illegal eviction

Page Fifteen, website outline

That’s what my eviction was: illegal. Illegal in Massachusetts, anyway. But as I had no lawyer, and no money to hire one,  the landlady was able to get away with this illegal action against me.                                                                      

I wasn’t allowed to have a legal aid attorney because they now only accept clients who have rent subsidies. And although my income was as low as or lower than that of many people on subsidy, because I had no subsidy, I got no lawyer.

In Massachusetts, a retaliatory eviction is considered illegal. If you make any kind of complaint to a landlord, and they take any action against you within 60 days of the complaint, that is considered retaliation, and illegal. On March 20 of 2007 I delivered a letter of complaint to my landlady’s office — complaints regarding only some of the treatment I’d been receiving from the mafia-chick-tenant over seven months. Only ten days after I delivered that letter, I had eviction papers left at my door by a sheriff’s deputy. Illegal.

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read…   Spite and malice…   Sehnen

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2010-2012 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

 

 

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the mafia-chick and the landlady

Page Fourteen, website outline

This crime-chick thing I often discuss isn’t just some kind of a sarcastic joke I have put into the blogs over the last twenty-two months. She is real. She exists. She has a real name, which I never use, and lives in a real place, which I probably have mentioned on occasion.

I saw her two days ago, and the last time before that was on February 20 (2010). Riding around in what I’ve always called her white chariot; a small, cheap Ford convertible that looks so flimsy that it would become an accordion if anything hit it. It’s her attitude toward the car that makes me call it the chariot. She has this energy emanating from her whenever she’s in that car that she’s driving an MG or a Mazzerati. Like it’s the most expensive, most special white convertible in the world, when it’s basically junk. This is the attitude that she has about everything that concerns her: she’s the most beautiful, the funniest, the smartest person going. Her boyfriend is the handsomest man in the world. Etc. Everything about and around her is the absolute best. And it just ain’t so. It’s the dream world she lives in. When you take away the external trappings, she’s just like any other two-bit alchoholic and drug-dealer, with one important difference: her psychosis is sociopathy, which makes her conscienceless, ruthless and vicious. She tormented my animals and me relentlessly for 17 months, and ingratiated herself with the landlady (another woman with no conscience) to the extent that she helped engineer my illegal eviction. She wanted me out, and she wanted me to lose my animals.

She got her way. I lost everything , and she lost nothing. Those who were supposedly protecting me from the Connecticut mobbies the chick is related to by marriage have never, as far as I know, managed to get her arrested for her drug dealing or her connections, or for asking those connections to get me. Matthew once told me that they didn’t want her, they wanted the “big fish.” Well I want her. I want her scrawny buttocks (which she of course thinks are the most beautiful glutii maximi that the human genome ever created) in jail, where they belong. For drug-dealing, for working for mobbies, for asking her vermin associates to damage me (according to Matthew). For anything at all.

... And the landlady

Well, this woman is seriously mentally diseased too. When she and the crime chick found each other, it was like a match made in heaven. Perhaps you’ll sneer in disbelief that two severely mentally warped people could have crossed one person’s path at one and the same time. And  I, living in this excess of psychosis my whole life, don’t sneer in disbelief, I despair in it. How can so many psychotic people enter the life of just one person? Do I have a tattoo on my head that says Psychos, come get me? No, but I do think there’s a vulnerability, a fragility in my make-up that attracts such people: like heat-seeking weapons, they are drawn to the place where they can do the most damage. And the oddness of Asperger’s, for which non-autisitcs seem to have radar, is another contributing factor.

This landlady, this professional woman, zeroed in on me just exactly the way I imagine a heat-seeking weapon would. And over the course of 4 years, she did the ultimate damage, the worst damage that no other psycho had yet managed (though they’d tried): she saw to it that I lost all my animals and was put on the street like a bum. She had help from the DMH of course, but she was the one who started it all.

Like other psychotics I’ve known, she lies from dawn to dusk. Sadly, many of her clients believe her lies, and her business practices are as shady as the day is long.

