Updated: Mar 2
Yup. Not only am I late, I've also been sick with some kind of persistent upper respiratory, viral infection. It clings on to live, when I just want to be able to function without coughing so hard from a throat that looks more like discounted ground chuck and enough damage that I've lost my voice for two days thus far. I wanted to continue where I had left off from last week, but it had seemed as though my brain, both for good and for ill, had moved on to another topic. So, let's see if I can't link it all back together, maybe.
What always struck me about this drawing most was how naked the eye looked. Can you see it? The round shape is almost perfect, but there's something crucial missing. Hair. Sure there's a full, neatly shaped brow trying to edge its way in to the drawing, but not one single eyelash, upper lid or lower. At the time, I hadn't even noticed. The baron, starkness of the white skin of the paper felt hard, so hard that sure, a bush of hair could manage to grow atop it perhaps, but a few individual lashes stood no chance against the stone skin. It won't crack, but it will weep.
But for what?
The very blue tears run down and over the lower lid, as though it retracted fully underneath the eye. Vulnerability exposed. The full moon's rabbit tries to hide behind the dead trees of winter, colored in autumn tones. There will be no food for it to find, and with the moon's full light, the rabbit will make for a glorious meal for the invisible, and ever present owl. The vulnerable brown eye looks down and away in shame.
I see that now, just because that's where my mind finds itself tonight.
I suppose that this wasn't too far afield from where I wanted to continue, for it's that same struggle I feel as though I waste too much time in combating. Seven years ago, I found myself vulnerable and terrified by a man, my evil-ex-step-father, who shall not be named, but referred to as EESF, who was no longer in my world, physically that is. His vicious marks from the past, forever marked on my brain, somehow within the chemistry between the neurons, never went away.
So I chose to forget about them. To give them no thought, I though, would make them fade away into nothing, and eventually become a thing that never happened. Clearly, this didn't work. From the age to ten to sixteen, this man was apart of my life, and the life of my sisters and mother of course. I know people say others are just evil, and I'd like to believe that the overwhelming majority of that was just the hyperbolic speech of the day we live in, that being 2020 (who knows, perhaps this will be around still in another 20 years, context and timing is king), but EESF was evil.
And though I had tried to forget about him, he only grew stronger forced to live in the shadows, that dark turns and folds of membrane easily make. It's as though that complex folding and density upon density of grey matter which is vital for who we are, is also the perfect breeding ground for fear, hate, and vengeance to fester in those turns. I want to be clear, EESF was, and if the asshole is still alive, (and still a Christian - I'll have to explain that too, now, sigh - who thought writing a blog was like writing a diary for everyone to see, and shockingly autobiographical - okay, it's kinda obvious) he's pure evil.
When we moved out from Westgate, and up to Taylor Ranch, EESF was the vice-president of construction for one of three housing companies that built hundreds, and hundreds houses from 1985 to 1989 in Taylor Ranch, a small subdivision of the ever growing burbs of Albuquerque's Westside. The house on Blue Pine was on a very large corner lot that left about twice the square footage of the house as back yard. And that backyard looked not much different that this pic above.
While in the process of planting trees, in The Orchard, a gathering of ten trees about an arch nearest to the outside corner of the lot which were various fruit trees, I was finishing up with the shovel or pick-axe, those were often tools he assigned to me given my natural strength and endurance, and headed back to the small TUFF shed where the yard tools were kept. The door was already slid open, and as I turned into the she, EESF had both of his meaty hand around the throat of my youngest sister, choking her as he held her just aloft that her tippy toes uselessly sought the ground.
We all froze. It felt like an eternity. Then, without so much as a word, he released her and left the shed. Evil, pure evil. This was only one such incident, out of so many others, like teaching my sisters math incorrectly so that they would fail in class, and tests. Threatening future violence if anyone spoke out of turn, or told the cops anything that conflicted with what he had said.
This was the monster that still lived in my head. But it had adapted, mutated, while fusing itself with my darkness. All of a sudden, I was like him and I hadn't noticed. I'd lose my shit at the slightest error I felt was simple to remember, by talking down to others, showing them "how simple" it was to do, and that "anyone could do this." The violence wasn't there, but that was something I had to learn in the Army to control, but yeah, that didn't go well either.
The first lesson in violence, and what it's good for shall be where I pick up next week, and hopefully on time, with my voice back. In the meantime, have a poke about the site, or on any of my social medias: