confession (i)

I didn’t know that studying abroad would be a lonely experience. I am just into the experience so I am not sure how the entire experience will be; yet. And I notice people have more boundaries than me. There are a lot of cool White and Black people – people of Asiatic origins and such and I desire, hunger to talk to them. Talking and intimacy has always been an integral part of me. My being cannot resist it. It gravitates towards it as its gravitas.  People are just good at hiding or at bearing shyness. I cannot. I do not know silences that stretch due to stranger strangeness; due to anonymity. For me, I feel everyone is an adventure waiting to be explored; a university of individualism wishing to be learned and interacted with. Human to be humanly and humanely encountered and understood. But I know many people will seldom look at others this way. In a sea of bodies I am just well, just another body. Not even an attractive one. I am new. My freshness stinks like cleaning soap, disinfectant, like some form of ripeness that has ripened with the irresistible tug of the green. The men and women here are beautiful and presentable. They look healthy, fit, accustomed to walking. They have developed really clean and well attired aesthetics. I saw a woman from East Asia or East Asian origin with painted full lips – colour of poppies and blood crushed into the metaphor of richness and life. I envied here. I am plump. My skin breaks. I am not a beauty. My hair is the wires of a mess, cables of neural electricity refusing to find sockets or comfortable patterns. The climate here is colder. More foreign. My skin has broken with it. I am a noob. The gamer term encapsulates me and my personhood perfectly. I am a noob and it reeks off me like dying fish on some forgotten sands.  I have no sense of direction. Today, I was a bit in shock at looking at an official registration form that asked for my sexual orientation. It was a well definable space; a well defined definition to a sexuality. That hasn’t happened before. It was beautiful. But also a bit difficult to process. Then I giggled like a teen. I am in my 20’s. I am older than most people in my dorm or my class. But compared to them I am stupid. I am a social invalid. I am always at awe at how beautifully people do day to day things. I can’t do anything like that. Not yet anyway.

I was spoiled. Sheltered unreasonably. But where I am from many middle class or upper middle class people are like this; so are high class people. We don’t count money fast. We don’t know how to cook. We don’t know how to clean a bathroom. It just is. It just was. Imagine me. A sheltered weird creature among people who already know what they want from life. What they need in life. How to carve out their individuality. How to carve soul and identity into both paper and flesh. You may be disgusted by it. Rightfully so. I apologise for being so incapable. So immature. Yet, it was so fostered into me. So ingrained. I knew it was problematic but lacked the means to obliterate it. I do not know what sort of creature I am. I am not aware how to live. I am lesser than a baby. I am like Kyle XY without the brains. I am just me. A stupid. But I love the city. I love the openness. I love the liberalness. Love the scope of magnitude of chaos and harmony. Buildings here astound me. I am from such a backward land. I am not really even acquainted with online ordering. I have had so many privations. They are not so private or public. They just existed. I walk so much now. I love it. I wish I could share the walking with a beau. I wish I was beautiful enough both inwardly and outwardly; more strong enough, more efficient enough to be a proper human being. But I am not. And I am sad I was made into this half-formed thing. This failure. This tragedy. This inconsolable invalid.  I wish I could love more freely. Be decent enough to love.

I am like a carnival attraction. I am so carnivalesque. Maybe I look odd to others. Today I wanted to shake hands with a girl in a lecture. She seems uncomfortable and uninterested; she had bright red hair, coloured as a cherry. She spoke on Jeanette Winterson. On gender. And I didn’t impress her. I was just there. I was just an odd person. The guy who sat next to me just walked away not caring of me. And my flatmates don’t seem to think I am great either. I feel like the fool. The jester everyone encounters but is so scenic that no one would really pay attention to know. I feel so inadequate. In brains. Beauty. Aesthetics. Brains…I just feel kinda lost.

