My brother is a perpetually depressed fellow. After a few days with him you will feel a numbing sensation in your capacity to understand. He is self absorbed, rarely listening to what anyone says in a social situation. He doesn't seem to be able to answer a question without falling into narcissism. At these moments his eyes shoot downwards and away as he responds,, but never to the question. Any inquiry inspires a trip to a land disturbingly far away from the theme. In addition, all his responses are predictably dark. He is Nostradamos with a Jersey accent. In fact Nostradamos is frequently quoted by him. It sounds like I am describing Donald Trump.
"From the calm morning, the end will come when of the dancing horse the number of circles will be nine."
I'm not sure what the dancing horse and nine circles mean, but the Nostradamos quote he should be repeating is:
"Come the millennium, month 12, In the home of greatest power, The village idiot will come forth To be acclaimed the leader."
He is perpetually rooted in a venerable past when people knew their place and the table was set as if every day was thanksgiving,,,, a never ending delicious feast populated by clever working class people, all with character and humor, posessing a bold "attitude", of presumed ownership. That allowed them more freedom than those lesser folk without connections. My brother draws his meagre happinesses from his personal depiction of the past.There is an animal spirit about him, always rummaging the immediate world about him in a search for scraps that confirm his insecurity. But he is funny and boy can he tell a story.
My brother has been preoccupied with sex since he was nothing but a boy. Throughout his life he has changed women at the same rate that I have changed my underwear. Every "new one" is "the one" yet all his relationships seem to end in failure. My mother treated him, "the middle one", with the most vengeance. Perhaps his sexual needs are a substitute for the love he never received. After all, Satre said, "People don't talk of bread if they have it". His failed relationships with women are rooted in a deep seated confusion about MOM who was part Mary and part Sadaam Hussein. Trapped between a rock and a hard place his confusion may have emerged like a devlish sabateur betraying all the love he might have been able to cultivate in his life. Sweetness turns sour as day turns into night and he looks to the past to relieve the pain.
Here is one of his letters concerning his woman at the time. According to him she was "witholding". He always writes in caps.:
THEY ALL STINK THESE DAYS !!!!! THEY USE THERE CHO CHAS LIKE A WALLET AND THEY HATE TO OPEN IT. CHEAP BITCHES ! BELIZE IS THE ANSWER FOR ME, REMEMBER I TOLD YOU I LIKED IT THERE AND IT HAS NOT SUBSIDED, BESIDES THEY SPEAK ENGLISH AND THERE NOT SPANISH. BIGGEST HIPPO GRITS ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET, BUT THEY CAN'T HELP IT. TALK TO YOU LATER
My response:
You seem upset my friend. What did she do? Long ago women learned to use their vaginas as currency. It helps to prevent violence. It may be that those from certain countries use it better, more flagrantly, and more often than others. Evolution favors the "givens". I mean that given the fact that women are not as powerful as men, evolution has bestowed upon them other magical powers that allow them to get what they want without violence,,, by another form of coercion. They have had three million years to perfect the system.
I told some family members of your dilemma. They thought that the woman was smart to withold. Their side of the argument is quite evident. Hold out for shoes! Personally I find it hard to swallow their methods,,,,those methods are really not needed in all cases. Men don't need to pass life bludgeoning each other with weapons and women don't need to be domestic whores all the time. I hope we have advanced as a society so that we can co-exist without violence and that we can love without having to visit the bank. By the way, Belize, where the upper caste women are all blond,,,,and the beaches too.. It is rife with German infulence, perfect for you,, so we know that all the tractors run on time but sadly there are no stand-up comedians that I have ever heard of.
His response:
AND THE CLOCK IN MY HEAD KEEPS TICKING FAST TO THE END. I NEED TO LEAVE HERE SOON BECAUSE IT IS TO HEAD TRYING FOR ME. ALOT OF PEOPLE DIE OF CANCER HERE AFTER THEY RETIRE - WHO KNOWS. sAY HELLO TO THE GANG .
Stories about him abound. Here is one that illuminates his risks and irresonsibility.
As a boy my brother had three dreams which occupied his will
1 To own a '57 T-Bird
2.To become a pilot.
3.To meet Kirby Grant who played Sky King in a 1950's TV series. He accomplished all three by the time he was 22.
Sometimes it may be better to stretch out your dreams like a slinky.
A long time ago he used to visit me when I lived in the Northeast. I was into goats, chickens, and living off the land,,, as much as was possible. It was summer haying season for me and the weather was just right for the occiasion. My brother wanted to rent a plane and take me up for a ride. He wanted to show his older brother what he had accomplished. I don't like planes and firmly believe man was not meant to fly. I refused. Besides I had an obligation. A little miffed he took off to town and rented a plane from a small airport there, as I began mowing hay. It was a beautiful june day with intense sun,, just perfect for the task. A couple of hours into my work I heard a sound,,, you know when you put your lips together and blow air out with increasing force imitating the Dopler Effect and the approach of a plane. I looked up not yet making the connection between machine and sibling. Dropping out of the sky like Manfred Von Richtofen there came a small plane. It passed terribly close over the field and pulled up abruptly. At that moment I saw my brother in the cockpit. He was so close I could see his individual teeth and the middle finger he flung in my direction. He passed over twice like a crop duster on acid and then disappeared into the vast blue. I just stood there, leaning on my hayfork,, amazed and baffled.