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As they sometimes tell you in movies:   eight months later.  Today being 13 November 2010, and I live back in Turners Flails now since April 1. And in these months, I have a few times seen either the psycho-alcoholic-druggie-pusher-mafia-chick (Judith), or the psycho-white-collar-lawbreaker-extraordinaire, the landlady (Lolly). But a week ago, I got the double-whammy. In the space of forty-eight hours, I saw both of them.

When I left this library one week ago today (Sat 6 Nov), I saw Lolly at about 11:40 a.m. At the bank. And then on Monday 8 Nov, while waiting for a bus, I saw Judith at 11:25 a.m. No longer driving the white chariot. Driving a vehicle she didn’t have back in the days when we lived at the same address.

In all my past writing on the blogs that are now part of this website, I’ve said very little about Judith and Lolly. It’s extremely difficult for me to write about these two psychotic furies out of legend; furies that you don’t expect you’ll ever encounter in real life. It’s that difficulty that has prevented me for nearly three years from going into detail about how they treated me, the things they did and said. It’s long past time for me to do this. One of the stories I wish to tell thoroughly on this website, one of the stories of the little book called Spite and Malice, is this truth about what I was subjected to by these two mentally disturbed females.

I don’t know when it will actually start in the blog posts. When I will actually travel back in time to those four years of lying, psychological bullying, stealing, and unrelenting harassment. I keep telling myself to begin, but these two sociopaths are so odious to me that to write what needs to be written about them, to even think about them, is painful to a degree I can’t adequately describe. I hope I will start soon, but then I’ve been hoping that for months.

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read…   Spite and malice…   Poison and snowflake trees

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2010-2012 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

 

justice

Page Twelve, website outline

The problem with justice in my existence, is that I can rarely ever have any, either legal or moral. I can never have justice against the mentally disturbed landlady who illegally evicted me, or against the Department of Mental Health that sat back and let my life be destroyed (thereby taking very good care of my mental health), or against the underhanded, undercover, illegal protection that Matthew Lacoy told me I was in. Many people have told me I can’t sue the feds, and I believe them. I could sue the DMH, if I had the money. I don’t. And they knew that when they sat back and let my life be obliterated.

                                                                        

When everything you define as your life is illegally and immorally destroyed by other people, you want some justice. You want some of these people to be held accountable for their reprehensible conduct. At least I do. Maybe you wouldn’t. Maybe you’d just walk away and say that’s the way it is. There certainly are many people who would react that way, who seem to possess no sense of outrage at being illegally and immorally bulldozed by others. Who seem to have no fire in them in any realm of life. But I’m not a fireless person. I had fires for my interests while I still had my life, and fires inside for my deeply loved animals, and fires for horrible things happening all over the world: love fires and activist fires. If I’d been physically healthy, and if I’d met similar people, I might well have become an out-front, practicing activist for some issue or other. So I’m not at all the sort of person to have vicious things done to me by other people and by huge agencies, and not want some justice. But in the true world of living below the poverty line, you don’t get justice. People will perhaps shout: legal aid! Not here, not in Massachusetts. Legal aid will only represent low-income people for certain issues and in certain circumstances. Anything that doesn’t fit into their narrow scope will not be touched by them with a ten-foot pole, because they would not be paid for the work.

Before 2007, there were other issues. To name just two: No justice against the mother who took a house away from me; no justice against a woman who had two of my birds in foster care and refused to give them back, even when her boss and a lawyer told her she must. And on and on it goes.

What kinds of thoughts would a lifetime of people getting away with illegal and immoral actions against you engender in you? In me this repeated and repeated lousy treatment has left me with convictions that I’m worthless in the eyes of other people: they can do any damned thing they please to me, without ever having to be held accountable or make amends. And the certain knowledge that because I’m poor, I’m powerless. I have hired lawyers from time to time, for a few hundred dollars, to do very short-term letter-writing and phone-calling. But to launch a suit against someone is beyond my means. Poor equals powerless to get justice, to defend oneself against vicious crap. Worthless, powerless, disposable.

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read…    Braon…   Spite and malice

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2010-2012 by anne nakis, unless otherwise stated. all rights reserved.

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