I don’t know if I am good. Or even decent. I just wish that the “me” I am can change, can evolve, can adapt and become better for myself. Also, for others. I just feel lost and the wideness of this urban wilderness both scares me and tantalises me. I wanna be found and rescued by myself. I wanna meet my spirit, my animal, my spirit-animal. I just want to be more than what I am now

How friendship is a “non-friendly” babushka doll concept

The french word “Être” is a multitudinous organism. It has multiple applications but it’s general English meaning is “to be” — yeah, despite French’s concreteness which is shared by many languages the word “to be” is as flexible as the circumflex across its head. The French poet, Andre Breton, had written the poem, The Verb To Be, with all intentions, to talk about the multitudinous ways he feels despair. I am not one who clings to despair much. I think that life is meant to be lived. Hope is important, more Être than despair. This does not mean I do not have periods of despair or mock and condescension those to whom despair is known.

What to me matters is that like the verb “to be” friendships are “to be” as zigzaggy and slopey as that circumflex carrying verb. Friendship is a noun. It has its adjective and its verb. Yet it entails a concept that is not always concretely defined. It needn’t be nor should it be for each person has a flexible way of being friends. However, friendship is more difficult at times  than romance and love and erotic engagements. I finally understand why people say it is hard, genuinely so, at times, or maybe forever, to be friends with a lover or spouse. Not that it’s impossible or non-probable. But maybe their friendship styles are not to them definable as successes or things they enjoy all the time.

Friends have a license to be  at times inordinately insensitive, narcissistic, self-centered and rude. Of course, your good friends won’t really be this all the time or maybe never. You can’t manage a relationship of the romantic/erotic/love sort with those qualities. Not that romantic relationships are dishonest. They are not designed to be dishonest either unless you make them so. It’s just in those relationships humans automatically attempt to be the best they can be. And that is why love like that is prized.

In friendships we sometimes don’t make the effort. We do annex and arrest a person’s  threshhold of understanding. As in we can take advantage of it. This is “honesty” too just not of the best policy sort. Because we inadvertently do at times act pretty mean to our friends, feeling that their patience and love, will undoubtedly not create a rift.

This is to an extent understandable. It is why friendship encompasses the wide berth of empathy and sympathy. However, this is also someething that can get out of control.

We all love Joyce’s Ulysses and maybe even tamper Finnegan’s Wake. We also love Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway and Orlando. However, those too are given to syntax and grammar of its own that does thoroughly negate the necessity of a common language. The individual inflections pass in between those patchworks and thus a novelistic narrative of friendship  is constructed and maintained.

If you circumvent that your friendships will imminently, inevitably suffer.

It is both classical prose with neo-avante grande or postmodernist punctuations that make each friendship. Uniqueness cannot be discrete from all commonality and divorced from the lateral conceptions of attributes as caring and solidarity.

In the video game Outlast: Whistleblower, a prequel and interquel-paraquel of the game Outlast, the protagonist Waylon Park writes in a note that his wife, Lisa Park, had said that he was too “literal” and went for “if-then statements” — he with a lot of gravity realises that things are not like that. That becomes tautological almost. Though Waylon is a mathematician/mathematical genius of sorts I am not. However, I did share this propensity at times with “if-then statements” in certain regards.

It’s like  “attention+care=trust”, I was foolish to believe it would always go like that. People can be cruel or I can mess up and then not be forgiven. I forgot that “être” was around and that it was a free radical, a  morpheme, a part generative grammar borderlining the boundaries of didactical syntax. People are too complex and complicated. Both in good and bad ways.

Each friendship is like a babushka doll, unearthing each layer takes the pulley system of string theory (romance is also like that but I guess we also correspond to it faster).

This is both a beauty and tragedy of friendships.

Depends on the contexts, subsequent sequences or non-chronological chain of events.