Unbeknownst to me one neighbor angered at this unknown lunatic called the airport to report the incident. Another neighbor on the other side was sitting on the toilet reading a head comic. He panicked at the sound thinking it was the police. He jumped up, I am sure without wiping, cutting down and burning his entire marijuana patch. I found this out from him during a conversation months later. Of course I did not reveal the identity of the pilot.
When he landed my brother was met at the airport by an angry official who banned him for life from ever renting a plane there.
Another great story is the mexican cockfight to which I took him at Aunt Judy's. There are many galleros in the family. Judy, in fact has a cock fighting ring in her hotel. It is a fascination for me because of the blood sport as just an excuse for betting, and the fact that one is not looking over one's shoulder for the animal rights crowd....or the police. Hell the police are in attendance. The only thing for which you must be alert is the drunks who have lost a bundle. Many times people go beserk and start shooting. My brother was drinking and after a bit, when his mind had melted enough that he decided to bet,,,,with the house. There are two ways of betting,,,,with the house or a private bet with another spectator. My brother lost like 100 pesos with the first bet. This did not deter him. He waited and watched. After a few fights had passed he told me he was beginning to develop a system through observation. Like all betting drunks they eventually imagine a fantastical system,,, an order to what they are unable to control. My brother's system was in its infant stages when he bet 200 pesos and won like 170. This lucky streak spurred his blurred newfound confidence. He secretly revealed his trick to me in a hushed tone so the other mexicans about him, who didn't speak english, would not cop the trick. "When the rooster is being held by the impressario before the match and it winks at me it will be the winner", he said. What can one do with this, for when people have thick slices of mysticism in their religious sandwich there's no stopping them from ordering a second helping. He bet 200 pesos and watched his rooster quickly slashed in a flurry of blood and feathers. What does the addict do when the system fails him? He develops another. This time he thought that he noticed that the impressarios that handled the roosters with TLC won. He had a fresh perspective now and all he needed was proof. He sat out the next match to confirm the truth and saw that the pampered rooster triumphed. Daddy's little baby, even if over loved was a pure killer.
A little mexican boy watching the gringo came over to make a bet with my brother. Of course my sibling was bolstered by his new insight into the world of cocks and he was cocksure. He bet heavily when he saw el gallo bien papachado. The match began and ended in three seconds. The roosters came together and lifted into the air becoming like two chinese characters and then the motion abruptly stopped. In the breathless lapse in the action my brother's rooster lay in a pool of blood his crop and side ripped open like a can of tuna. The rooster's last meal was spilled all over the dirt. Two seconds later the kid appeared with a broad smile to collect his due.
You have crossed the barrier into that age when you doubt almost every minute of your life, bro. It is the age of "they nag you by their magazine happiness". You are surrounded by tribes of convivial families with freckled kids in bucolic settings,, and Volvo station wagons,,, and semi spicy meatloaf on Saturday night with the little lady and Melissa and Joshua. It seems so overwhelming and distant,, so you in your sublime loneliness contemplate the hungarian immigrant girl at the donut shop as your perfect little lady at home. She is vulnerable and needs you you think. She is all vapor and fantasy. You are tired of the quotidien neglect. You wallow in self pity but you cannot sustain a relationship because women are just not people to you, they are substitutes for what you think you never had Take the hungarian doughnut girl home and set up shop but soon the hungry pack that has haunted your soul will be barking and she will become doubtful. Then one day when you are at work the plumber comes to the house to fix a "leak", and he will throw in her direction some lubricated compliments because he suspected, after 2 minutes of eye contact that she was "scoreble". This is the circumstance that ever haunts you.
Many lives never attain any recognition outside of a hello from the pakistani 7/11 owner. however you feel especially ineffectual and hollow. Cosmic loneliness is real but how do you combat that or at least overcome the cold dark space. You know that in some relationships there is something magical, perhaps because some people just naturally know how to be "friends" with their mate and never lose the feeling that the sun shines out the ass of their partner. They deny their animal instinct in favor of something greater than themselves. However when you encircle yourself with nostalgia you become cursed. It's sticky and viscous like honey but really not at all sweet. Human organisms have so much trouble arriving at happiness and if they do they rarely stay for long, but they can make it a long term destination by a will to wonder. So many people though just cannot muster that. If this was the intentional design for the universe then the creator really messed up bad. It's a botched job yet there are those moments so simple that we have the power to make into something sublime.
