Brief Blatherings of Who am I

Walking Alone (7)

Most of you who read this or are new here probably think you know me as some pompous philosopher who hates niggers, the government, and dammit just wishes that everyone would think a little more. There is no face to who I am, little emotion, its clear I am from amerikkka, and I am extremely critical. But there is a depth to me. I was not home schooled (no, my parents did not CARE about my education, my learning enough to actually WANT to teach me THEMSELVES); I was sent off to all the institutions most everyone else got sent to; I wasn’t beaten brutally, nor was anything sexually done horribly to me. But, I was raised by a family that was my natural-born mother, and by a step father who at first was a fun guy, but once his ring was on my mom’s finger, he and her communicated mostly by belittlement, torment, silence, alcohol, sexual fulfillment, and by ignoring me, or leaving me to entertain myself. My father died when I was two, in a small airplane crash, and even though my mother had divorced him, I still do not think it had much of an impact on her, as she was already dating my “new” daddy. But, it actually would have a huge impact on her, as since my father had not filled out a will, I was his only legal heir, which meant all the social security money was to come to me, as well as his insurance settlement. She also received the exact same social security payment as I did, which she would continue to receive as long as she did not remarry. But, alas, she decided to remarry, give up HER money, and what the hell, she would just take mine, as I was only 3 at the time, so it wasn’t like I could cash the checks myself. All in all, including the social security and insurance money, she took a grand total of $180,000 from me. But of course, like any true statist, she said it was hers, as her name was on the checks too, and it was not my dad’s true wishes to leave me the money, it was just because he had no will. I always said, “of course he would have wanted my mom to have had the money, so she could spend it with her new husband and on the daughter my real dad would have never met.” This was the woman who tried to teach me about banking and economics as I grew up? And if I ever questioned her about what was the deal with the money, why she thought it was hers to spend, she would always reply with no thought, caring, or warmth, only with the reply to “Sue her.”

So sure I was independent growing up, but it was mostly because I did not want to be around these people who supposedly should’ve cared for me, had me as their best interest. Maybe with a more loving, communicative family I would have grown up to be a real strong fasist like the rest of the americans who vote and are fascinated with cops and judges and going the speed limit and being a robot? But I wasn’t. I didn’t get to choose the people who raised me, but I did get to hone my response to them, and from the time I knew that she was stealing money from me, age 6 exactly, I resented her, I hated her (I didn’t really acknowledge my step father, no matter how deep or loud his yells were), and yet at the same time I wondered why she was what she was? Who looks at their first-born, steals from him, justifies it, and then tries to rebuke him for any supposed statist moral derivation he makes? When deception falls from the mouth of the woman whom is supposed to be the epicenter of the universe for a small boy, how is he ever supposed to trust again? Was it skepticism that developed within my mind or something deeper, more like a complex questioning that came out of the mouths of all those who were supposed “authorities?” I lived, I grew up in a world of shallow doublespeak, where words and their abstract derivations took on whatever whim someone felt at the time, and where dictionaries were even frowned upon in games of scrabble.

I bring this up for several reasons, this glimpse into a past, my past, as it always amazes me to look at how lucky I was to witness the mechanisms of the moronic manipulative state my whole life, where, “do as I say, not as I do,” and “if you don;t like it you can leave,” were tossed around as far back as I can remember, and because just recently, even though I have lived on my own since my 18th birthday, and I knew what a cunt this bitch was, and how empty my step father was, they were so adept at pulling my strings, at making me feel as though it were I who had done the bad things, as though it was I who was the emotionally guilty one–I finally said a final goodbye. The past can weigh so heavily upon us mortals, can be the only valuable baggage we can take with us across the present bridge to the future, and I have always thought that in order to become better, one must learn from the past, which meant to me that I must take the past around with me everywhere I go, as though I am to lug this giant anvil upon my back. Communication can hurt, and it is most definitely not from things or words that others can say, but all of the things they could’ve said, all of the reflections they could’ve made, all of the ponderings they could’ve done and shared, but they didn’t. And communication is this machine, not one that requires a complex programmers knowledge, but can be learned by anyone, it only requires three things, patience, time and listening. And I will continue to hammer this point out, one must learn to listen to all of the nuances within himself before he can hear the subtle variations of meaning that emanate from others. Time is needed to calm the self, to clear distractions, to focus, and to make it clear what is important. Patience is the extra element that is required for one to listen to the language, to decode the message, to reformulate that message back to the other and to reach an agreement upon meaning and how interpretation is supposed to continue and proceed. Only the patient define specifically what they are talking about and make sure there is no confusion.

So I ended it. I cut the strings, and I drive around the same city, knowing they are probably driving around too, and I realize that I have never really known those people I grew up with, that they are the same strangers I see driving in other cars all around me at any time of the day. My main goal has been to unlearn all of this mis and dis-information that has been forced into my brain, either through repetition, familiarity or learned processes. And what exactly has been the one force in my life that has tried to be a voice in my head: My family’s (and that includes my sister, who is merely another clone of my zombie mom). So in reality, and there has literally been this release felt by me, it has been like I have said good-bye to all I was programmed to know. This serves not only as a literal good-bye, but also as millions of metaphorical leavings that will continue to fall from the tree of my being for the rest of my life. But even more so than that, I am finally giving myself the chance to say hello to a present, a present where I am free from doublespeak, free from convention, free from clichés, free from blank stares, free from small talk, free from manipulations, free from emotional abuse, free from non felt hugs and kisses, and free from the confusion of non-expression expression.

we all start somewhere, in some period of time, and we find our self surrounded by people with big heads all staring down at us, with ideas in their heads for why and what they brought us into this world for, and what means they will use us to achieve their ends. the child’s language is built up by these manipulators, whomever they are, teachers, friends, parents, adults, whatever. they all lie to some extent. they all steal, whether monetary objects or the freedoms that could have been in your life but you will never know. they all murder, whether it is actual flesh and blood or not, murdering the innocence, the calm, the expression, the confindence, the joy, the playfulness, is still murder.

i’m just relieved i was able to witness the lies on full display from the time i was young, and that it was done with such openness and flaunted with a who cares attitude. those days are behind me now. i was able to come to the value of the individual, of my self, because i saw the ugliness and the disgust in those people who i was forced to live with, as they are just like the state.

i feel sorry for all of you who have been made to care for your captors, to make excuses for them, and to think that they will some day change.

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