One nasty lesson I learned in my short time with Mephistopheles was that I have a long forgotten mean streak of indifference and being aloof. One more maladapted coping mechanism excavated from the archaeological dig of that seven months. My best guess it that it's from the need to hold my head up to glares from strangers and from the Polaroid Avoid I acquired by stepping out of court house elevators and into a sea of flash bulbs and 16 millimeter lighting.
At first I thought it was cool and I strutted like the King of Sweden.
It was later that I got that sinking feeling as I watched myself on the ten o'clock news and knew that every one from school was watching me too.
I made it a habit to lag behind. At court and in school.
The press weren't looking for me. They wanted her.
Staying away from her was to stay away from the press.
Living with her now, and after about the 100th time I told my mother to shut the fuck up, the malware revealed itself and began a full on collaboration with my operating system.
Only in reverse. There is no more shrinking back from human bilge water.
I don't like bullies. I have never liked bullies.
Now I won't tolerate them.
That'll probably be my epitaph, but I would rather go down swinging than to spend the day wishing I had said something to the overbearing fat bastard berating the kid sweeping up popcorn and tearing tickets at the Cinemark.
My no contact will be a three year gig on October tenth. I have only stepped up twice. But when I do step up, it is with all the earnestness of Mike Tyson licking his chops for a bite of ear meat.
Having lived my adult life in the world of straight forward facts. I say what I mean. And I mean what I say. And if I expect to bull doze a person, I expect to be bulldozed back.
It's very simple. Childhood head banging be damned.
As a kid I didn't possess the chutzpah to sell insanity like my parents. Sane people can't do it. It's embarrassing.
After I went to care for Lay Madre and she wanted to pick right back up where she left off, it was game on. I haven't wanted to turn it off since.
It's really fun.
People are used to getting their way because no one calls them on their blow hard shit. People like my mother. She out crazies the craziest and people end up walking away.
It's funny that standing up to my mother is harder for the public at large than standing up to some quaffed douche with a pencil thin mustache.
Right back where I started.
Only now I am an adult and I don't suffer fools. Pathologically so. And whatever else my mother is, she is a fool.
My current malaise is from the knowledge that my journey is about done. My war with this world is over. I am left with what I picked up along the way, and the need to reconcile the books into something that makes some kind of sense.
If I regret estrangement from my mother, it is because I can no longer muse at what powers of darkness claim her for their own. Like the demise of a planet exploring probe, I have reams of data to sift through, but there could have been so much more.
The post spin analysis of her world is fascinating and frustrating. It would make me dizzy even if I could take every thing she said as the gospel truth. With her misrepresentations of fact, and me trying to compare it to the reality I know is the ultimate in crazy making.
There is my reality, the reality through the lens of a child. There is her delusional perspective. And there is the truth.
What makes me crazy is that only she knows the real story behind it all. But that bitch sits there and tells people anything that pops up in her head.
It's like listening to AM radio and driving in the desert. I lose myself in some radio theater broad cast as some 100,000 watt Mexican station blasts top forty out the fillings in my teeth. Descending into the salt flats muddles the mix with cross over from the Navajo chant channel. Throw in Morse code atmospherically bounced in from Siberia and it's just like having my mother in the car.
I want to hear it all.
I end up hearing pops and whistles.
It's a challenge between my simple mind and the desert of her narcissism. I still must make it across before my engine boils over and I end up face down in a pool of toxic mine sludge.
Someone must be sacrificed so that others can live on.
It's the cornerstone of civilization.
I have left the House of the Barbarian.
The House of the Barbarian has not left me.
I am marked as the son of the beast.
Heed the warnings of the misanthropic oracle.
As I go now
some day so shall you.
It is hard to do the right thing.
When right is obscured in darkness and evil.
Run and live another day.