Depends on the words you made known and unknown.

vowels

learning about the syntax, the basic units of affection
pitch perfect  from the beginning of beginnings
you are one of my root languages
we adhere to a shared topography

learning about shadows and silhouettes from you
the inner light they radiate; the aura of things blended in darkness
non-sequestered from good: a vocabulary esoteric but also mainstream
calling you “Dad” is a populist thing — how funny it is, how ironic, that words
can marginalise, limit and go beyond the very anatomy of their morphologies…

you are Dad-fixed, a biological marker, a genetic code that won’t be adverbed away,
a phenotype inheritance; a structural will you weaved subconsciously into my bones and I
did so too…we are like a chess board incomplete with each other…

and maybe the theatre of sky and the amphitheatre of the soil cannot encompass you
because I cannot always encompass you; we are both a wind we breathed and exhaled,
inhaled again like a mountain ridge path. I know that what we had is irreplaceable because it is
a womb participation; you did carry me for nine months by constantly caring about Mom.

and this ribcage will have a bird that sings; a song so plainly beautiful, for it is you and me
Father and  Daughter always and I don’t think a bird like that will stop singing, anytime soon
we will have our oceans and our swimming in them, we will have our sunset afternoons, drinking
tea in them and knowing that warmth is always catalysed by warm company. As you once spoke:
” A candle doesn’t lose its fire by lighting  up another.”

and I wonder which constellations you have lit up, lightened up and now also light in
this inward astronomical that you also know me in, lit up in me with paternal, pure, parental
love. I know how to love also from you. Love is a dedication. Love is both the spine, tail and the brain
with the heart; I cannot repay you for such vowels…

— I love you Abbu

 

____________________________________________________________________

The companion piece with Mari Sanchez Cayuso’s “Consonants“. Both are poems grieving our Fathers and showing our love to them. My Abbu passed away on the 24th, February, 2015 at around 5.00-5.30pm. I miss him every single day. I love you Abbu very much. May Allah Almighty always make you happy.

isolation in quotes

what do “I” call myself? — a labyrinthine thinker, late bloomer prodigy,
a colloquial slut, a porn actor/actrice, a menagerie of moods, a glass fountain,
a granite slab of boredom, an equanimous person, likely to succeed/fail, tagger of
facebook slogans or pages, popular only in staying unpopular, a blood cycle, a sperm
cycle, a gestation of uneasy testosterones or a nest of comfy oestrogen — what am I?

asking is imperative; you cannot be classes you have to be a class, not a binomial variant,
but a simultaneous crack-whore who can easily be cancelled linear-wise and not charted
in graphs — and the graphs all mounted highs and lows like some floppy or quick erectile tissue
bounded by some bondage mechanism easily quacking or nervously fretting — yeah our so-called
civilized world transcribes to the sexual all too quickly yet will not transcribe to intimacy or a
reproduction of kisses because to the mythical layman fucking is as easy than typing 2+2=1

we are isolated by so much wave and wires — first by seas and mountains now the technical metaphors
of technology; it;s easy to build walls you just need crude, undisciplined yet disciplined, refined geometry:
we learn math in isolation was not Alice there telling the Queen that for to her a jabberwocky is a parable
not a persistent lover of existence. We learn languages in isolation, fruit of needs are supposedly tasted and
tested in a bedroom — when have we so easily conquered all human instincts and personality checks and put
them airtight into a bottle as though everything and anything was masturbation. If I am vulgar you were vulgar
by lacking vulgarity by never breaching or broaching subjects that could make me spill my coffee but be grateful
I had sipped and dined with you in a natural state — and by natural state I do not easily picture you in your
birthday suit happily playing the flute of your clitoral-erection or playing drums with your bosom-chest…yet
you want me to easily think that — when I am flawed will you not know my flaw and tell me so why wither
it as a flaccid beam of self-denial — yeah, I talked all innuendo-like; it’s a language we all easily adopt too
though I think millions never adapt nor else we wouldn’t cry in tissue papers hoping it was the tender skin of
a lover…

