Category Quick Jump
Thoughts on Gun Control
I’m unhappy because I have no will power. I get up in the morning, read my email, check Facebook, check my three Twitter accounts – post a notice for the conference I’m organizing - check my email again…
I think about all I have to do…
Work out, the dishes, bit of work for one client, bit of work for another…
Brush my teeth…
The brushing of the teeth is the killer, each morning and night – do you believe that a 45 year old woman has trouble getting up in the morning and going to bed at night because she hates brushing her teeth? It’s true.
Brushing teeth is boring. My life is filled with boring and no – IT IS NOT MY FAULT!!
What is my fault is not standing up for what I need: abandoning writing, abandoning photography, abandoning video-making…
Abandoning my siblings... I should not have shut down when I was eighteen. I should not have let my Mother kill my spirit. I should have continued to fight her.. But I was on the edge of sanity!
Have you ever had that weird rush of adrenaline and thoughts – like, the thoughts aren’t even coming from you; they’re just pouring into your brain and consciousness like Derek Jensen decided not to write that morning?*
I’ve experienced that.
I was going back to university after another miserable, failed attempt to find joy among my birth family (more specifically, with my Mother).
I was sitting in the back seat of the family car, with my Mom and someone else. My Dad and brother were in the front seat. I was squished, in the middle, in the area where there’s no dip for the third person to sit, straddling the casing for the car chassis.
My Mom was sitting beside me because she insists that my brother is now old enough to sit in the front seat, with my Dad.
I wanna puke. I really, really, really wanna puke. She’s never done this before.
We’re on our way to the airport. I’m going back to school. I haven’t lived at home for awhile – was kicked out during Grade 13 and am kind of estranged. Mom wants me to quit school; I wanna die. University is basically the only thing between death and life, as far as I’m concerned. When I’m reading, I don't feel. I don't cry (or at least not for myself). I don't shut everything inside off. I stop holding myself so still that I feel nothing and concentrate on that - maintaining that. Something I learned to do 4 years ago…
So, even though I’m relatively indifferent to university, I wanna go.
I do not want to sit beside my Mom for the next hour.
She offered to drive me to the airport but I said No. Said I’d take the bus in, in the morning: the school bus that drives around the countryside each day picking up… people… usually older, overweight men and women… a distinctive look: caved in faces, coarse skin, curly, dull hair, squat and slow moving… not a whole lot of light in their eyes and if there is light there, it’s kinda creepy and glinting, not freely given and shared… These are the kind of people I’d rather ride with.
My Dad says he’ll drive me in. I’m cool with that. But of course, come time to leave, my Mom insists that she’s going too…
So, I’m sitting there, can’t remember exactly what’s going on but I imagine my Mom is talking, perhaps about how men should sit in the front seat when they turn of age (16 or so), while women should ride in the back…
There’s a rush, or perhaps, more like an attack. I envision this little stream, but it’s more like a creek flowing furiously in the spring: the creek where you spent your summer days walking on rocks, trapping crayfish and looking at skater bugs – the ones with the big long arms splayed out like X’s on the stream’s surface – This stream is nothing like that. It's spring! The ground is muddy, wet, half snow covered. The snow is crystalline and crunchy, like cold, tasteless, colour drained brown sugar. It’s windy and we should stay away from the creek, we’ve been told.
But I want it back! I want to see the bugs. I know it’s dangerous.
Gun control is good because if I’d had a gun, or even a knife – oh, what am I saying; I could have beat her – I could have grabbed her by the throat and squeezed out her life like so much toothpaste… I could have screamed at her. I coulda punched her til she shut the fuck up and bled like a father fucking… Christmas Turkey?
But I was in "All Systems Down," focusing on Not. Feeling. Anything.
An evil, hissing, narrow tunnel of words came winding in from the top left of my skull: She’s uselessdeservesdeathsaveyour brothersandsisterkill her. She’s insanehurtingyour brotherssavethem!itsnotwrong to shut her upjaildoesn’tmatterits the right thingtodoblightonsociety. Do the Right thing. terror.
I can’t remember who was in the car to my left but it was probably my youngest or second youngest brother – who’s names I won’t bring into this even though they’re big, beautiful, wonderful men now, with children of their own.
“Beautiful” is the wrong word...
"Must use the right adjective for the right sex. Men are Strong; Women are Fragile and Incapacitated. Women are Fainting. Women are Falling Into the Arms of Men all over the World. Men are Catching Them. (Sex will be Had.)"
...But my Brothers are beautiful, strong and handsome, and every good thing in the world while my sister’s filled with pain that I can’t even reach and she’s not here cause she’s never anywhere.
If there’s one person I never want to experience being it’s my sister when we were kids. My father’s shy temperament in a younger version of me and my mom: two she-devils. We’d dessimate my sister and have her for lunch. And she’d reappear: ghostly but unkillable, probably laughing at us on some level: "Go ahead, eat me again!"
A desperate, hollow, killer/killer’s victim’s laugh. Sanity and insanity’s baby – is she God?
So it was probably P or M, beside me, and D in the front seat, beside Dad. Criminey!
* Derek Jensen says that every morning he asks himself if he should write or blow up a dam. If you know the exact quote, with reference, please forward!
Image from: dic.academic.ru/dic.nsf/ruwiki/349505
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