draining under the house, which now is linked to Jenny’s mysterious coughing when she lays down in our room. And then there is a garden style tub in the master but you have to use all the hot water to fill it AND be careful not to let it get up on the tub face because they never finished it off with a backsplash or caulked it in any way. They never caulked the kitchen countertops in either. There is a big gap all around the top of the splash and the seams are delaminating on the surface. 
A couple days later my computer kicks out a bunch of information on the contractor. I see a bunch of places where I can rate his business. Having a plan of tricking him into coming out for an estimate on the siding, I call and leave a message at his office. He calls me back a day later but I let it go to voicemail.  I let him run with the line a couple more times. Still, have yet to call him back. The plan is to draw him in closer and then lift the sheet off of the project. Then I’ll give him an option of doing the work himself or paying me to do it. Either way I plan to execute a smear campaign to slow him down on the internet.  
A plumber called me back and I described in detail, what the job incurred for a price accordingly. Mike said it would be three hundred and fifty dollars just to plumb in the shower drain. That’s about what I figured it would cost. I had already rehabbed the front entrance floor, 125.00, and painted the garage doors- 250. Yesterday I finished applying asphalt roof patch over everything that looked like it leaks- 250. This alone was a day and a half. The subfloor in the main bath has to be removed and replaced due to the decay around the toilet and tub. That is going to require taking the shower/tub enclosure out along with the sink base and toilet, which pretty much guts the room completely. I already have the carpet and pad pulled out but stopped when I realized I would need a saw-zall. 

Actually, I needed the saw-zall for the front porch too but when I realized I could use the chainsaw I got it finished. The chainsaw isn’t a good option for the bathroom due to it being so far inside the house. The front entrance was practically outside. Two-stroke oil smell would hang in the house forever if I use that. SO, here I sit at a halt. 
In the meantime my gal, Jenny, is driving one hundred and eighty miles a day to work and back, which is roughly four hours, which means we have to find something closer. My stomach aches when I think of what it would cost to have the tranny rebuilt or something. Subaru Outbacks are great cars but I get nervous when it’s being ran so hard. Winter encroaches and we have no back up vehicle but for my motorcycle.  Between rent and fuel expenses we have fifteen hundred dollars off of the top of our budget. She is required to take call on the weekends requiring her to be within twenty minutes of McLaren Hospital. It’s aggravating because we have to incur the added expense of driving round on her days off, looking at houses. 
Especially aggravating is that I am on parole, so if she gets pulled over for a taillight I go to jail on a parole violation. It makes me uneasy anytime we drive anywhere.  The top of the heap is that it takes away from our time alone together. The last house we looked at had a deed holder that would have really cut in on our time. Thankfully we didn’t do business with him. The last absurd requirement is that he wanted us to have the septic tank drained if we moved out. I have heard a lot of shit in my day but that was a first. 
It wasn’t so bad that he insisted on plowing the driveway at my expense for fear that anyone else will knock the posts down for the upper deck. I could deal with that. Then he said we could use the barn but only in pictures. There was an animal pen and a fenced in area. When I mentioned how we had been thinking about a couple pigs or a couple calves. He immediately jumped in saying he would go in half with me. 
The roof is a really low-pitched thing with many flat spots and transition lines. The snow has to be removed routinely but it’s a trick to use a shovel on the shingles, so he had to do that at our expense as well. 
The house has a wood furnace and there is a large stone chimney and hearth area that extends out into the room eight feet, beautiful to look at but there was no woodstove because he had taken it out… okay, we’ll get a stove for it. 
He would sell us our wood. There were two big bedrooms that each had a nice closet and great windows. There was no flooring installed yet and it wasn’t quite ready for paint. If I wanted to cut the hole in for the door etc… I could use those too. They were only part of the house. 
This guy, Crozier, went on and on rambling like a madman on speed. I could feel he was greasy but I just let him run with his sales pitch while he groped our arms and flirted with my gal. Oh, he was the nicest guy. 
I didn’t like him. He was a tyrant. Hundreds of acres of forested land on a hillside overlooking Deer Lake, and he wouldn’t get off an inch of it; just enough to hold the house … and a strip along the driveway twelve feet wide to the road one hundred fifty yards. Lake access came with the house if we decided we wanted to purchase it, access that’s deeded to three people. 
Come to find out this guy is in hot water with property taxes. He owns so much land and has so many homes. The one he is showing us needs to be his primary residence. His problem (out of the very many) is that he doesn’t want to rent the other house out to anyone because of the maple floors. So he has to sell it. 
He lead us to the bank where we withdrew one thousand dollars. Jen and I were discussing it the entire time. We both felt really weird about it and drove out of there to home immediately. 
He was so pissed off, having us so close to putting the cash in his mitts but we backed away. “I just want a little honesty,” he said a few times. Well, honestly, he was out of his mind. He told Jenny that if he saw our dog in the woods he would shoot it.
 While at the house with the maple floors he showed us his mounts. Big Whitetail Deer, some Boone and Crockett’s. One had a dropped tine, he pointed out to us. There were ten or twelve of them, all taken from these woods. I couldn’t find a place to shoot that he’d have allowed. Or I could shoot along the driveway or, to a spot up on the deck, down to a low area. Either way it would be a lot of running around. 
 As for the interior of the house, it was finished of in almost all areas, with a stained wood paneling. It was done board and batten style. He wanted 165,000 for the place. It looked like it was a bear to heat up, quite large with high ceilings in areas. “Seventy a cord,” he told me, “You find some place else to get wood, good luck.” I couldn’t cut any trees up around the area. This was all his, right down to the dead rabbit he threw in the weeds near the house. His “dog had killed it the day before”, he told us as I find it with my foot in the weeds. Sure enough, a rabbit. I picked it up and show it to him, asking “this rabbit?” He took it from me and threw it a little farther into the trees. 
“There’s a pen, I think they had goat’s, or, no. It was a pig, they had a pig. They had goats too but the pig stayed there."
Truth was that he was a pig entirely, robbing his "wife", a mail order bride, of her children that he had with her. I knew there was a problem when he explained having a mail order bride from Honduras. The fact that he could not find a wife in his own area was very telling. But then again, I can't find one either, so... yeah.