A long time ago he used to visit me when I lived in the Northeast. I was into goats, chickens, and living off the land,,, as much as was possible. It was summer haying season for me and the weather was just right for the occiasion. My brother wanted to rent a plane and take me up for a ride. He wanted to show his older brother what he had accomplished. I don't like planes and firmly believe man was not meant to fly. I refused. Besides I had an obligation. A little miffed he took off to town and rented a plane from a small airport there, as I began mowing hay. It was a beautiful june day with intense sun,, just perfect for the task. A couple of hours into my work I heard a sound,,, you know when you put your lips together and blow air out with increasing force imitating the Dopler Effect and the approach of a plane. I looked up not yet making the connection between machine and sibling. Dropping out of the sky like Manfred Von Richtofen there came a small plane. It passed terribly close over the field and pulled up abruptly. At that moment I saw my brother in the cockpit. He was so close I could see his individual teeth and the middle finger he flung in my direction. He passed over twice like a crop duster on acid and then disappeared into the vast blue. I just stood there, leaning on my hayfork,, amazed and baffled.
Unbeknownst to me one neighbor angered at this unknown lunatic called the airport to report the incident. Another neighbor on the other side was sitting on the toilet reading a head comic. He panicked at the sound thinking it was the police. He jumped up, I am sure without wiping, cutting down and burning his entire marijuana patch. I found this out from him during a conversation months later. Of course I did not reveal the identity of the pilot.
When he landed my brother was met at the airport by an angry official who banned him for life from ever renting a plane there.
Another great story is the mexican cockfight to which I took him at Aunt Judy's. There are many galleros in the family. Judy, in fact has a cock fighting ring in her hotel. It is a fascination for me because of the blood sport as just an excuse for betting, and the fact that one is not looking over one's shoulder for the animal rights crowd....or the police. Hell the police are in attendance. The only thing for which you must be alert is the drunks who have lost a bundle. Many times people go beserk and start shooting. My brother was drinking and after a bit, when his mind had melted enough that he decided to bet,,,,with the house. There are two ways of betting,,,,with the house or a private bet with another spectator. My brother lost like 100 pesos with the first bet. This did not deter him. He waited and watched. After a few fights had passed he told me he was beginning to develop a system through observation. Like all betting drunks they eventually imagine a fantastical system,,, an order to what they are unable to control. My brother's system was in its infant stages when he bet 200 pesos and won like 170. This lucky streak spurred his blurred newfound confidence. He secretly revealed his trick to me in a hushed tone so the other mexicans about him, who didn't speak english, would not cop the trick. "When the rooster is being held by the impressario before the match and it winks at me it will be the winner", he said. What can one do with this, for when people have thick slices of mysticism in their religious sandwich there's no stopping them from ordering a second helping. He bet 200 pesos and watched his rooster quickly slashed in a flurry of blood and feathers. What does the addict do when the system fails him? He develops another. This time he thought that he noticed that the impressarios that handled the roosters with TLC won. He had a fresh perspective now and all he needed was proof. He sat out the next match to confirm the truth and saw that the pampered rooster triumphed. Daddy's little baby, even if over loved was a pure killer.
A little mexican boy watching the gringo came over to make a bet with my brother. Of course my sibling was bolstered by his new insight into the world of cocks and he was cocksure. He bet heavily when he saw el gallo bien papachado. The match began and ended in three seconds. The roosters came together and lifted into the air becoming like two chinese characters and then the motion abruptly stopped. In the breathless lapse in the action my brother's rooster lay in a pool of blood his crop and side ripped open like a can of tuna. The rooster's last meal was spilled all over the dirt. Two seconds later the kid appeared with a broad smile to collect his due.
You have crossed the barrier into that age when you doubt almost every minute of your life, bro. It is the age of "they nag you by their magazine happiness". You are surrounded by tribes of convivial families with freckled kids in bucolic settings,, and Volvo station wagons,,, and semi spicy meatloaf on Saturday night with the little lady and Melissa and Joshua. It seems so overwhelming and distant,, so you in your sublime loneliness contemplate the hungarian immigrant girl at the donut shop as your perfect little lady at home. She is vulnerable and needs you you think. She is all vapor and fantasy. You are tired of the quotidien neglect. You wallow in self pity but you cannot sustain a relationship because women are just not people to you, they are substitutes for what you think you never had Take the hungarian doughnut girl home and set up shop but soon the hungry pack that has haunted your soul will be barking and she will become doubtful. Then one day when you are at work the plumber comes to the house to fix a "leak", and he will throw in her direction some lubricated compliments because he suspected, after 2 minutes of eye contact that she was "scoreble". This is the circumstance that ever haunts you.
Many lives never attain any recognition outside of a hello from the pakistani 7/11 owner. however you feel especially ineffectual and hollow. Cosmic loneliness is real but how do you combat that or at least overcome the cold dark space. You know that in some relationships there is something magical, perhaps because some people just naturally know how to be "friends" with their mate and never lose the feeling that the sun shines out the ass of their partner. They deny their animal instinct in favor of something greater than themselves. However when you encircle yourself with nostalgia you become cursed. It's sticky and viscous like honey but really not at all sweet. Human organisms have so much trouble arriving at happiness and if they do they rarely stay for long, but they can make it a long term destination by a will to wonder. So many people though just cannot muster that. If this was the intentional design for the universe then the creator really messed up bad. It's a botched job yet there are those moments so simple that we have the power to make into something sublime.
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