This Town in the Rain: A Photographic Journey into my Blackest Heart I first learned what it was to be oppressed here, at William H. Taft Elementary School. I knew I was different than the other kids, a free thinker, in third grade when Ms. Greene told me to redo my book report on The Wind in the Willows, "The Silent Despair of Mr. Toad." I wrote my SUBJECTIVE OPINION. Who's that fascist bitch to tell me it's wrong? School was, and still is, such a waste of time. This is Samantha Jones' house. She used to be the most popular girl in school, just another typical brain-dead cheerleader (I think she was also on the math team). After she broke up with her asshole boyfriend Brad Pennington in eleventh grade, she started dressing all in black and calling herself Belladonna. She even joined the drama club. I eventually got up the nerve to ask her out, and she said she'd think about it, but then she started dating Brad again. Her dad owns the biggest boot factory in Douglas County and donated a bunch of money to Fred Thompson's presidential campaign. The local dollar store. I applied for a job there once, but the assistant manager told me he didn't think I was "DollarMania material," probably because I wore my "FUCK NAZI BUSH" t-shirt and spiked dog collar to the interview. Whatever happened to FREE SPEECH? Whatever. He's just another fat commie fascist who probably lives with his mom. I don't know what this is. I think I might have been trying to take a picture of the highway overpass near Eleanor Street, but some wino started laughing really loudly behind me and distracted me, and that's why it's not in focus. Stupid winos. Last time I was down there one of them pointed at me and said, "Hey look, that kid's wearing makeup," and they all started laughing. Just another example of the hardships I have to endure in this shitty town. I took Lilith here on our first date one glorious evening. I remember everything: her spiderweb lace shawl, the way her raven hair fell over her delicate shoulders, the swell of her pale breasts against the neckline of her black halter dress. The next night she gave Christoph Damned (that's what Chris Demarcos started calling himself in ninth grade) a blowjob just because his band was opening for Stone Prophet at Club Dread. I wonder if women being faithless whores is also "like in Vienna." I don't know. I've never been outside Douglas County. This is where my Vampire: The Despair LARP group used to meet, until that asshole Father Matt told us to stop trespassing on church property. Since then we've had to reserve a room at the junior college which is only like six feet by six feet, so it really sucks. Just another reason to hate organized religion (or "organized stupidity," as I call it). This image represents the crushing anguish and blackest misery that haunts my days and nights. It's a constant reminder that I'll never escape this shitty town in this shitty state in this shitty country in this bleak and godawful world. It also signifies the cul-de-sac on Rainy Street.