Filthy Rats

The real estate thing proved to be another scam, preying on people with the lure of seemingly easy money:
“Come get a real estate license. You can make big commissions. Our courses are only 2500 dollars!” That amount of money is pennies when you think of the promise one single sale brings. Even the smallest property can yield enough to live on for three months.
Arrgh! I suppose that’s what you get when you take the way out that seems easiest- and that’s closer to broke. Just hope that this decision comes before you liquidate every single possession you have that is worth any amount of money at all. Which we are programmed to see a monetary value in every single thing... except in ourselves.

Nobody seems to have a sense of pride or respect for honest work anymore. My hard work was really getting me nowhere but my foolish pride, and my resentment towards my ex-wife, were killing me slowly but surely. Not to mention the slow and methodical suicide of the seemingly routine normalcy- an unrecognized battle with drug and alcohol consumption. It really was no conscious secret to me that I was no better than those I criticized. I could not break myself free from the spell of consumerism that told me that it was normal and all okay.
"Don't look back, your day's behind you. Have a glass of Windsor Whiskey!" Or, "Head for the mountains, Busch Beer."
Consumerism, Capitalism, and the consistent erosion of Individualism all keep us in an economic slavery that has made us all equal. Equal yet divided in so very many ways. When will the constant societal pummeling cease for a moment long enough for us to take a breath with which to admirably fight with?
Our captors know that they cannot let up on their oppression that keeps us held down in a dismal state with which we are unable to construct our own thoughts enough  for a fair chance to fight back.

My labors earned me a room of my own in the basement, which I converted into a music studio. In reality, I had been assigned a task to turn a utility area into a usable den but my fantasy of having a career in the media, conveniently replacing Danny’s loft space studio, kept me from seeing that. I think The Fabulous T-Birds were playing in my head while I set to work building a bulkhead around the ductwork of the furnace. The framing needed to be built in order to drywall. It needed plenty of soundproofing and some carpet. Julie had me build a closet that she could grow pot in as well. Danny helped me build some counter space, appropriate for the computer, keyboards, and appliances, which included a Tascam Four Track Analog recording system that he had gifted me.