why are all our information and acts and knowledges isolated; even with modern precepts of civilization
we love playing colonial pipes, steal the lands of many, decrepit the food and bones of the different,
make outsiders more than insiders and treat wealth the money as though it was a concubine that gave us
all the frenzies our heart desired — we are training ourselves to think heights are step-ladders and all binaries
are trusted celebrities though we all aspire some balance in ourselves. When did we become consumers?  Merely
eaters? Not inventors or hunters or gatherers or builders? — Is only the daft eating the way f the world? Are we only
engineers of a time-stinking buffet or rather a potpourri of so many essences and open to the architecture of the many?
Should we not rinse our tongues and teeth to the palpable instead of the vacuous? I ask myself questions, even dumb stupid
ones that are trivial and exhaustive but only because I think I was born to be hunter not predator or prey. But a gatherer
of immutable gems parasailing in a mutable universe… the scents and dotages of those exquisite structures with their
non-structure and flexible narrations have made me both weep and be teem with adrenalin. I do not think the deforestation
of the mind with conformed categories can easily help. Core beliefs are beautiful but they inhabit more ample space than we
give them credit for; our bones are calcium arranged as leaves of variables…how lovely was this trail of stones and bread…

and because I have these thoughts I may be isolated called mad by peers and hated by equals in class, birth, jobs, counter tables
for I did not drink coffee with cream and sugar but wanted to try a honeyed mix and that made a different in the tongue-nectare
made me mongrel to the refined and I do not know what more I could do — did I not also taste that coffee republic, nod to a placebo,
in the world of narcotics and so much medicinal shots. When I meet others who liked coffee and tea like me would we recognize
each other skins, meats and marrows or has the narrow cubicles sealed that kiss? Wonder if isolation is the new economy of trade…▬

virtually pals

there is a nothingness between us; a waxen taxing affair
of where friendship was and never was — just mere interaction
when you waned me with your tears and waved me into a corner
I had sought your forgiveness trusting that maybe forgiveness was
all that was to be needed — forgetting that you had never understood
that if it was something I strained I never meant to and I never abused
never hurt your heart, your face, your eyes or any integral you —
realizing that you had never attached me to these but I am -was – just a flicker
of pixels amounted to an image that raced away in the rat race of virtual acquaintances.▬

should violence always respond?

 

the abyss is a hierarchy that wears and wars around a Star cloth
yet has no basis with it for a Star’s body is a Lily transfused under
the emerging mattress of peace. What is a human response?
Is the liver only cantering for anger and professes that geographical
genocidal tactics are the only way to secure things? Is the criminal
fear or is fear the ultimate epitome for a crime? What is that you fear?

your mouth ascertains a speech
I have my own; yet both our mouths
move when we speak — our tones
intonate and our blood flows
anything pricked bleeds blackened red
a protest from the body. If I prick you now
will you not bleed? Will you not suffer a pain?
Are lives only lived for bleeding? How can you
only select lives for living? Is life selective? What Darwinian
corruption are you meting with this logic? Once you did not
survive; your palms bled easily and you had scurvy in your eyes
and your whole body was raped by the elements quietly wild.
Should you not remember this austerity for the riches of communication in
posterity?

I bled. You bled. Our rivers of blood makes this damaging flood
and we have no respite as we have easily been devoured by our need
to think humanity as non-humanity.

