it's not easy to be cheerful when your skin is fungusized, and gentrification never ends. mister always comforts me. he's an angel boy. love may not heal, but it feels better than hate. god this sick culture. i saw the 3 haters walking single file across the street, papa hate, daughter hate, mama hate,  i was repulsed and afraid, i alerted r. i could not look till they passed and i saw their stalking pace, their arms stiff and their faces grim, i thought, it's evil they exude. i faced it in the young daughter. i saw the vacuum in her eyes, soul-sucking. something horrid, impassive, a passionless hate, seeking redress for something gone terribly wrong, leaving them stalking single file, stern and loveless, with grievance, stark, blank, malignant ciphers, malevolent ghosts. i was glad, we were in precisely the same spot the evil daughter confronted us the day before yesterday. i had my protection, flanked by love, r. and mister, and free, just as we were before the evil confrontation took place. we have to keep showing, evil won't control us, this is our place.