la vérité vous placera libre.

ok i'm going to bite the bullet and say what i really wanted to say in that last entry. that was nothing more than a fluffer piece that was shotty at best. it was recently told to me that when i write pieces that refer to my memories concerning my biological father, that i am seeking attention and trying to manipulate people into feeling sorry for me. i have been stewing on that mouthful for a few days. i have finally formulated my response to that incredibly gauche accusation.


when i write out my memories, my feelings, my thoughts, my theories on all things in connection with the Evil Faux Czar, i am not writing them to attract attention. i am writing them to purge the poison from my being, from my soul. i could care less if it attracted attention. i am not purging for that reason; i am doing so to expedite the healing process. and as far as my revealing my thoughts and etc. to evoke people feeling sorry for me,... well that is just a mere joke right there. seriously. people are laughing, alright. but not at me. they are laughing at his expense, not mine. they are laughing at his behavior and his actions. i do not need or want to try and even think, let alone actually do, about making people feel sorry for me. the truth speaks for itself. therefore, i could care less. and if they are aware of the truth, then they know everything. everything from the reason behind the reason my mom divorced him, to the reason i stopped my visitations with him, and even the reason behind my stupid mistakes as a teenager that had to do with him. they know the true reason he died, and the reason i was disinherited. the truth is a funny thing. in this instance anyways. it vindicates and exposes everything.

i was far from innocent as a teenager with my time with him. i made my careless and highly irresponsible mistakes. i am adult enough to admit it. i hurt my mom and that side of the family. and for that i shall forever carry a sense of shame and guilt. but as with real families, we've moved on and grown from it. i asked for forgiveness from my mom and from God. someday maybe i can forgive myself. i accept responsibility for my actions. however, i refuse to accept responsibility for his behavior. what continues to baffle me, and always will, is that when somebody dies, people automatically sanctify them and recall them as saints during their living life. that is stupidity in its finest form. i am not doing the opposite either, i am not vilifying him. i am speaking hard, cold truths. nothing more, nothing less. people who sanctify those who are departed are delusional, in my opinion. romanticizing a departed's walking life is one's own disguise of shame or guilt. maybe something else; i don't know. i'm not in that position, so i am in no place to speak of what emotion that it is. i am merely hypothesizing. if i appear cold, i am not. you see, i mourned the loss of MY daddy over twenty years ago.



the man who died and carelessly took his wife with him was a stranger to me. herein lies the irony; he was a stranger whom i knew all too well. i may not have been an active participant in his everyday life, but i knew how he worked from the inside out. i am a product of HIS dna. unfortunately his blood courses through my veins. court papers legalize things, but when you get down to it, his blood coursing through everyone's veins cannot be said for all involved. i knew what made him tick; what set him off; his addictions, his ghosts, his nightmares, and even the reminiscence of what infinitesimal bit of good he once had within him from eons ago.

i do not wish to carry forth any sort of relationship with the person who made me highly defamatory and flat out false allegations against me. i have said before that i wish her the best and i still do. i just have no room in my life for such fallacy. that belongs on that side of the family. which, by the way, ARE my family too. they are my family genetically and nothing more. my real and true family is who i have in my daily life currently. that is where you will find forgiveness, incessant love, compassion, and empathy. so i say to you, to make all the allegations you want against me, recall him and her in the utmost illusional recollections possible. but there is one thing remaining amidst all of the mud and muck; the truth. it is there that i find my freedom.

"sunday kind of love,..."

alas, my interwebber friends, i have returned to the abode. my time spent in darlington was awesome; there is truly nothing better than spending good quality time with your friends and loved ones.


the wife and i were supposed to go down to the lowcountry today but were deterred by the weather. how unfortunate, because i was looking forward to smelly the special smell of the marshes and being in awe of the landscape... and not to mention, taking that first deep breath of the wonderful salty air of the carolina coast!! i suppose today will be another lazy sunday spent napping and eating boiled pnuts. can't get much better than that!!

GISM #4 of 365:
i am grateful for true friends.

reba delivers.

i was sure today would be a rather shitty one, due to the fantastically shitastic email i had awaiting me on my.space. by the way, to the non-disgruntled readers of my blog: heed not my last blog entry. the subject of that person will not be brought up again, as there is no room in my life for such fuckery. but i digress, when Honey came in with today's mail, i just about damn near had a massive coronary. i saw this huge brown envelope with my name on it from starstruck productions. i.got.something.in.the.mail.from.fucking.REBA.MCENTIRE.

holy shit, yall. i had evidently won a contest from her fan club. Honey couldn't get the package opened fast enough. i won an autographed picture (an actual picture and actual autograph, not one of those fake pictures with a stamped signature), an autographed CD of her current single, Strange, ...AND her box set of her 50 Greatest Hits. i can always count on Reba to make things all better for me. hell, after the funeral in Dec '07 is when i won backstage passes to meet her in Jan '08. i posted my loot below and pointed to the autographs in red arrows. :-)

attention!! disgruntled blog readers!!

