“I should feel guilty”

Now I know why I used to say that, and what it hid.

Rue.

April 29, 2015 at 5:16 pm Leave a comment

**This is a joke**

THIS IS A RACIALLY PREJUDICED BLOG.

(more…)

August 22, 2016 at 10:01 pm Leave a comment

My Brother

I’ve met him.  My actual half-brother.  I’m rather in shock, having been an only child for nearly 63 years.  The x amount of them is also in a tad of unprepared reaction, never having suspected that good old Dad (!) might have snuck off into the bushes while in Germany.  *I actually don’t remember if I was told what the venue was, but places to stay for Americans with money weren’t that hard to find just then.  I never have understood her shame about the whole incident.  He couldn’t have known, and I was in the “third trimester and so it was too late” to abort me.  Her last years were filled with repeated litanies of “I’m so glad I couldn’t have you aborted!!”  One of the things this means is that she didn’t even realize she missed a period or three and by then he was long gone.  Her knowledge of him was that he’d killed a taxi driver in a drunken fight in Berlin and was sentenced to San Quentin.  Or so she said.  My mother proved to be quite the liar, by choice.

 

He seems to have affection for .. Dad … and I haven’t heard about his mother one way or the other.  And…I can’t do this.  However, family.  What a shock.

August 6, 2016 at 4:06 pm Leave a comment

Apologies

on a rather sick day.  Internal bleeding can be felt in the latter stages.  I’ll be going to see a neurologist soon; he may decide to change my medications.  According to my last neurologist my next seizure will be it.  I died a few times in that hospital and I was being kept ‘alive’ for quite a while.

 

I shouldn’t have had a fit of anger and burst out at my father’s descendants because I didn’t understand what was going on.  There is also a growing sense of little time left.  I have a nearly finished hypothesis regarding language (as distinct from a representative system), society and social adaptation.  I left the establishment there because there was an ongoing attempt to put the vein of thought into preexistent theories, and because of the very nature of it.  I’m not going into what comprised years of thought nor even claim it was worthwhile except possibly to me.  I destroyed my notes, most of my poetry and most of my fictional work, in an ongoing fashion.

 

Sorry and I will be able to write more and more cheerfully later, some other day, whatever.  Right now I cannot.

August 1, 2016 at 5:16 pm Leave a comment

Reliving a Sequence

That’s what I’m doing just now.

 

Here’s where the string of choices starts.  I’m at best an agnostic with an apparently sincere offer from Dr. Runner of Dordt College for a scholarship.  Based on my understanding of his lecture about Dooyeveert and Modal–Relativity.  There are many ways to approach that and some are actually nearly intrinsically valid.  However one must include that the most used method of transaction uses relativistic measures as if they were absolute, and the network (society) which depends upon that must use the same blindness.  I had been hovering on agnosticism for a long time.  I had thought of the modal bit the summer before, although there were delightful ramifications here that could possibly fit with other things.

 

Could I possibly accept the offer and be honest?  [Long later, yes, you ass.  He even knew.]

 

My adopted parents offered college on the basis of my grade point average.  Could I depend upon them?  No.  My aunt might even manage to make me get bad grades (she managed that in…freshman year, where I said the “fuck it” thing and went that route, which got me a psychiatrist–a delightful friend, nothing about therapy, sorry–a long talk with various people and then I went to filling out things that I already knew…the patterns of the motivations of those who wrote the questions, got homework done in 15 minutes a day, unless it was unusually hard, 20, math was hopeless; I could program a calculator or a computer but…even with a calculator…so that at the end I got over 3.5, yay) or do what she hinted she would have done, mandated I quit smoking.

 

Fifteen minutes.  The teachers were running from me, terrified of my questions.  I was mad or I was something else.  Every teacher I asked about my intelligence looked at me in a terrified way (you are crazy, bud) and managed to bolt.

 

The Armed Forces had a row of offices; Navy and Marine, Army, Air Force–or maybe during Vietnam they actually let the Marines have their own office.  I walked toward them; relatively short-haired, probably smoking a cigarette, neatly dressed (I was a dependent, after all; freedom was a word invented later), school books in hand [that’s bull shit, if anything I had a book I was reading].  I swear their ears moved up.  I went to the Navy office, and the others gradually drooped.  Whidbey Island is cool enough that air conditioning isn’t the norm, or at least that’s the way it was, word has it that things have warmed there too as the sea rises, crumbling the island more rapidly just as the ant hill moves to bare it and sit atop it.

 

They had a thing called a GCT test, you see.  That’s sort of like saying an SSD* drive, but whatever.  General Classification Test. test.  Whatever.  *Solid State Drive

 

I had two things in mind.  I knew I loved the sea, a story I may later tell.  That GCT was derived from the Stanford-Binet.  Directly.  Otherwise you had to pay more money than I conveniently had.

 

As expected I can’t do this any more today.  I have a severe head ache.  I’ve been lifting my arms somewhat and lowering my head and I’m engendering consequently a roaring headache…

 

 

July 30, 2016 at 7:24 pm Leave a comment

Writing

I keep thinking I shall.  It physically hurts to do so.  Fortunately, I’m writing for myself, which means keeping some sort of documentation of progress such as it is.  I am getting adjusted to new braces and have learned to wear the ones I had; two sets of knee and ankle braces, that is.  The accident was hard on me in more than one way.  Maybe I’ll be able to write a bit.  I have attempted two poems.  I was so afraid they were garbage I immediately turned them face-down and haven’t looked at them.

