Day 12’s prompt was the Japanese form of haibun that mixes poetry, prose… a journey, the figurative and the literal. It was a very poignant prompt and very fitting, today of all days.
NaPoWriMoDay 12: A Journey Through the Author’s Eyes
One often writes in the poetic voice,
So too, can you
D E T A T C H E D
Yet, art and artist pull you in
as oft push you away.
The prosaic and hyperbolic
in flux with academic and formulaic.
Remember what you’re writing for,
who you are writing for…
why you are writing
So this is me,
Ushiku Crisafulli taking a step back.
I ain’t so much breaking the fourth wall
as building a pathway
to the vessel in which my soul is housed,
and willingly opening the front door to blessed guests and visitors.
I hope you enjoy your stay.
Life is a Litany of Varied Experiences,
and the worst one of my life inspired this collection.
My former neighbour schizophrenic,
my former best friend a spineless backstabbing scumbag,
and my life put on hold
due to the delusion of a crime I never did not
and never would…
conceive of, let alone commit.
On the 10th anniversary of being attacked by
an inebriated chav while homeless, and that day itself the day before my biological grandmother’s funeral no less… I were hit by painful parallels.
12th April was a shit day since 2007 because
not only were I attacked…
but worse than that, the police failed me.
The hostel had CCTV, witness testimonies, culprit admission, and my statement…
yet the vile fucking pigs did not press charges and dropped the case out of petty spite
because I refused to miss my grandmother’s funeral to speak with them.
They refused to see me the day after instead.
They waited 8 days to see me…
only to tell me that the perpetrator couldn’t be charged as he no longer had a fixed address following the incident.
But that’s bullshit. The street homeless are not only often charged with vagrancy… but their committing of petty crime is often a means in which to temporarily escape homelessness, and receive 3 meals a day, sanitation, and a warm bed away from the elements.
10 years on from that day I were woken by my schizophrenic former neighbour calling me
and claiming I committed a heinous act.
As an artist here comes the dramatic irony,
as a person… call my broken heart Brock Lesnar
because here comes the pain.
My biological sister suffered in that same way.
But because our mother was schizophrenic her claims were not believed and she was derided…
and so they both endured heart-wrenching agony that could have been prevented had social services and the pigs been proactive.
Yet this schizophrenic was deluded, but the pigs were nonetheless proactive.
I were angry and hurt, especially with the unjust paradox slapping me right in the face.
Yet in time I have at least become grateful that the matter was taken seriously even though it was complete fabrication on the whims of neurotic delusion.
But what was harder to stomach was losing my best friend who believed the lies,
worse still because he had a friend that was a scumbag of the highest order that he stood by…
Many in fact, but one in particular that had wronged me;
placed my life in danger with drunk and drugged driving,
and acted perversely towards many women.
When he talked shit outside my doctors the day 3 months down the line that we ran into each other…
I headbutted him and busted his nose in one blow.
He has my adoptive mother to thank for his life.
He at one point helped ruin my life…
and yet my mum spared his.
I’m glad she did too.
Cos life is LOVE,
it’s a Litany Of Varied Experiences.
The bad times help you appreciate the good,
and the good help you understand and gain perspective from the bad.
That same day,
about an hour or so later…
I get a phone call.
Forensics come back,
NO DNA – AT ALL!
The officer also notifies me that he knew from my interview that I were innocent
but that procedure still had to be dealt with,
and that my former neighbour was now receiving treatment in a psychiatric facility after having 3 months of her delusions indulged…
much to the expense of me, her friends, her family,
and indeed those of my own (even if this situation DID separate the wheat from the chaff in that regard).
But the biggest kicker?
I contact the duty solicitor and ask if she would support me in a civic case for defamation…
she said she only deals in defence,
that the amount I wished to sue for “wasn’t a lot” (despite being almost double minimum wage for an entire year, and yet still significantly less than the median salary in Britain) and she didn’t believe I’d have much luck finding support for a civic case.
I found it repugnant, especially given I realised she was happy to take a paycheque at the taxpayers expense defending the guilty, and yet would not support the just… and blaming the Tory cuts (abhorrent as they are) for her own selfishness.
Undeterred, I reached out to charities for the unlawfully criminally accused for support… and they gave me the same spiel.
Tory Britain gave me no justice, but my testimony can help me create it for myself.
I don’t have to crack skulls or sue to find justice (though if y’all wanna kickstarter or gofundme for a year’s lost wages as a part time chef I’m happy to oblige), I can attain with the truth of this experience, and the Litany Of Varied Experiences… that is my life.
Today is one year on from the worst day of my life.
But today I saw my adoptive mum and grandma,
I had a meal, chatted with, and saw a movie with my friend Nathan (who I became friends with 1 month prior to me no longer being homeless as was also the case with Philippa whom I love like a sister).
But most importantly,
I allowed you to see life through my eyes,
and to understand the worst of my Litany Of Varied Experiences.
There are many more to come,
and I hope they are wonderful as you all are for taking this journey with me.