Wrath & tears babeh.

THEY took him, digiblips.
The sole living creature that has accepted my crap for 16 years.

The problem is, life has been so much crap, for months, the last couple of years, I can no longer feel. It hurts, but I feel the festering below, the no-hurt festering, the slow sleeping toxin.

He's gone. poof, like that.

HE WAS HERE YESTERDAY GODDAMMINT.

I'm so anrgy. I'm angry because I'm angry; I've got more self control than this. Angry at being angry helps.

Helps them.

They don't see. They don't know.

I see them, whispering, there she comes, that hysteric cunt.

They don't know the hysterics are all that keep me from simple killing them. Killing is easy. You don't even need a Kalashnikov like those bastards in Paris. A car, a bit of fire, all will do. There's a wind out, and it's howling King Lear's speech. They'll drown. I've got lightning at my fingertips if I call for it.

Killing is easy.

They are all digiblips.

Bastards. They took my Steerpike from me. They will pay.

Karma

Bitch.

The Cross

Hello there, strangers, we must stop meeting like this.

How are you, digiblips?
Because, I'm having a major bum day.

A sort of AA day.

Hello, my name is Wildheit and I'm addicted to saying yes. I will try to help you, and anybody that asks for that matter, to the detriment of my own life and health.


Add some tears for effect.

Also add a sprinkle of failure, because you can't help everybody. You just go tits up.

The tats... The tats you get in people telling you no and sorry and all the lame and half-assed excuses you know so very well because they bounce around in your head, day in, day out, but never roll, slip or stumble from your tongue. They make it sounds so easy!

And when you're really done with trying and trying, there is but one option: admitting failure.

Rat's ass, that's even harder than saying no.

Cue the flood.

Edge.

Things have edges.
Sometimes sharply defined.
Sometimes fuzzy and rounded and toddler-safe.

This thing today has the tact ('tactility' whispers Cow Watcher) of blunt force trauma with the in-your-face sharpness of a razor.

That was what it was, you see.
Razor sharp, the knife wrapped in a towel, which she had stashed in her bag.
Razor sharp, her drawn and grim face, eyes crazed and furious and the unseen people that live in the walls of her apartment.

If that's how your mom responds to an invitation to coffee and cake, it's time to get your head out of the sand.

This is going to be one hell of a fun week.

Messiah-cell

Woke up and didn't know where I was and what day it was.

That's okay, the brain said, let's just turn over and sleep some more until we do.
But through the haze came the screaming of one little braincell: Hey, we haven't felt like this in ages, so this must be wrong!
Rest of the brain went: Blah blah, too busy turning this lump of flesh on its other side to understand a word of what you're saying.

So then I found out that this one braincell is where my savior complex and megalomania live, all of my universe saving in the face of Armageddon powers reside. Because that tiny little braincell kept on whispering 'Alert! Alert!' but helped turning over the lump of flesh anyway, because its a cunning little braincell, you see.
All it had to do next is open one eye, just a tiny bit while its colleagues were snuggling down into sleep again.
And there it was.
Victory.
08:15 screaming red in the dark.
Look, messiah-cell pointed, look. It's past seven!
It took another second for the message to gently roll home.

And then it was out of bed, stumble downstairs and grab a cat...

Snot Fair

Few days ago I had a message from my brother on FB.
Kinda 'Hey how's it going'.
It's been months since I heard of him. Months since last he needed me and I helped him out and I haven't heard of him since, except, since.

Maybe the answer scared him off, enough at least to ask the original question. It wasn't my usual logorrhea, not my usual attack-kill-you-useless-piece-of-shit-I-haven't-heard-of-you-since...

Maybe he realized that when he says he can't come and visit because of new job and visa and money and blahblahblah and two months later he is is in South-Africa and Australia and whatnot, and FB tells me such, I'm his sister, that one woman who never ever forgave him something because he blinked and smiled and shrugged and said 'shuggs'. It there. He dune it. What the question?

Maybe I scared him off with the nutcracker attitude or some such. Maybe he was truely interested. Maybe he was finally planning a visit home not to see all his friends and drinking buddies and whatnot as usual, but to see his sis, and really ask her how she is. To visit mom, and dad, and help out.

And not try to compete with idiot elder brother who's even more of a shtako.


Doubt it, alas.

Real question is, can I blame him?

We always were with or against each other.  Always needing excuses to see eachother. Talk to eachother. Sis-in-law used to make jokes about it when I called my eldest brother. "Computer broke down again?"

We never were the kind of bros and sis you see in the movies.
Only refuge.
Let me sit five minutes with you and just laugh or talk or cry. And then I'll be on my way, no bother to you. Dad won't be funny anymore, and mom will have found her sense of humor again, or some such.

And then they walk away and I'll be right here stuck with their bother, and no younger sibling to stick it too.

Oh, brother...

E-day

Oh hey, we had election day in Belgium. And 30% of  60% of the Belgians voted for one party and, like, it's a sign!!!!!
Of course, not quite the same sign as another 30% of the same 60% gave when telling that the leader of said party winning with a MAJORITY (we're not so big on calculus obviously) should be sent to an uninhabited island, but hey.
Polls are polls, elections are elections.

To all the blablah naynay notquite people I say that the discourse sounds to much like:

The NVA concept of the ideal social system was called the “people's community”. The NVA used propaganda and economic and social policy to win the population's commitment to the community. After the turbulent years of the PS, many people saw BDW as the guarantor of strength, security and a better future.

At the same time, the NVA never hid the fact that the “people's community” did not necessarily include every Flem.

 Ladida. 

On a whole other subject matter, we might have gotten a lead on the Gang of Nivelles, but who cares?  Only the people who own 10% of Belgium's riches, i.e.1%, because we've always know they were involved in that particular pile of shit.