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| cameraphones, hbo home video, andy ackerman, careers, splash, digital photography, quotations, 1980s, bomb, web dafesign, 1990, buy, 2005, | Your family. Mother with queen the long dark hair you described and blue eyes that sometimes changed colors like yours. queen Only they'd be kind and terminally (no pun intended) maternal, not cold as a snake's. But wait, I'm trying to get the image right, get her out of these ridiculous Victorian clothes. It was 1961 when your father got that professorship in Michigan, and you piled up in the blue Chevy, said good-bye to your eight hundred cousins and aunts in Boston and left. The beginning of the end of your family, you queen said. But you didn't know that then, you're only pretending you did. Probably you were excited to be leaving those crowded streets, to get away from all the people, because you don't like people very well and I can't believe you did even then. It was 1961. Who knew how fucked up the nuclear family would turn out to be, how the future of America was being annihilated every time some dumb kid waved good-bye to Grandma, left her sitting on the front porch of her "ever-since-I-got-off-the-boat" family home? |
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| never used the word "abuse" in his life. It feels like you should be web dafesign a (wait, that was a Freudian slip, I meant to write, "It feels like web dafesign it should be a . . .") joke, like something we'd have talked about, the way he went around in circles and never cut to web dafesign the chase, but you don't come in, and there is no one else there to laugh. So I think I may be stuck here forever, bastard, because even when I wake up, the sense of something hanging, unfinished and unsaid, doesn't go away. It took two and a half months for you to tell me jack shit, but after the first time you whipped me you told me everything at once. I wasn't even sure I wanted to hear it, two-day-old welts scabbing over on my ass, but it was like some long-solid dam of pent-up family history came breaking out of you like blood. So I can see it clearly, it's Boston I'm talking about now, the house you lived in until you were eleven. Some big fucking Hollywood set of Irish people swarming around like extras, all wearing caps and suspenders as if you lived in bloody 1910 or something, that's how I see them in my mind. |
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