Family happens*

August 22, 2009 § Leave a comment


Sometimes I want to get tattoos of everyone’s names on my fucking breast. Just on top of my heart which functions unproperly, and cover that shit up with scribblings of names, even the names that have crosses over them. That would make me see how easily I am ready to give away my heart. And to those who know me of the calm and collected non-lover that I am will see how really involved I can get. It’s a bizarre world and even gets worse that we have to function together like a giant clan of non believers stuck with those trying to rule us and, man, I cannot even follow things properly anymore.

I have been living in my summer village, a town that is only blue and green and even in the hottest days of summer still offers a most softest breeze that will give you the chills. When I wake up in the morning I look around and all I see is water and islands far in the back, and never have they invited me because I figure we all sort of belong where we are anyway. And I always walk barefoot because it is only earth and grass and stones and sand I am walking on. There is a puppy so mischievous and so smart but loves me so very much, and I spend most of my time cuddling with her, telling her of my greatest secrets and sometimes we take naps together.

This continues about till 9pm which is dinner time if you live in this house. It becomes awfully harder to live with old people, given the way they are at this age. My grandparents aren’t those that tell you lessons of history, of how they had to live off wheat and shitty food for years because Smyrna was under attack, of how they watched it burn down to the shithole that it is today from their window, of how the amount of foreigners living in it have diminished and now except for some oooold locals, the new people pretty much suck donkeys ass. [which isn’t even a good enough insult] They don’t tell you the sadness of having lost a child, or growing up in the revolution, of having seen a damn country being put together. They are the ones that tell you to bring a jacket with you because it might get cold, or tell you that what you are eating is bad or is that a tattoo on your chest?

Perhaps if I lacked cruiosity, if I didn’t bother at all of history and the stories, I would have been fine living under the same roof with people who treat me like I am a spoiled 3 year old brat that doesn’t understand nothing of things that matter. I read about pain and love and history in the books. No one ever talks in this family as much as I.

As I leave the house to drink liquids to make my brain and heart numb, I don’t recognize this face in the mirror anymore. I feel I have lost something by living here as a peasant. Laugh now, but my life values have been altered, the communism and latin music coming from Havana seems like the best option to me. I am ready to give everything just to stay in this house that looks to the sea, live peacefully with my dog and think of absurdities throughout the day and die everyday little by little as I sip my way to numbness. It isn’t about the burning desire that I want to be what the ever so fucking blind Americans call “The City Girl” and forget about my senses and my experience in this world as a human and be immune and incapable of real emotion and fucking kill myself worse than how I do it now by existing amongst blinding lights, endless noises, herds of other humans walking on top of me, a smell so unreal and bothering, live in a tiny cubicle and call it an apartment, and fuck beautiful people who are unaware of all the things I have been talking about. This must be depression on the rocks with a splash of lime.

*Reads like a motherfucking tagline, doesn’t it?


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