Thursday, January 10, 2013

This is the very post I wrote on the day the barbarian lay dying.

 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. 

I Dont Always - I don't always drink beer, but when i do i get put on house arrest

I don't always get in a douche bags face, but when I do, I do all I can to make him piss his pants.

 Attaching concrete memories of those chaotic days to the nebulous rhetoric gin-mill that is my mother, brought me all the way back to the beginning. 
Full circle.  
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 a 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 some 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 must make it across  before my engine boils over and I end up face down in a pool of  toxic mine sludge.

Someone has to do it. Someone needs to understand how their mind works. If only to scribble hobo chalk marks for those who come behind.
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.


vicariousrising said...

I think you turned our pretty fantastic.

Do you rent out your ability to make douche bags piss their pants? I've got a job for you.

Anonymous said...

I always wondered why i liked survival movies so much:) Like the Grey and i was even watching the latest Predator movie the other night.Some people think they are cheesy but its Its the whole Run, live to fight another day theme. Then usually the characters have to turn a face the reality of the situation and kick some ass:)I can totally get the thing of trying to find reality and truth when your parents are spewing manipulation and lies, all while you are a growing vulnerable child. I think it is really hard for people who had regular parents to understand how crazy it can make you. Now that i am an adult it is like trying to find my way through a maze. MG

mulderfan said...

We're too decent to ever really figure our parents out. Their motives will probably remain one of life's mysteries.

q1605 said...

VR. Yes I do!
MG. Good to see you stopping by. Salient points one and all.
Mulderfan. Absofuckinglutely.

vicariousrising said...

I'll get out my checkbook. If you take photos of the pants-pissing, you get double. I want it for my blog.

q1605 said...

Done !

chris said...

Your words sing truth in the static of my mind. Crazy making, it's, well, crazy. It's like walking through cement.
"It is hard to do the right thing.
When right is obscured in darkness and evil" That truth sings to my soul. I'm slowly, but surely, stumbling my way through.
Does the crazy ever stop? Even with NC it seeps through the cracks.

q1605 said...

Chris. You are too kind.
I remember writing that post just because ...I don't know.
I felt compelled and that is what came out. I had no idea my mother had just died. The picture of Satan were the graphics I put there back then...just because. Maybe Satan and her were getting acquainted as I typed.
I'm not a religious type of guy but there has been a lot of coincidences surrounding my mothers passing.
Almost... almost too much to ignore as coincidence.