One day, while Danny was making plans to move out of the building, Andy was making plans to move in. He quickly befriended Sean Adams, and his band mate, Mike. “Ace music Dave” was there bringing orders of guitar strings (marijuana) to musicians that day. Mike’s girlfriend, Laura, was painting a recreation of Vincent Van Gogh’s “Starry Night”, on the walls of their studio space. It wasn’t hard to tell that she was there spending time trying to save their relationship. I think I was the only one that picked up on life budding elsewhere in the room that day.
Taking it upon myself, I tried to warn them about Andy but they were already under his spell. The guys were snowed.

That’s when Dave changed the subject, telling me about a guy interested in selling his DJ business. Little did I realize that it was just a dope fiend trying to gain purchase in the mind of a man with the dope- confidence created to confuse and manipulate him.
Julie agreed that, since it came with a listing in the Yellow Pages, it was a good investment. Danny and I weren’t interested in the DJ business. We only wanted the P.A. system that was for sale. It was a great buy, and we happened to need it for the upcoming Memorial Day show. The guy selling it wanted us to go do a DJ gig for a wedding reception, saying he’d loan us the speakers to do it with, and that we could think about buying the business.  Neither Myself, nor Danny, nor Julie, could see the actual writing on the wall. We were so blinded with a chance at something different than we were accustomed to or understood that we failed all the way around to approach the situation with any kind of LOGIC. We said we would do the gig, and that we would think about the prospect of the DJ business. Julie called him back two hours later, saying we’d take the business off of his hands, and asked where to meet up with him to do the transaction. Now, it appeared as though we were the owners of “AA Bands and DJ’s”.

The wedding gig was on a Saturday, and was being held at a Country Club, in Jenison, which threw up red flags to me but Julie said there was absolutely nothing to worry about. She said it would be an easy two hundred bucks. We finalized doing the gig and set off in our routine.

It seemed like I was the only one around the day Andy actually moved into the building, so it was me that ended up stuck with helping him move his things, which also meant helping him move his things from the woman’s house he was leaving. Judging by the looks on her face, she had been mistreated for the last time. Just the way she looked at me with Andy let me know that I was helping the enemy. Her eyes told me many things- most of all that I was a piece of shit for helping him. She didn't know who I was to Andy. All I could do was offer her my sympathy through my body language, and my eye contact with her that said how sorry I was and how ashamed that I was involved in the least.

There were many pieces of musical merchandise, mainly brand new electric guitars that still were in their boxes. Every bit of it was hot. Chet, his boss, was storing a lot of this loot in the basement of his home. The story was, so Andy wouldn’t sell it all for drugs while he was supposed to be getting clean from Heroine and Crack Cocaine- just another con job on Chet. It worked well for a while but Chet was just as much of a crook, robbing people with a smile and some paint equipment. Andy swore that he was no longer using but everything, other than his words, said something else entirely. One of those things that spoke to me was the motor home he left for abandoned in the lot at the building we moved him into. It was eventually towed to the impound yard and sold for scrap. The other was the crack pipe that I saw laying on the floor under the couch where it had been placed in an attempt to hide it. Little did they realize that I would just pull up some rug before them to listen while he and a girl with him played and sang. My words that I added were something along the lines of, " crack pipe on the floor..." letting him know that I had seen what was really going on that day.

As people progressed toward leaving the building in the weeks that followed, Andy was liquidating the things he had been accumulating. Story was that he had to move back to Florida to help his mother, meaning  that he wouldn’t be there very long. He had survived shooting a near fatal dose of bleach into his arm almost two years ago, and now was on his way to spend time with his mother while his body was yet to realize he was walking dead.

He offered to sell his P.A. equipment to me for seven hundred bucks. The lighting system, a good size mixer, amplifier, a pair of one thousand watt Yamaha speakers, light cans, miscellaneous lines and patch cords, etc. It was a great deal that I just couldn’t believe- too good. He knew Julie had the money to pay for it, and I was right in the middle of gearing up for the show. It just made sense at the time, so she bought it for me. She liked the music room so much that she bought a mini fridge with a tap handle and a carbonic system for a pony keg to put in there too. Yeah, I really thought I had things made now. Thanks to the spell that alcohol had on me every bit of sense that I had was compromised. 