Brother. Sister. We shared the same Adam. We share the same Eve
Let our bellies remember this joining chord and let us live together
For all our bodies and souls are shaped the same. Do small variations
make one pond so different from another? Are not seas and oceans
with their salt and foam also once and returning to droplets of streams?
Let us join hands. For we are all human.

~~~~ Please Let Israel stop its attacks on Gaza and let Peace come between the people of Israel and the people of Palestine. Please remember we are all people. May Our God Have Mercy On all of us and make this all stop. 

 

resisting urges to understand a trivial phenomenon

 

we are seated in our tea cup garden storming away on things that a falcon may overlook
seeing the landscapes or details of a rodent popping out — pop art comes and goes on our
lips as we succulently taste delicatessen and cake and ponder on French histories only to
dabble in myths modern and old. We take of some bums twerking near some crotches and
how that offends or how some abused starlet decides to take a second helping of a punch
by dating an ex who should be critiqued for his callous affections when she had dreamed
of kids. Kids, we talk of the kids degradations of violence in video games and the upset mothers
and questioning fathers finding porn popping on some eideteker’s toaster of choice hoping that
he or she (yes, she) may bite the habit and not the soul that feeds it (meaning a cleanse)

our napkins are sufficient to scribble notes or take mental glyphs on the adornments
all issues not spoiled, delicately nibbles as this style of art is suggested to perform
like each piece carefully placed like chess because as chess tea-parties require ample
maneuverings and a good social soldier’s head — the trinity vial of trivial consists of
society, family and careers it is not mitigated by self of now or posterity of repercussions
of the concoctions of abuses you faced when you were molested as a teen or when your
spouse (woman or man) demands that you do as told and then slaps and punches. Dreams
are solved as solvents in the tea; bitterly tasted with sugary supplements or actual sweets
and you wonder and wonder as all around in autopilot mode and sipping and singling and
chewing and eschewing a myriad of options like the RPGs of Playstation consoles or online
MMOs. And you hunger for a adjar door in this wide wilderness of walls and shrubs that you
can sink into maybe a more open field or food polished door that you may watch a film
or read a book and then talk to youself for others are refraining to really talk to you and you
wonder —

when the games end or ever will end.▬

emotional hijincks

you tell me I stink with a beautiful tongue
your caramel saliva drips like a wasted candy
on some pavement of social disorder;

and you tell me I am picturesque shame;
colour coded in your coordinated flux of things that you’ll never do
like writing on a script on how you felt and how you feel
and to tell me to join the decipherable madness
of learning mute by viper, rattle -snake tongue
that shakes and shudders in an orgasmic fathom
taped to castration; sensor shun and censorship
are sometimes dining on the same plates

and you say I am a beetle and a mouse meant to be eaten
by an enormous snake known as public decency
I do not espouse freedom that entails minimization
nor do I understand how censoring my moods
erects a value system and says that publicity
is the hidden brood of licentiousness;
am I a fabulist wrought iron clad in bikinis and microtinis
and boxers and briefs and shame to me!
For what reason may I profess can you confess to shame me?

there is a fake piety that appears as much not needed piety
prosaic and dry tongued in its passionate speech
and poetic in its incineration that make Farenheit and Celsius go cheek to cheek
to get checked for the STDs that personal hatred triggers

then you want grass gutted lawns
and all lakeside traveling and the concrete world
has not taught you a definition of unfairness?
have your glass slipper not cracked while the stoning of you windows
your ball and your patience all came to a thunderous appaluse
how your defeat was given an orgy and your victories bedridden
and  you say beware the laughing and the laughs; has living away
from the wiry, weary edges of revelations made you any less comical?
your life a laugh they translated and your breadth a joke they thought
and you are worried about laughs; laughs are a pllague of death if
made to be as comical as ethics of war where a queen sizzles under
the brevity of drones. Don’t come with a kiss that enables a fist
make a fist and smash your Wall and build a ladder to meet me

I wanted to meet you. I badly did. At some points. As slivers of yellow
as the storm day proceeds but this sliver does not light you
I love the storm too but you decidedly needle-injected the vortex
the nullified eye of the storm. Happily pleasant as the deluge drowns you.

I was not meant to shame you, You have simply shamed yourself.▬

More info; enlightenment and things that changed

Well, I am afraid that I didn’t read that portion of my old post that well because then I would wrote something larger but truthfully it is good some things are best said well in longer after-posts.

In my last post there is a mention of a family. Of children and how there were cuts and bruises on their kid. I want that family to starve, be humiliated and possibly end up totally ruined.  Yes, the so-called “mom” and “dad” are a bunch of professional actors. It seems my brother married a girl who actually has a history of four or three previous marriages (which she never told us) and she never told us because that is her profession. Apparently, she prostitutes herself this way and her family is in on it.

