on a darkling plain.

i am the child of the wasteland....a land of haunted houses and monsters i call father. dark talents run in the family, but i shatter the glass to let the moonlight in, not to destroy something fragile for the feeling of breaking beneath my fists. all i can do is scream, crawl out, and keep screaming. but i can hold the sparrow, mend its wing... i am the spring rain and the hurricane... the monsters cower now, not me, not you. *xn*

Tuesday, Mar. 04, 2003 - 4:50 am

when my mom had a stroke, i was of course forced into thinking about the human aspect of her life. you think- that you always think, that your parents are "human" but you really don't. well i mean i realized i didn't. to me they were just there as far as existing goes. you don't think of them dying, then backtrack to them being born, and having been children and then teens... to think of my mom in some field somewhere looking up at the sky with tears in her eyes wondering what she'll be and what it "all" means, is so sad. because if i could have gone back in time and warned her off the path she took, i would, even if it meant me never being born.

who knows, maybe i would have been born anyway, maybe our souls are attached in somehow- she's the one that could draw, not him.

my mom fell for the biggest potential lie in the love world- the exotic "bad boy", and thinking that creature would make a good life mate. maybe some bad boys do make good mates (i'm not talking faux bad boys who play one on TV and the silver screen, i mean a real one) but all i have to go on does not support this. she had been engaged to a state judge in idaho, i think that was how he was described, and my future father had also been engaged- probably to someone not submissive enough. well he said, and this was to me as a child- that the minute he felt my mom's ass he dumped the other woman. okay.. (cringe and swallow the puking up feeling that always goes along with this memory).

so if my mom had married the judge, i might have been a judge's child. maybe that sounds like- oh yeah it would still be like you were never born because you'd be in this "law abiding" home and life and...

well Zelda Fitzgerald was the child of a judge and there was nothing "law abiding" about her. so there would still be hope for me. by the way.. i am not one of those who think Zelda was insane either, just the wrong time in the world for a girl like her. "Crazy" is a convinient label history, which tends to be very lazy, slapped on her to describe a complex and intelligent person. "History" still thinks Columbus discovered America.

believe it or not (i am saying that to myself) my father was a child once, and i still don't know much about him, and it wasn't from not asking, in moments of childhood peace- like a dog still trying to love him and wondering about him. all i ever got was this.. he was born in spain, but the family moved back to mexico where his father's family lived, but they never knew any of that family. his father was a worthless bastard and was much much older. my father did not know much about his own father other than he was supposedly a rough rider, and he went away one day when my dad was an infant, and never came back. his mother- my granma who i only met a few times and by then she was withered and frail with long long white braids, but always nice to us- his mother was considered a great beauty in her day. in some event, like the running of the bulls, a wild yearling rampaged down the street and my toddler father ran out in front of it. his mother dove for him and the bull's horns caught her in the face and tore her eye out. beauty no more, now the town freak. when i saw this hole in her old age it was just a hole that was covered in a black patch like a pirate. but back then it was monstrous, a gaping wound, a shattered face. she never let him forget he was the one that did this to her. then to twist things up even more she raised him to believe he was the king of all he saw, and must conquer it with force, and then would tear him down again with how he ruined her. nice huh.

those are my human parents- how much time do i give to feeling sorry for them, "getting over them", having to figure out how to wrap it all up in some semblence of "caring" for them.

you know what happened to me? well that will be for future children to relate one day in fragments if they ever find out- but i will never make them pay for what happened to me. why do i feel like we, my brothers and i paid for everything my parents went through?

i wrote this for something else last year

11/24/2002 6:42:00 PM

..teary eyed golden statue-ette holders are loved for and even encouraged to credit their personal victories to their parents and the kind of person mommy and daddy made them by their words and actions. its loved when its good.. but when you are losing or one of the lost, its your fault and yours alone, "so get over it".. said to your face or back. all you can hope for is to be able to accomplish something with the time left you after the years of "getting over it". then if those golden statue-ettes come your way hold it up and say "my parents had nothing to do with this.."

you may not think it, but i still have a lot of nice things to think about mom- she at least tried. i have to come to grips with the weird way i feel about her. after her stroke, and she began to heal from it, and how scared she was- it was as if i didn't have a right to bad feelings.. because of being frail, because of being harmed. because once when she was a kid in that rural place the circus came to town and she couldn't go because her brother hid her shoes and her mother told her they wouldn't wait for her. she cried. thats the balance that i am forced to find, its not easy when understanding has to be based on feeling sorry for the past of a person but i have to balance. i think in her case i'll find some peace with her. but i also have to okay with the fact that some people never deserve understanding. that sucks too because sometimes like some cute shiny thing (and i love cute shiny things) something hints that it would still forgive my father- and then the majority of me feels betrayed. talk about schitzo feelings. i have to figure that one out.

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