ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nine Freaking Years I've seen the future in the echo of our past. We saw Lee Harvey Oswald get shot on national television by Jack Ruby. We saw Kennedy's assassination in disturbing repeitition on the TV while we ate our Cheerios fortified with over 8 essential vitamins and minerals. We saw countless murders in countless television shows and countless movies paraded before us for entertainment. Angella Lansbury showed us how easy it was to mask a murder and make it look like anything, anyone else. We've learned so much from this inability or unwillingness of the society that tells us what we should be that it is easy to turn one's head away from the death of another. "Natural Born Killers" glamorized the intensity and orgasmic thrill of killing in a way that made it hard for any impressionable person to resist. Burn your mother in her bed as she's lashed down; she never lifted a finger to stop the mistreatment you suffered at the hands of your father. Watch said father beaten to death at the hands of a sociopath with a tire iron and smile with glee as his face is smashed in and pulpified into the jello-like substance that you always saw him as. Look upon this savior, bathed in your tormentor's blood, as your deliverance. Hadn't you dreamed this night after night. Here it is; paraded on the screen in Panavision in something that you can embrace and believe in. All of your dreams have come true, and, not only that, but have been handed to you on a silver platter, provided by none other than the silver screen. Disturbing. Death and murder and the loss of life are so embracable and commonplace. This is the world that we live in; and I despise it. (rather not admit that I can understand it so well) Tomorrow is the ninth anniversary of my brother's suicide. Nine years that I've accepted that he is gone. That he is not here. That my life is not missing something. That I am the same. That everything; my family. my friends. my life, is all the same. That everything is in order. All the pieces are in their right place and there is nothing to worry about. This is the life that God made for me and this is the life that I will live from this point on, as if it were the same from day one. Here I smile, an only son, to a family that loves and nurtures me unnaturally. Because I am the last one left. The one that lived. I can't be this. I can't be the two sons imagined from inception. I hurt so much for my parents on this day. Who came together with the most high expectations: We'll get married, we'll have children, two, and we'll raise them to lead the world in all of the future and we'll be together for eighty gajillion years. Reality: We divorce in the midst of lucky thirteen; our oldest succumbs to the pressure of societal expectations and puts a gun in his mouth; our younger studies philosophy and psychology just enough to understand what has happened to he and his brother and does little else aside from working customer service jobs and living life one day at a time. There's your fucking American Dream. Not quite what you read about in the brochure, eh? How do I accept the fact that he has been gone for nine goddamn years? I just finished a highly successful gig opening for L.A. Guns. The crowd loved us. We dominated them. I literally, no kidding, had to beat the girls off with a stick leaving the stage. Luckily, I had one of Johnny 5's drum sticks with me and could do just that to fight through the throngs of "fans". They all wanted to tell me what a great show I did. How insanely awesome we were. How do I tell them that it means nothing? That everything that I do is a shallow attempt to show my brother the life that he never gave himself the chance to lead. That every experience that is new and wonderful to me is seen as something that he will never come to know, and that I do it all for him. How can I live this way? Tomorrow is another day, with a significant date. I'll go to work and then go home and sleep afterward. No big deal. Is this my lot in life? 5:24 a.m. - 2003-09-28 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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