For a while, like for two years they made my brother’s life hell. My poor brother may get angry but he is not abusive but they were. That Bitch claimed once how bad my brother was at times like screaming at her and I thought maybe she is right but guess what? Her family are the ones who are mentally and physically abusive. They did not let my brother eat properly; they would torture him by starving him and giving him small amounts of money after stealing the money my Dad gave him for the trip. And they did that ingeniously too. Bitch wife forced him to buy them “presents” like expensive stuff. I won’t forget how happy my Mom got when she thought my brother was buying her jewelry because it is a sweet gesture — he called asking about jewelry — my Mom said it was not needed but he never bought her that kind of thing before. Well, it wasn’t for her, it was for “mom”.

Can you imagine my Mom’s face after that? My brother not buying her things but buying expensive things for a woman who didn’t have the courtesy to even feed him properly?

Then they would always threaten police arrests if my brother got angry at their rude behaviour and made him bike long distances because well they wouldn’t even give him bus fare to go places. Bitch wife in their bedroom slapped and kicked my brother and he had to hold her hands and pin them so that she didn’t get more violent. And it was always on little differences she would get mad or if he didn’t agree something for her or family. Bitch wife had rabies and my brother was the vet stuck with her bitchy self and her entire rabid family because, unfortunately, my brother was naive to think if he stuck around it would work out. Yeah, she also forced him at times to write “romantic” comments of facebook wall and when a friend of my brother’s said that sounded (the comments)  a bit weird she snapped as said he shouldn’t talk to him because he is a “bad” friend (those kind of disagreements).

There are other horror stories but I cannot write them because I have to keep my brother’s privacy but when he finally had enough he came back and yeah he was very sad.

Like a PTSD soldier he would feel lost and depressed. At times he would get angry for small issues or large ones but then slump into a depression that was really severe. Sometimes, he would just lie down and refuse to walk around or eat or do anything. Other times he would just eat and eat uncontrollably showing his  starvation. Well, his body showed starvation too and it was a brutal sight seeing my very tall brother emaciated and feeling dizzy as if fatigued and dehydrated and famished and well starved for affection, love and understanding.

They kept the gold jewelry my Mom gave. All of it. By tradition and even any cultural standards you don’t keep what your ex gave to you if its like a wedding ring or more. No, those shameless bastards kept everything. Bitch wife claimed, when my brother was there, that she lost her diamond wedding ring.  Bitch wife actually pawned it. That’s not the only thing she pawned. All the gifts, jewelry and all she kept so she can sell at her convenience.  Bitch wife also kept my brother’s entire DVD collection and might be selling that too. Bitch wife also kept a beautifully illustrated copy of a book I gave to my brother as a present that I wrote a personal message inside  for him to read.

This desecration of personal and intimate artefacts coupled with the desecration a human life is grave robbing and life robbing mixed into one. I cannot believe how these people even keep on breathing. I bet their lungs and other organs are a bunch of rotten crap. (Did I mention “mom” has a pacemaker?).  They are as dangerous as serial killers. They deserve to suffer. Why? I usually try to be quite empathetic to people who even have been rude to me or torturous to me but a Bully and a Sadist with capitals I cannot forgive especially when they are comfortably living not at all economically challenged and have gotten so much love and attention from my family!

In our culture, the jewelry given at marriage are like a maternal or at times paternal lineage or legacy. Like from my father as he was given by his mother or father and their parents. It spans like 3 or 4 generations or even more at times. You can imagine my Mother’s feeling of devastation when her family heirlooms where stolen by these abusive people. And also all her prized possessions. You can imagine my Father’s heartache at also losing so much money and support that were being parasitically taken like a tapeworm glued to their asses by these people.

Obviously, their largest Sorrow and Misery and Pain was that their son came back upset and depressed with PTSD type symptoms at the psychological bullshit they mustered up for him. The full extent is not even known obviously as pain like that cannot be cataloged like an Argos magazine item priced and fully tagged. Bro just kept some things to himself and decided to just well try to get better.

You hear it and you understand more when it happens to you and usually this kind of domestic violence and psychological afflictions and mayhem happen with children or women but truth is those are the stories we hear or want to hear. Men also go through such events by other men or women. Our societies have also a lease, a law on the parameters of domestic violence and what type of violences can be talked about. Once a close friend of mine, Sania, talked about how an aunt of hers was remarrying — after ten years. Last husband was schizophrenic and she was unaware of that (many marriages happen where people involved don’t know about their so called significant others’ background; it is purposefully hid) and she was in shock and misery for that 10 years because it was a very traumatic experience. It took her such a long time to get over that kind of relationship.  And my own aunt was duped into marrying a sick man who died while she was pregnant.

