Friday, December 30, 2011

Familial Madness (Tim)

I was born in a clean sterile hospital in England (the first in the family, as I was to be told over and over and over). It was while my parents were trying to move to the States where there was a stronger tradition of allowing people with smarts to get ahead in life. And that's what they wanted. I suppose that I always got what I wanted, and my parents were always able to create a world where I was allowed to do what I wanted, so long as it was learning and getting good grades. They allowed me to paint, of course, but that was only when I was young and they were willing to let some aspects of America leak into the house. 


I sense, I always sensed, that they were not particularly pleased with America and only took the material wealth available to them with a slight hesitation. Whenever I asked a few questions to pry into what it was that they truly thought, they always shut me out. Like they had a secret that would possibly destroy me. I tried not to let it get to me, after all it was something that I knew I shouldn't have dwelt upon, and yet I did. And yet I couldn't help it (I really wish I could put this into words, because it only makes me mad. There was something in the way they held this secret back, as if they knew it was more powerful than themselves, as if they had already been vanquished since before I was born; as if America were somehow to blame for their material wealth, as if they never wanted to play this game, but play it they would because it was this or the gallows for them). 
Something about the entire enterprise, even when we moved out of our crappy basement apartment and into a neighborhood that I soon learned to hate (I loved it at the start, since it looked like a neighborhood out of a TV show, but soon I hated everyone in it, hated how they all acted the same, no matter what they looked like). Such is life. But I was a teen as I came into this realization that everything around me was something all wanted to attain, and yet was something I found revolting. Whatever game it was that my parents felt forced to play, I wanted no parts of.

That's why I finally started to do into the basement and started to create a world that would never play by any rules except for the one I wanted. Except for truth. My parents immediately hated this. Hated any of the games I came up with. I suspect that they would have been happier if I had done these games on a computer or something like it. But I didn't, and the way the world works, I knew they knew this behavior would send me into the poorhouse. But I didn't care. Every time I went down there I was transported into another world. A whole other world.

And as this new stretching of my mind occurred, I soon learned that standing at a certain spot in my basement would result in an odd feeling that I can only assume was a portal. Mind you that I didn't care for that word, and would never have mentioned it to Gerad if I hadn't been absolutely sure. Of course, I was doing a little drugs then. There was no way to not do them, not in a school full of teachers and students who could only be labeled the most conformist types ever. 
But oh that world, that alien world was something else. It was they who encouraged me to keep on creating what I was creating. When I showed the basement and all to Gerad, I trusted him. I thought that being of the same generation and being that we both had much in common (had laughed at the same musical tracks and laughed at our parents for being that sort of immigrant crazy that no one else at school had to deal with) and that maybe he would appreciate the 3D go game. When he merely asked a few inane questions about the game, I knew I had made a mistake. When I told him about the alien world, he immediately seemed to want to run out of the room. I let him.

Didn't expect, however, the betrayal. That hurt the most. A long line of therapists then ensured. It was sad, perhaps even almost changed me. In the end, though, it didn't. I saw through this myriad of losers trying to reach back in bourgeoisie history for their heroes. Oh man. Therapists who only thought that living in a neighborhood like mine was fine, and the only think missing were a few more drugs to help me be happy and not so 'weird'. 
My first mistake was to tell the shrink that I didn't want to be normal and to mingle with idiots like their kids and the rest of those in the neighborhood. I knew the angle they were taking: that being a gregarious animal I should mingle no matter what, but I didn't want to hear it. That's when the drugs threw me into a fog. I stopped taking them when I started to act nice to idiots. I knew then that the shrink was there to make sure there were no aberrations in the suburban utopia we were living in. When I pointed out all the evil in the world and what we had to do to fight it, the shrink said it wasn't on me. And so said every bourgeoisie guard ever. 

I left the house as soon as I could. Even though I loved my parents, I couldn't handle the thought of dealing with their lobotomy. I went underground and luckily found some people who understood, who knew the growing discontent of the world and knew the iniquities (just like the aliens did, and just like the aliens managed to banish it from their world) and knew the violence needed to keep the world the way it was and wanted to fight it, not accept it (not believe that violence was bad when it was already everywhere). And so we moved on and started to throw Molotov cocktails at shops, and now my 3D go game helped because I could burn the stores that needed to be burned, but never have an algorithm judge my next move.
But that's all in the past. I still think on the aliens, though I haven't seen them in ages. I will never forget them. It was they who helped me to become the man I am today. Perhaps you think that I'm not much of a man, but I'm the head of a very viable cell in the upcoming revolution. And are these aliens  (or some of you might be snickering and still think it was the drugs that forced me to believe in these aliens, in UFOs) the true cause of this revolution? Are they somehow infecting out world only to weaken it so that they many take what they want? I'm not sure. What did the Native Americans think as disease ravaged their peoples, tore apart their societies before  the Europeans came through and slaughtered them wholesale? 
I'm not sure about any of that, but I am sure that the aliens are here to help. They surely help me come up with some of the ideas that have helped us survive and fight against the drones and the powers that are committing genocide as we speak. Ah, what would my parents think of all this? My parents would not be proud, but then they came from another generation. They simply don't understand the forces at work here. They would simply think that I'm crazy.

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