In a preemptive endeavor to forestall any of the below scenarios from occurring, the poet offers the following for our public records:

Don’t believe it if you hear that the poet “just left suddenly.” She has discovered, after touring most of our United States, that Sacramento ~ and especially Midtown Sacramento ~ is where she feels most at home, and her intention is to remain here for as long as she is able to do so.

Should she ever decide to depart from it again, she would report that to her readers.

Don’t believe the poet won’t be posting at least once a day, seven days a week.

If that stops happening, either she or her device have been taken suddenly and unexpectedly out of commission.

Don’t believe it if you read or hear that the poet “lost her mind” to any form of confusion or delusion. Her highly coherent and intricately organized original works, along with her cogent commentary upon the works of others, plentifully testify quite otherwise.

Don’t believe it if you read or hear that the poet has committed suicide.

She is very far from suicidal.

But after five years of unremitting (by definition) torture, what she is, is… mightily pissed off.

As very well she should be.