Her marriage was a forceful one. It happened a long time ago and she was lost in village weirdness.  Her parents thought they were doing the so-called right thing. Well she started screaming and swearing at them that thy are fucked up and that they ruined her life. They did. That man, my uncle, was suffering from a cardiovascular disease that disallowed him any sexual activity. But he did it anyway. Resulting in him always ending up in the hospital afterwards. My aunt always wondered what was happening. At that time my maternal Grandfather seriously objected to this wedding but no one listened to him. My aunt did not even know her husband had such a problem.  Then he died. Leaving her pregnant and alone. After she gave birth her in-laws and their family were so crude to her that she had to go back living with her own family.

Sixteen, with a child, and not very educated and at that time though she was a city girl this had been a village affair. She couldn’t remarry. Men those times and even now do not like to marry girls who have children. Maybe times are changing and men do change but in those days men had a serious problem marrying a girl with a kid — oh, they could fuck around but a women who has a child from a previous marriage and legally by many rules and standards is not fit to marry. Not to mention her son is a total ass at times and she had do a lot to keep him at least semi-happy. At times she was very mean to him and that is what that ungrateful child remembers and doesn’t remember how she tried and tried so hard to keep him happy. Not to mention that brat also hated her getting re-married if she could because he loves his dad too much and knowing everything that is very unfair to his own mom. I can understand that his father is totally a bad guy and that to his child he probably would be A quality and any child has the right to reminiscence their father. But they must also take into account the other factors involved. Yes, she shouldn’t have been mean but she told me truthfully it was out of helplessness. She couldn’t buy him pretty things and she didn’t know how to handle him asking for them. She is strong but I know she is heartbroken and lonely at times too.

My brother, Thanks To Allah Almighty (God), recovered and has a girlfriend; someone new he can love and trust. But it wasn’t easy. There were lots of sad moments between them  because she too was betrayed and both of them had trust issues. But you know it was also a heart issue. How can you navigate your feelings and emotions when someone has brutally sawed them, left them tactless and even scarred and bruised your entire body just for some money or ego trip? It becomes hard at times. You survived a major ordeal. But at this moment they love and need each other. They  shouldgrow and be strong from and for each other. And at this moment, Thank God, they are; they are trying.

I heard Bitch wife sold some of our jewelry and bought herself a shiny new car. Now I know why Hell exists. People like them deserve all kinds of reprimand. All types of executions and punishments earthly and otherwise. My brother suffered. His wounds were deep. They isolated him from us and even made him stop talking to us; limit or delete his facebook so that he can’t talk to us.  That is violence and abuse. Not to mention she referred to me as a slut and retard to him at every turn though I never wrongfully spoke to her in my life. These kind of people advertise empathy but then steal and they are classic sociopaths and raising their kids as ones too. The biggest “mystery” is that the youngest sister may be actually Bitch Wife’s daughter from a previous affair that they advertise as her sister. Ironically, my brother named her.

So, yes, this is the tale or tales of some tragedies. The enlightenment I got was that some people are perverse and are strange sadist fetishists who prefer looking at parts of people (their body, breasts, genitals, hair, wealth, connections) and just abuse that. Sure, we all have made friends or contacts based on some categories but we treated them as human beings, we were humble when they offered any aid and we remembered that they had other things to do as they are not only two dimensional they are more.

I think the line between serial killer and serial abuser is sometimes very thin because once you have wounded a person so deep and then laughed and snorted at their misery as it was your coke fetish, haven’t you done something that equals to murder?

Your comments are welcomed. If you have faced this, going through it, or survived this I want to know. Or just know of someone or just plainly want to say something about it go right ahead though if you are going to make fun of the pain of the people involved here saying my brother is not a man and aunts are bitches or what not then don’t dare write anything. You are not the man and you are the bitch because you do not know how a situation like that is. Haven’t there been people in your life who were mean or really gross. You can’t solve every problem by punching a person unless you are on an equivalent turf. For everyone else: What do you think about all of this ?