**Let me make an amendment to this blog, by all means. The facts in THIS blog are either a) as they were TOLD to me DIRECTLY from 'family members,' or b) from MY OWN fucking memories. I have made it a SOLID POINT to NOT mention ANYONE by their REAL names. That is on purpose, as to protect the identities of your precious family. If you don't like what I write, and recall things from MY POINT OF VIEW, from the WAY I FUCKING REMEMBER them, ... then there is a SIMPLE solution: Fuck off. Got that, J? Fuck Off. My blog. My rules. My memories. Easy as that. Simply because I know things you don't, and I recall things AS THEY WERE, doesn't mean they didn't happen. DON'T FUCKING COME READ MY SHIT IF YOU HATE ME SO GOD DAMNED MUCH.**

today's art project...

stepping stones for our front yard. :-)

contemplating.

"what a quandary," exclaims Mrs. Peggy Ingram. and bless my stars, was she right. i have never been in this strange and foreign predicament that i am currently in. my house is totally clean. i have NOTHING left to clean. this has NEVER happened to me before; it feels too damn weird. i feel it is as if i am shamefully betraying my heritage, the very fabric of my upbringing. if my mama knew, she'd surely shit herself. okay well maybe not, but she'd damn sure make some type of snide comment.

growing up in a house with one angry thirteen year old, one innocent four year old, and brand new one month old twin boys meant a very chaotic house. there were always clothes to be folded, put away, bottles to be made, messes to clean, and food to be cooked. looking back now as an adult and being finally freed of my monster in the dark (aka the Evil Faux Czar), i can see the things that i should have done to make things better for my mom and for the greater good of the household. however, aside from the normal hormonal imbalances occurring at the time in my body and suffering the abuse from my evil monster in the dark, i couldn't tell my ass from my head. left or right, up or down... it was all the same to me. there was so much that i was unable to comprehend back then. and to tell you the truth, there's still some that i don't get to this day. i've accepted it but it doesn't mean i have forgiven it, or that any of it was okay. it happened. i can't change the past. so i move on and learn from his mistakes. if anything, i can say quite adamantly that the cycle stops here.

i still am waging an inner civil war from within myself on whether or not i am worthy enough of certain things. that is perhaps the biggest thing that i have trouble choking down. i am trying to take responsibility for my foolish and down right stupid behavior in my past and the repercussions that followed. but this, however, this issue stems directly from him. his actions continue to haunt me until this day. i cannot help but to wonder until when the day will come to wen i am even free of his ghost, of his memory, of his chains of abuse. the first time i ever stood up to him still mystifies me completely. long story short: my Nana had a brain tumor for which she had surgery to remove. it so happened that the surgery landed on 'his weekend.' (he did the part time custodial thing. at least on court papers that is.) so i called him to let him know that i couldn't come because of my Nana. to no surprise, he flew off in a rage. he screamed at me through the phone so loud that my mom heard him from across the room that i was in. his cursed filled tirade threw sharp daggers at me like, "what has she ever done for you? she's not even related to you and you want to be there for her when its my god damned weekend?!" yeah, it was so not cool. i was so taken back by his reaction to my not being able to come to his house for the weekend, that i mustered up the courage to tell him that i just would not be coming anymore, period. if i thought the Nana screaming diatribe was bad, boy was i ever sorely mistaken. what followed was nothing short of pure hatred. venom. anger. rage. abhorrence. i started crying on the phone because he broke me; i couldn't take it anymore and had to give the phone to my mama. she promptly hung up on his ass. i remember curling up into a ball in her lap sobbing once more for the daddy i didn't have.

what i will never understand is what happened back before i was a teenager and did do the stupid and irresponsible things that i did. how can a man loathe his own child? a child, for pete's sake. an innocent, snaggle toothed, pig tail wearing child who loved playing on the slip 'n slide during the hot summers. how does a man do that? i doubt i will ever discover that answer. i love my damn dogs more than that sonofabitch ever loved me. how sad is that, i ask you. i can only hope that he loved his other daughter more than me. i know he pretty much thought his son could walk on water. my dad's mother thought the same of him. i would be lying to you if i said that i did not ponder about his other daughter. i often wonder if she has realized what type of mother she had. now that she is a mother herself, i wonder if she gets it. her own mom told her to not come home for christmas because she got along better with my dad when she wasn't there. and then they died. that christmas. i wonder how that makes her feel. but she and i are oil and water, even though it used to not be that way. we were never close exactly but we tolerated each other alright. before they died she did share some things with me on his antics and baffling behavior towards her, to show me it wasn't just me whom he hated. i had/have mixed feelings on that. but what i find puzzling is her current frame of thinking that they were excellent parents. like that because they both died, it excuses their different types of abuse. nothing pardons that, not even their deaths.


i do wish her well, because i do still care. i don't want to care but i can't help it. i loved her at one point in time. and now as an adult i have come to find that you just simply cannot erase love or hate. you can break the cycle, but you cannot forget it.

no crip, nor blood, just a violent farting gang.

i am a daily reader of the blog, texts from last night. some of the entries suck, as can be expected. and then there are those gems that come along every once in a blue moon that just tickle my fancy. this is one of them:

(773): Let's start a violent farting gang. We can do walkbys.