Perseverent

I haven’t written
And, I haven’t chosen to be written;
though I am written in leaves and blood
and the mud — snapping with teeth
like the branches of the woods

Oh, youth, you made me feel fresh

And immortal

Not a serving of flesh cased behind a bone
and all the bone is chewing to break out
to now what it cannot know, now

I wanted so much to know what it was like to write
to have known if I had written anything of any value

I am writing as I will always write
clutch my blood next to the quilled ink
sparrow along the ridges and dominant the
lull of the breath; stay passive at the apex of the muscle

I will knead into me a belonging in poetry
as the bread knows the yeast and the sky knows the sun.—

I feel alone.

I feel alone.
And I have forgotten how to write.
once I use to flirt with linguistic possibilities
and now I just don’t do anything…

I don’t write anymore
writing has not been killed in me
but I don’t know what to write
or, how to write
or, is it makes sense to me to write?

I asked myself this question
as I write this, and in the writing what I wrote may be a start or not}
I always tried to be hopeful; I still am
I just think I am too old
my youthful exuberance has failed me
my life is nothing but security and in that I found insecurities
I had and have passions but who wishes to know them or understand – does it really matter?

Perhaps, I have failed for now.
perhaps, I won’t fail again.
But…if failures means I have tried
isn’t that evidence enough for some kind of existence…

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.

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 ?

Friends, Fronds, PHrends

 

It’s easier to encounter a comet than have real friends. I have been so emotionally exploited that I feel almost people used me as an emotional prostitute (emostitute) and it was mostly people of my own sex and even people of the other sex too. They hardly ever tell me what they are going through. Even the telepath needs to listen in to the thoughts closely and engage in conversation. These people thought of me as this crude PH strip (stripper pun intended) that will unconsciously, like some bladder wizard, know exactly when they need an emotional pissing and expect me to put up with it. Why? You guys can have meltdowns, get angry if I say something wrong but I can’t? I am not your ideologue of perfect please, well maybe, not all the time. Sometimes I mess up really badly and I apologize or after a while but I don’t intend to do irreparable damage. That is not my modus operandi. But people expect you to be perfect in a really plastic bag suffocating way. People only give you time when they deem it fit and expect you to play subordinate to that. Why? When I cry or feel sad about these things nobody comes up easily and says “Hey, let me wipe my tears.” I have crushes tell to my face that they won’t date me but try to act so normally but then act really abnormally and expect you to go with that flow when a meeting happens. I have had crushes partners act out on me just because they know I had a crush on their partner even though I hardly come near their partner. Why?

People ignore me or talk to me for the strangest reasons. They take long periods of absences to just try to be themselves without sharing anything with me. Then come back and get angry or cry over anything I say or do wrong.  It’s not fair if the other person tales advantage of peripheral factors and acts ways that are silly and then just ignore me. Why should I be kept in the dark or light of some anger or hate or sadness you have? Talking through things hardly registers to these people. Avoidant culture is more prominent than engaging culture on both micro macro levels and I am sick of being the “odd one out” unfairly pushed to the side of you because of the ego of the world.

I think I prefer some alone time now.

sometimes, along these lines —-

perhaps tonight you spit your spite, I am demon in disguise or an angel whose wings are cannibalized?
am I the criminal or the crime?
it’s always a misunderstood vagrancy; a heart nonstop delinquent becoming mass murderer
but before I tasted the  blood; made the original kill, in Cain’s footsteps — before God sends the crows
I thought I never hurt anyone…I never thought I would viciously hurt unsurmised without an initiation
without an invitation — when you cry I could not see to console and make maps of our wrongdoings
to placate the bruises that we gave each other in a twisted game of both cats and mouses
trying to protect what we thought was the best; easier spoken than broken or executed; crying together.

access to continents on some lymph nodes on electric high; sometimes the nerve relapses
am I executioner or executed?
will the storm see the nest of peaceful clouds or just remain in the tundra grey of indecision?
questions; non-filtered questions and the confusion tangled longer the rapunzel syndrome
should I just say you and I or am I errant in this dialogue from far away speakers and type text
maybe, fully crowned in the dunce cap, I thought you would swallow the bile in a smile
rev up the attack, I did not mean to see you distressed; maybe I undervalued the stress and tone
of my words; flagillated the  vocal whip made you slip, spilled milk, deterioration of the bumped shine

perhaps it’s done with to say you are wrong; your maternal is wrong but that don’t fix the ranks
am I pursuant or pursued?
I am not the automatic sadist living on the cracked skin of blistered eyes and braille bluish ties
do not enjoy the jabbed jaw, the condescension, the insults, the ultimata and the crushed scent of madness
I am not the automatic masochist pining away the flogging and the logging of tongue nine o’ tails and wretched slang
I am both child and adult; in twenties still if I were a Hobbit I would be enshrined to adolescence or adultescence
maturity is spectrum; wave and particles I mistaken my physics gave a physical demonstration of angry tantrum
got ruined by my own test, progression and now living with sowing the potols in a form of requemistic palace

maybe there’s no entire apology but there is a sincere one because hurting with such intensity is not me-normally
am I ridiculous or ridiculed?
sometimes it’s harder to comprehend the matter that bays the brocade and harder still to swallow feelings
then the poison maternal arrow hit hard and first annoyed then sadness; my phone soaked my bruises
tears can run both ways like a highway; tributaries to digital polyphony — both chaste and mutilated
am I depressant or depressed?
am I loser or lost?
am I fluke or fluked?

was I ever understood or understood differently
counting my mistakes like sheep to slaughter en masse for no reason of eating
feeling raw even though I had a thick skin
feeling raw even though I’m wearing my skin

am I sad or am I sad?

Conduits of ♠ Me

Ruins in Twilight
Image via Wikipedia

Your slick negligence
makes propriety to be vain
you think for better or worse
you are better than me

for you have excelled
and I have inhaled the fumes of  less higher achievements
you are brain and I might have been brawn
but my cerebral euphoria cannot lag into that
I have been like you
with a temperament different
not agressive opposites
so like the same

yet you were chosen to have glory
while I am cemented in a sponge
tacitly absorbing
yet too melancholic for the plunge
at right angles, at 180° or 360°
we have both spun the abstract gray matters
the concrete cells
yet you flew from the cage
and myself  laid
a grilled bar in my spine
Inhibiting catalysts from springing onto clear blue sky

how unfair it is
that we sang the same songs
yet you flew
and I stayed
rotting with the same migraines
clipped wingless by life
who had ignored to care for a while…