Relatives Shed Skin Like Snakes Do. (Part 1)

Good Morning myself,
I think 7am misses me, everyday for the past 8 months 7am in the morning has never really known my face, she just waits on as I slumber away in bliss, but alas! Having to fetch someone to work has ended my absence in 7am's eyes. I feel like a corpse; lifeless and drained of all inspiring thoughts. Its a physical drain more than anything else. Its a responsibility that I gladly take on. Sigh, but as usual its mostly unappreciated, well sometimes anyways. hmmm.. Maybe I'd prefer to be unappreciated, that allows me to have some bile and venom of myself.

The fucking house bell rings again, its my grandmother( thats what I was told anyways growing up), is she as self-serving as I am brought to think? I always wondered and sometimes I spot it; how fucking sad! Most idealists would rather the stereotypical granny or nana that potters around in the twilight of their sentience.
Cute, annoyingly so but mostly amusingly and harmlessly albeit troublesome at times.
I hate to admit it but I crave that sort of traditionalist depiction of a senile cute thing. What I seem to have however seems to differ, my grandmother is indifferent, distant, petty, selfish... you get the idea.

What happened? I don't really know. The situation post my paternal grandfather's death seems to be that a vacuum of sorts seem to resound within my father's family.
They are a disparate bunch, all the siblings also happen to be bound up by a lot of personal insecurities. They talk the talk but don't even dream of them walking the walk. All of them( my father included) seem to lack the emotional depth and connection normally associated with family. This disparate family can't evem seem to be able to be honest with each other. Its all swept under the carpet, never seeing light till the disintegration of the entire family unit or the actual death of the member bearing the issue itself. Everyone's two faced or spineless, what more when dealing with a liabilty of one's self, i.e my grandmother. My mum's so messed up with personal issues when it comes to the old lady. Its really comical and annoying at the same time, smiling whilst gritting your teeth seems to come to mind.
This paralysis in tandem with dishonesty, cowardice and a false sense of filial piety has clouded the sense of belonging. I have no respect for any one of my relatives beyond the procedural requisite. Every one of them seem unworthy of it, I am the detroyer of optimism or the benefit of doubt anyways. Respect is to be earned and not blessed upon. Love is to be gained not entitled upon. All this politicking that goes behind the old lady's back would surely have killed the old man if he were ever alive to find out about it. It seems that the only person in the entire universe, past, present and future that is able to handle the old lady is the old man.

One thing that I should learn from him is the sheer immensity and generosity of his patience. Look! his children/offspring can't even handle their mum. Here's a summary of their attitudes:-

a)eldest aunt- I'm a christian and proud of it but heck, this lady bollocks so much about God that I think she embrasses him. Her attitude when dealing with the old lady is she's really nice and patient but she doesn't take the old lady in. Its both hypocritical and doesn't really reflect well on one's principles especially christian ones at that. Its like coodling and dealing with someone else's naughty and irritating children, fine and dandy especially when they don't go home with you. You can spout all the christian values you want, sure sing praises to the lord even but don't expect that to make a difference to me. Take for example the fact that the old lady has been at my house for nearly a week and a bit and all i can remember my aunt doing was bringing the old lady to lunch ONCE! Bollocks I tell you! Well, maybe she's got some excuse right now but hell, she seems to have one all the time(good christian excuses at that). So what we have here is someone whom attempts to depict herself as an angel of mercy but in reality is nothing more than a daughter who has to fulfill these filial duties to mummy anyways. Bollocks and a load of hypocritical crap.

b)my father- Now this is a touchy one, he's the silent one that all the parents and even siblings overlook and unappreciate UNTIL the shit hits the fan. They ALL then come running to the eldest brother and son and suddenly expect him to make the whole world a better place to be in. Poor guy actually, downtrodden most of the time.
The clearest example of this was when the old man was dying and all the major ugly decisions had to be made by him and not the family as a whole. Everyone was all talk, talking about every fucking thing under the sun but the problem at hand. Oh! They fake ignorance so well, helpless and spineless like the proverbial worm under your boot. I lost all respect for them there and then, years of denial on my part just burnt away and purified my perception of my extended family. All puppets with no strings, all chatter but no sense, all promise but no hope. I was fortunate to be able to learn of this shortcoming nonetheless. I can bet my bottom dollar that this people will disappear faster than flies when you actually require any assistance of them.

Anyways will continue soon, I just blew my flow with some 'kuih' I bought for eighty cents. They look like solidified frog's spore dyed red and coated with shredded dandruff. NICE! One more thing, will someone burn Ikea down for me? PLEASE. I beg you!
Its hell packaged in a box then sent to us by the fucking Swedes.

