Brilliance- updated 4-10-2017 part of 41 incomplete

Well, after breaking up with my 8 year investment of a family, I fled to the refuge of services from the Northern Area CMH #mentalhealth, where they took me to a shelter that I stayed at for three days. It was called The Nehemiah House of Petoskey.

After googling the name and doing research for my assessment of placing myself if the business community, I found something that I did not like, the statement "build up your walls, Jericho, so that you may no longer be a disgrace":. or something like that. Forgive me for my rogue journalism.

Anyway, I didn't know what to do or what to ask them for but I was in a panic. The most sensible thing was to go to the bank and see what I was working with.

After finding out, I decided to get a room at a hotel, a safe place to figure things out- in the space I needed for my own mind to work. I needed a nice spot to sleep and the facilities to care for myself. I needed the office space to lay out my work before me, and tend to it, continuing with my efforts at getting my children's love, respect and adorations back from after the seeming demise of my existence.

The delays in my tangible hopes, goals, and desires, are killing me.
The hotel, well, instantly after securing the room, I asked if they needed anything, The manager, George" say's that they need a painter.

Now here's where it begins.
Apparently the term painter really means cosmetic wonder-boy and accomplished impossibilities technician.... which I actually happen to be but he didn't know it, nor does he think I am aware that they are going to "tax" me and abuse the situation.... which they did. 

Anyhow, they hire me to paint. Ten bucks an hour!? Okay, it's money going through my hands but they are taking Monet from my bank account to pay me with,.... And I will be pursuing a fraud and adult abuse case, eventually.

That's enough for now. I am overworking myself too long- worried about dying actually, and I am in a lot of trouble. I need something to finally happen so that I can get a good bite onto something sound and secure to build on. Maybe an art studio where kids and parents can come and use the stuff and see art- just  making donations- nonprofit.

It's not about Monet, it's about enriching peoples lives- to build and nurture better communities, communities of trust and confidences.... AND BRILLIANCE!

Thank You For Reading My Stories

Zachery Polk

Hello- Please answer me. edited 1-28-2019

Hello World.

How are you THIS evening?

Everything good with you and yours?

 or are you bent out of shape

cuz you're stuck with the chores?

Are you on hands and knees

a'scrubbin the floors?

Chopping wood all day long

and to chat, you're too sore?

Looking through the neighbors windows

 at something exciting or more?

 Are you so hungry, you're eating

saved up apple cores?

Or did you start drinking early-

passed out on the couch?

Or watching Cd's of sesame street

- oscar the grouch?

Okay, I'm bordering crazy

so this message will stop.

Just got home with some groceries-

got my own top to pop.

Maybe you'll go round later?

Or come to a halt?

From 1000 miles an hour

to an absolute stop?

I'll be around..

if you'd love to talk.

I certainly would.

I Love You.

"Despondent-" turning pain into knowledge and support

When I, eagerly, began my voluntary position in the family, 
the video games were a priority. 

 Drew stayed in his bedroom with an Xbox, and was allowed to graze through the kitchen as he pleased.   

His diet was, and still largely consists of, ice cream, fries,
chicken tenders, soda pop, entire blocks of cheese, and cereal- with enough milk to entirely drown it, which is then left on the counter to be dumped down the drain- by someone else...(zach).

Since his father was a self indulgent, and "Familially" ignorant individual, Drew became interested in only what he was exposed to, as so many children are. And that was commercialized spectator sports, as in baseball and hockey, mostly. 

This was the avenue to pursue his father's attention, so when he got the opportunity to play floor hockey, that's what he did.

And since Siena wanted attention, as well, she wanted to play too because everything her brother did she wanted to do- which is natural.

Of course, neither one of them wanted to actually do the work it took to be part of the team. They just wanted to do it, to play the game for the sake of playing, which is fine but you still need the proper orientation. 

Steve very rarely showed up at a game. Since I insisted on taking pictures and shooting video, I knew when he was there and when he was not.

We were alway dealing with nonsense, like having to turn around, to go all the way back home, to get Drew's socks or some other part of his uniform. 

And Siena fought, tooth and nail, due to not having a specified bedtime, being up until the wee hours of the morning, playing video games, watching television and movies on tape or doing whatever she pleased. 

And that's not to mention the Product of having gotten no rest- daily fighting, screaming, and bawling over everything, starting with getting out of bed and brushing her hair, that was always in her face causing problems when trying to play on the TEAM- the poor Coach.

She had just turned four when I became involved with her life. The way that she was awakened was by turning on the television in her room. Then putting a movie in the vcr and waiting- not my idea.

Jenny had to be at Sparrow Hospital for "work" by 6:30 am. 

The daycare services, that the Hospital offered, didn't begin until 7:30 am.

Steve "worked" with her at Sparrow. His "job" was wheeling little old ladies outside to smoke. He still "works" there while touting statements about Societal Contributions and keeping a "job." 

Jen left me to tend to the kids, to make sure that they got off to school.

It was extremely difficult to be responsible for Siena. The perimeters that I was left to work within were very unusual to me.
My approach was a little different anyhow. 

The TV method did not agree with me, going into her room to prod her from bed, little by little, every minute while detailing the kitchen, and taking the dog out to potty. 

Drew was twelve, and a bit different to tend to. He had grown accustomed to the lifestyle, requiring a lot less cueing. Not to mention that he didn't want to be scolded, and didn't respond well, having never been scolded, in the least- unlike Siena insisted on, or seemed to.

In my efforts to befriend them, I was careful not to over season things.

Jen had instructed me regarding Siena. 

Siena liked to fight. Siena loved to argue. She helped herself to everything and anything.

They never asked for anything at all- helping themselves to whatever- everything but what needed to be done. 

Siena was always her own being, never asking for help- just complaining. 

There was a toolbox in the house. If I were to base ownership on observation- it was Siena's. 

As for the premises, the kids were accustomed to having servants- later, I would learn that the servants were slaves- 8years later.

I wanted a family so badly that I, willingly, looked past, and ignored, every single red flag wall papering the apartment. The first one was a creature, held in captivity for affection, that did not have it's needs met.

Beware of this in the future! I became exactly that. 

Even as the Truth surfaced, I looked past it- trying even harder, repeating what I did for Mindy- putting my interests and hobbies aside to take on more responsibilities, in order to gain the Love and Affection that I, so desperately, wanted and needed. 

It only resembled what I wanted so very badly- badly enough to accept whatever reasonable facsimile of Love that I could get.

Never having received Love, I had no apples to compare it to.

Being a bit stubborn, and unwilling to give up, I kept trying to conquer something impossible to conquer, being only half of an equation. 

My mistake was thinking that I could make the most of anything that fell in my lap, proving to anyone who said something could not be done, that it most certainly could be done because I said so. I call it Zachery Polk Syndrome. 

An apple a day keeps the heartache away. Is that what they say? 
I could really use a bag of apples right now. Nectarines would do just as well. 

Either way, when they start to spoil, I can just make wine with them. And if I had just done that in the first place, accepting my singularity, I probably wouldn't care much about anything at all- Despondent.

written on the day of the tenth Anniversary of the death of my best friend, and Band mate- Dan DeRuiter. Founder of, Prospect Studio.