July 24, 2016 at 2:46 pm Leave a comment

Yesterday’s Entry

That was merely the release of pent-up frustration, built over nearly six decades.  There were moments when I was “one of them”.  Unfortunately early something else also intervened, that of consciousness, enlightened or (probably) not.  When I mentioned “my genius” yesterday I did so in light of a couple of government tests based on the Stanford-Benet (version 1970s) [skipping similar whatevers on whatever; I detest bragging simply because most of my (known) family so delighted in it, and I know I overdo it in my detestation, c’est le whatever once again; You Can’t Go Home Again most particularly if you find you weren’t there in the first place a depressing number of times].  My Aunt Marie had a high I.Q., periodic depression and self-loathing (leading to sadism, and, I suspect masochism) and even the records of her flights toward and acquisition of knowledge.  My Aunt Marie.  My Mom.  Or then again there’s Barbara.  My Mom.  The second, however, occurred legally when I was 7, seconds (days; it was the…never mind; six days) before I was 8 and enraging my now (half) sister and brother soon because that meant a whole lot of presents for me, what with Christmas and then all that…

 

Before that, there had been three years with Mom.  The first one, Barbara.  The one who immediately tried to have me aborted but I did the miscourtesy of birthing early–a month early, according to my steely-minded biological mother.  No, I never use sarcasm.  There were good parts.  On her side she simply had to get fucked.  I’m sorry, but bush-beating isn’t in the cards just now.  Or banging heads against walls in the vain attempt to avoid the brutal onset of the realization of the truth.  One does it, or rather the crowd does; it’s even contagious, you know, like the rebirthed dance from side to side of the nimble-footed and dull-witted pedestrians, in memory of my youth (presumably there are even old textbooks around still recording it), the one I personally solved by stopping and waiting.  I have weak ankles, you see.  Doing the Dance wasn’t in.  Doing all sorts of things to shy away from the Truth, the Whole Truth…wait a minute, I’ve gone off course here; no, I don’t mean to imply that there is such a thing.  Most of history is about nimble dances around perceived holes in the ground, said ‘holes’ consisting of, well, Truth, in minor manifestations.  I mean, it can happen.  Really.  Sort of.  She would get a few nights off and come back bathed in the fumes of nicotine and alcohol and fat and happy.  I’m going to leave the old phrase alone there because it’s so fitting.  By the end of a week or two she would be sagging and consumed with nothing but Truth in various manifestations.  I was the fart at the brunch, being a bastard.  No, I’m not pointing out my abominable behavior; I’m a bastard.  By birth.  I have no proper last name.  Whereas that’s no big thing now it was in the late 1950s in Jackson County.  They had Sundowner laws here until relatively recently; one city may still have them on the books.  There was pressure for me to vanish or find a father, preferably the former.  I was an embarrassment, and also to the family.

 

The 3 years, you see, was a trial, even to an infant.  Or perhaps not just any baby, I wouldn’t know.

Then there was Jay, who was an abuser.  He did bruise me a bit, but I did some unbelievable things for play by myself as well.  No, there’s no reason to report that without being asked.  The things I did weren’t sexual [in my world they couldn’t be, since I was 5].  And nearly 3 years later I was adopted.

 

That’s my life.  That’s the real world.  The very idea of being able to assign any importance to the nature of my biological father is somewhere between laughable and infuriating–and I have verified PTSD.  No more turning in circles because at a crucial point I’m very likely to snap and try to kill.  No one is going to try to entice me into it now, even if the possibility ever existed.  ::the sound of that tree in that unpeopled forest::

 

July 9, 2016 at 7:02 pm Leave a comment

Meeting The Family

as it were, was quite simply a non-event, as I anticipated many years ago.  I’m not even saying I had a sense of deja vu, it occurred as I ‘foresaw’ it; the odd echoing ‘notness’ of the scene explained by the internet, which has some aspects of the tree falling in an unpeopled forest and the sort of sound (the implication that sound requires hearers, and thus definition of many things; names say more about the namer than the named) that transpires…and it was quite a fitting backdrop.  There was a tiny cascade of questions from one person, without even a shard of offered information about [that person’s] self.  I could tell you a great deal, mind, about likes and dislikes; but then my genius is about being able to see patterns.  Perceive, more like, particularly with today’s days’ blurred visions.

There were I think five messages from there, seven responses from mine.  I still am not accustomed to being the eternal outsider.  Mark me well; those are not the words of self-pity or delusion.  My earliest judgement was that most others are stupid.  I stand silent about my current thoughts save to observe that then and now my attitudes have led me when I managed any sort of sanity to stand alone.

To the Muhlheisens as were and may be, I bid you well.  I am rather sure we shall never speak nor meet again.  Eugene it seems doubtless that we would have enjoyed one another’s company a few years back, but it was not so.  There is no timefold here, no master to undo the knots of timely threads and weaves.

–Good grief.

July 8, 2016 at 6:57 pm Leave a comment

Older Posts



Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 66 other followers