I stare at this blinking cursor, cursing how it is synchronizing to my heart beat. Someone’s heart just stopped. Yet, the cursor still blinks. “I have so much trouble on my mind, here’s your ticket to watch this writer get wicked.” Yeah Chuck I am biting your rhymes, cause something in gnawing away at me inside. It’s the ticking of the clock. The pulse of the cursor, the pulse I feel in me.
Time: A non-spatial continuum in which events occur in apparently irreversible succession from the past through the present to the future. I think often about the events in my life that are out of my control. How thing might have been different or how might have been different by events that evolved around me. I have no one to talk to, no shoulder to moisten with the water not from the ground or the sky, I have myself and no one else. So man up and hold it in! I will vent in my own way. I want to use my fists instead my fingers will do.
The first event which shaped my life was a war. Funny to think people dying would be the only reason you exist at all. Men killing men, expelling and displacing populations and then relocation; reproduction continues, but is it a twisted off shoot of a normal timeline? Had my Grandfather not been tortured and killed by the Soviets and my father become a freedom fighter, I would not be. He would have been a normal farmer grown up and married a large breasted Hungarian woman and had babies. That would have been too simple, life is chaos and when you think about so are we.
My grandfather was a State police trooper. I never knew him, but was told he was a respected well-like-gentlemen. After his death and the desolation of the people of Hungary, life for them changed. I think this changed my father’s outlook on life in which skewed his view of the family unit as a whole. So when he fled and became a citizen of the United States, he was jaded and maybe not the same person he would have been.
He met my mother had children and was an alcoholic-womanizing-asshole from the accounts I heard. There were a lot of times that he was gone out of my life, but I accepted him back and we tried to have a normal relationship. I question if seeing all the death and destruction altered his mind and reality. Would he have been the same farmer growing up in peace, maybe? But chaos stepped in and gave life’s nipple a bit of a twist.
He died thousands of miles away with a wife twenty years younger than him with no immediate family around him for his funeral. He died as he lived, distant and not there for the ones he should have been supporting and loving. Three days notice and fifteen hundred dollar airfare each kept us from attending. Hell I could not even get a passport in that amount of time. Another male figure in my blood line passes without even a notice from my family or friends. At least he has the family crypt to be buried in, he spruced It up nice when he found out he had terminal lung cancer and told no one. Well at least not me.
Information: Knowledge of specific events or situations that has been gathered or received by communication; intelligence or news. Who decides in a family what information is disseminated to whom? Did I miss the memo? Is it because I am the youngest and couldn’t handle the truth? You find things out later in life. Stories, mixed with dreams, dressed up with lies, the ties that bind. Secrets that when you want to examine them you later in life you find the truth. Examples: When my mother slammed her VW bug into a tree after leaving the bar drunk working as a barmaid, I was told she slid on leaves. When I was told that my step father slipped on ice and had a huge slit in his belly I believed it. He was stabbed working at as a bouncer at a bar, same bar I don’t know. But how many more lies await me? They pile up and weigh you down. Was my father such a bad person? I have only on perceptional side of the story. Did I seethe and hate a person, yet accept him only to have him scurry off and die for nothing? Was my inner self sending a message that maybe he was not as bad as described? Being raised by mostly women while fearing the only male figure in my life has changed the person I might have been as well.
Fear: A feeling of disquiet or apprehension. Fear is not a factor anymore. I have faced mine. I confronted it at seventeen and knocked it on its ass. Since then I fear no beast or man. Pain is pain, you heal. Experience teaches you how to deal. But then when you think what could have been or not been, you’re digging too much. How deep must you bury the past? Well I have my miners hat on, let’s find out.
Being raise by mostly women gave me a unique aspect on the how the female mind works. I might have not had the macho exterior handed down from generation to generation in the male gender. I had the,”I am an outsider.” mentality and the company of women. Maybe that is why I feel the need to please and comfort more than the need to hoard such feelings for myself. The bravado that might have served me well in my youth did not develop until a later time when I found my inner self. I was not a macho man youth, a quiet sensitive type. The type girls want as friends and not lovers.
I found my stride in my twenties. The studies and learning bore fruit in my life both by making friends and lovers. I was the ear to whisper in and the shoulder to cry on for a while. That act got old real fast. I would see total ass wholes treating women disgracefully and the women would run back in a minute to these dirt bags. Then I learned a powerful lesson, one I keep to myself; for now.
Being surrounded by anger creates anger. Energy is release unbeknown to the source which corrupts the environment in which it exists. Be it good or bad energy. You see this everyday in every person you come across. We are a bunch of bumper cars bouncing of each other’s existence. Be it an unruly client and or customer to the guy that cut you off and gave you the finger. He just exchanged energy with you. This is the chaos in which humans exist. Families have this transfer on a daily and minute to minute basis. Other exchanges occur randomly based upon your location and the amount of time spent interacting with others. Misanthropic people are everywhere. Most times I can deal and I am a happy go lucky person who enjoys life to the fullest, other times I am a gun waiting to go off.