cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Closing in on the fentanyl deadline The hardest part might be not having anyone to exist to. Nobody to tell about something good that happens. No one to ask for advice. I'm down in a hole dug by poverty. Without money, I can't go out for drinks or go to concerts or otherwise do the things that are required to interact with other people. But still, people seem to fucking pay attention to what I say and do. I still do the radio show every week. I have no fucking clue who our listeners are. Thousands of strangers. And I have an honest thousand Twitter followers (no bots), and apparently people who gossip about me on Facebook, which I deleted my account again because I'm writing for Rewire again and have to head off being monitored by random neo-Nazis. Apparently Starbucks is now being pitched to sponsor a college tour of my film. Wouldn't that be nice. I've given up all hope. Much of my worldly possessions are about to be auctioned off because I had no money to pay the rent on my storage space. I spent the last two months putting together everything needed to satisfy a wealthy donor who was going to put $25k into a short film about homelessness that I would have been making this summer. Ironically, my life has been destroyed by her last-minute backing out of funding that. And I am losing so much that I cared about. My clothes, a lot of my furniture, my kids' toys, personal documents. My globe, boxes of books. This is heartbreaking and I lose sleep over it every night. But I have nothing. I have nothing. I am completely destitute. I'm getting close to the 7/30 deadline and I need to find a source of fentanyl. Things are not going well. 2:09 a.m. - 2018-07-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||
|
||||||