All apologies
Sorry sorry sorry sorry.
I owe you for this absence. It’s derelict of me.
Big things. In February, 2023, I kind of underwent a rebirth on this document, and have refashioned my mind on it. I’ve been retooling this entire manuscript that heretofore I had put out as a sequence of self-contained stories with an, albeit, flimsy thread of continuity. Well that flimsy thread cannot sustain them anymore. It doesn’t satisfactorily hold them together. They are just sketches of kids and teachers. So I’ve decided to rewrite the entire thing. The original stories remain, so I’ll keep on putting them out, and I hope to regain the trust of subscribers, but they really don’t add up to a sum greater than their parts. They’re just parts. I like them, but —
So, in this original sequence, the next piece I’m putting out, Number 38, is fairly vile, so buckle up. I apologize for all the swears in advance. Life is raw at times. I’ve never been one for prettifying something that is on its face raw. If it is base and detestable, well, look for the purpose of the detestable language. Nor I have ever been one for intentionally inflammatory material. If it’s too vile and disgusting, I apologize in advance.
The character of 38 is intended to be descending into schizophrenia with a helpless mother who is spiraling on the anguished fall, and watching helplessly, alongside her son. Her child is soon-to-be lost to her. There is nothing she can do about it. To me, this is her real painful, understandable response. She cannot touch him. She cannot get him back. That is just the way adolescent psychosis hits some parents.
So anyway, sorry. Bear with me. Or skip this one. I’ve gotta block it down, theater-wise, as in scenes, and put it out as authentically as I can.
Your faithful scribe,
Hotspvrre