Julie went with me to do the wedding reception gig in Jenison. The father had called beforehand to explain what music tracks they wanted, and when they wanted them to be played. It was pretty exciting for me even though it was a wedding reception, which almost every band dreads. I had spent days going to thrift stores, buying all the music tapes and CD’s I could find that might be good additions to a DJ library.
I just couldn’t remember, did he say NO Hawaiian shirts or did he say WEAR Hawaiian shirts?

We arrived and set up. I first smelled a rat when, after an hour, we were never offered a drink or any type of hospitality. Having never done a wedding gig before, I was under the impression that it’s a celebration regardless of whether you are “just” the DJ or not. Not even a glass of water was offered to us.

At one point, some of the girls came and gathered around to have their pictures taken with me. Little did I realize, they were sent by the father of the bride. They were gathering pictures to use against me.

The next day I received a phone call from an irate Dutchman who felt like stiffing someone on his wedding expenses. He was yelling, demanding his two hundred dollars back because I showed up wearing long hair and a Hawaiian shirt! It didn’t settle well on me, since I had just been awoken from sleep, so I was irate as well but more so.
Julie took the phone from me, and somewhere along the conversation, agreed to refund him his precious money. This only confirmed my fears, and I was quick to chalk it up to one of the reasons nobody likes doing weddings, and moving on with my renewed opinion about Jenison.
Now my attention was on satisfying myself over the DJ service purchase by calling the guy to discuss the Yellow page listing, which was tied to his phone number. I smelled another rat. The problem I now had was that my life had become so infested and overrun with rats that a simple extermination wouldn’t work well enough. He ended up stiffing me on the whole transaction and walking away with the money we gave him, and the DJ business. This was going to require something more drastic but I didn’t know what.

Update

All recent posts, and posts to come will be released byway of http://www.despondentsea.blogspot.com

Panic and Anxiety

A Word For You, The Reader-

Hi everyone,
Thank you so very much for your interest in the novel, "Excerpts From A Broken Life". What you need to know is, first, it has been published, (in part), with a false title. The real title is something that was a secret but recently someone said that, "Monty Python", may have used the word that I was so proud of playing with. Now I am going to release the true title: "Escaping The Despondent Sea", or something like that. Whether or not the word, "escaping", will be used or not is still a debate.

"Escaping The Despondent Sea", is what you could call a "self help book". It is based on surviving, surviving with the damages of child abuse, molestation, addiction, as well as traumatic injuries such as a traumatic brain and spine injury and all of the suffering that does not have to be in the world.
It is a story about LOVE, and just how very important it truly is for us mammals.

My hopes, with my YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC7BKod0EmZ0sVDItRLkZ7ig , are that the productions will help me to gain attention for my work, work that I feel is very, very Important.

People like to throw the Bible in the faces of others- out of Judgement. It's a disgrace. I have read it- often, and I believe in it's Teachings. What I do not believe in is subscribing to any one of Man's Molestation's of it. I will Not be caught on a Sinking Ship. I do not need to attend church to be Seen and Accepted by Society. I do not need to be Told that there Is Something After this Life. And I do not need anyone to try to convince me- nor do I feel the need to convince others.

It say's, "Love not, the Earth". It does Not say, "Fuck it up as you please", or as you feel you are Entitled.

No matter what religion you are, or your faith- every "Bible" says only a few things.
It says, "Love one another". It says, "Do good works", and, "Do a good job".
It also says, "There Is More Life to Come, BUT- Only If You Earn It".

If you read my blog, "Divine Intervention/Spiritual Healing". I meant every word. I do not write fiction for the sake of fiction to you. I write what I know, and I write what I wonder.

 One thing I can say is this: If I say that, "A chicken dips snuff", then you better Look under his wing for the chew can.

Peace, Love, Care- Zachery Scott Polk