Knock Back, Relax And Pull The Trigger

Knock back and relax,
Hello my dearest of you!
Feel the buildup as bullets soar through the air, whipping up swirls in my dreams,
Don't stop as the Oedipus in us bays for more mothers to love,I'm eating snuff films for lunch
I've just got home from a function than ran till eternity dimmed and wavered,
I've surrendered all my love and left my guns at home,
I've wasted and bit at my knuckles in vain as my dreams seem a reality based nightmare,
Each perception stands and burns at the gates of hell, black orchids exists for blind men
I dream of being deaf, dumb and blind but I'd still work hard at being a sinner,
A shotgun fires into the darkness of my throat and a firework of crimson glory erupts form the back of my head that would even make Piccaso grimace at its ineffectual abstract beauty.
A spray of blood on my wall, chips of bone and skull that resemble art, my art.
Arterial subconcious sunburnt desires extinguish in this visual escapade,
This scene plays and reenacts in a drama with a smidgen of insincere tragedy,
The clock hands stand at a quarter to fame, an eternity captured in an eruption of relief,
My trigger finger curled and cocked at the lynchpin of release, lock and load hallelujah.
Facial equity and liabilities are erased as time stands still and the crimson wound, both entry and exit compete for your attention, wonder will tears be in my eyes?
Cry not for the dead as they hold more promise than the living,
My hearse should be black and the gun carriage red, bury me with the shells that released me and gave me myself back.
I'm made of a thousand quivering ecstatic blades wrapped around a cold steel heart manufactured in anxiety wrought hate.
I'm watching my own funeral proceed at a wondrously eternal pace, a 12 gauge triumph
A life taker but a soul giver, Bless the damned as they need it the most.
A weeping tree has branches that bleed the tears of those that perceive love as a need,
MY tree of hate has branches that constantly feed my fire, it loves lead scented blood
A perfume washes over the scene as the diamonds that were once cried turn into satin stars;
My dream is of my death, it comes on beating thumping wing beats, ready or not!
Bid me adieu! Bid me my death, you're only blessing the damned.

The comfort of being distraught, sure as death is more consistent than joy.
I'm a hero at being a zero!
AND you are?

I Spit Thy Venom Into Your Face

A knife through my neck tears muscle, severs tissue but I still smile on;
This emptiness, the aching and torment of a thousand venomous whispers,
Coiled and sprung, shaken and sunk, we scream an apology with tears in our eyes,
Wait I scream in thought, In reality a gurgle is wrought;
I beat at this rafters to find them coated with the shimmering powdered dreams of mine,
Each tip invisible, each tip divisible, each tip sharp and barks for my blood,
Two bullets to the base of my neck, Three stabs into my black black beating iron heart;
Shivering and in a spasm, orgasmic is my passing;
I watch and play this scene a million times a million time in the back of my mind,
Would my blood be red or black? Would it shimmer or dull with my death?
Oh, I hope the smell of blood permeates the air; I want my parents to know the stench of my death,
Oh, Maybe they won't, they might enjoy the scene, maybe even celebrate;
Tasting my blood and consuming my soul,
Do they know not love, know not tenderness? Sigh..
To hear them laugh at the scene of the crushing and finishing of my self potrait,
The rasping of hungry throats, The tearing and ripping of my throat;
Wet fangs and hungry eyes prey on the life I called mine;
I Await the day I thank you for the venom in my mind, the venom you told me was love.


To hate is sinful
To be hated means you're a sinner
Choose motherfucker!

A Spot In The Shade

Moist grass mingled in the cool embrace of the earth,
These sensations on my feet, a thousand cool caresses on this warm warm day,
Rolling clouds mingle and play about against the oh, so beautiful blueness infinity,
I sit at this spot in the shade, it exist ethreally, wispy and fragile, momentary yet resolute,
A spot in the shade, an escape from the life draining torturous endurance event we call life,
I sit there alone and serene, the peace is not unlike incense, memories relived, joys remembered
Tears will of course still burn cheeks, a yin, a yang
In this place it is a calm I seek from the tempetous hell we call existence,
A private secret garden, Sanity walks freely here,
Her beauty untouched, ageless and free
A thousand sensations, each echoing a single voice overwhelms my limited and nearly dead senses,
Perceptions lived for a moment, etched and burnt into my soul man,
Ah, clinging onto conciousness before letting my mind slip the chains of reality,
That very moment in time, bliss!
As I sit at A Spot In The Shade, A Spot In The Shade of Insanity