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Saturday, October 7, 2017

THE SUBJECT IS WHINING: BROTHER SIGHER, SISTER LAUGHTER, DUST MAGNETIC SUPER FLYER

Blame.  Lay blame.  It isn't easy. Just do it.  Do it later. Keep silent. It could be more valid.  Don't move.  Be cool.  Chill.  Relax.  Take it easy.  Be smart.  Stop whining.  Sing.  One, two, three, four.

My brother has this habit of  leaving things behind for me to clean. His clothes, cigarette butts, plates, kitchen work, homework.  At least that's how it seems to me.  I seem to keep seeing his shit these days more than before because I stay at home these days more than ever before. I seem to notice this disarray more, because I now have this preoccupation' or sort of like a goal, to try to keep things in order as much as possible. My other brother seems to do the same too. And it does not really feel good to keep seeing things this way however much you keep reminding them to not do so. I have to talk about it.  It's not good. It feels like an insult. My father is not really that type of person.  I do admire my father's neat ways, his tidiness. I may have gotten it from him, my sort of like this discipline.  My mother is too.  But not with her paperwork.  My mother's paperwork seem to keep baffling me. There's too much of it everywhere.   But there's always a time to keep things in order and there's a time to wreck things.  It could either be for fun or for the heck of it. Don't get me wrong, I must be doing the same as well in other ways much more dirt, slime, grime, germs. 

Maybe that's why we needed housekeepers to assist us with this practice. Every household seem to always have this predicament. to tend to each other's homes so as not to affect or cause bad behavior, bad sceneries, bad outlooks,  bad outputs.  Does it follow?  Or do you follow where I'm heading?  I don't want to complain about it and I don't really want to be the whiny kind.  It's like having to keep expecting every scenery to be in order and proper. It's like having to expect things to be at least cleaner than before.   But will this expectation only bring emptiness? Will this practice only bring more hatred for that  expectation, more arguments, more disagreements, more insecurities?  Will it bring more laughter, pain and tears? Will it only bring us into chaos, making me sick, making me ill with contempt? Like there's always the dirt, the dust, the shit that is always fed in front of you in your face everyday,  in more ways more than ever.  And you wondered why it keeps  happening like clockwork.  Like the scabs that hurt your skins,  the mosquitoes that suck your blood, like the rat that gnaws, the cockroach that crawl with antennas wandering about.  Bugs flying here and there.

I'd rather want to listen for the birds chirping perching outside. in the early morning air,  grab a pillow and sleep back into my own fictional wilderness with blankets swallowing the whole of me.

But my brothers' filth drags me along.  I didn't really needed to be like them. I didn't have to be the one my parents seem to keep running to for this . I refuse , and resist.  It's gone way overboard!  And it's time for a revolt! My own revolution.  This kind of revolution happens.  Shit happens too. It does not stop.  "Let it all be" you say. I'd let if you'd only stop whining when I do so.  Somebody will have to catch my "letting it all be" without my hand in helping so.  And should I care who gets the fall? And would you catch them when they all fall?  I guess I will have to  keep doing my secret smile for whomever will get my point.  Let's see who really needs me.  Need.  It's just your need for me. Your need of me. I'll have to get rid myself of those who needs, would need, and needed me. But sooner than expected , a relative, a neighbor intervenes. Or the housekeeper, who inadvertently became the one who always took the fall.  Or that housekeeper who tends your lawns, washes your clothes, cooks your food when your parents can't handle it.  Who inadvertenly knew more of your family more than your relatives, more than your neighbors, who eventually could betray and gossip about you, and spies on your every move,  almost made your family a little more predictable. Learning your ways, observing your ways, you faults, listening to every one of you quarrel about, fighting about something.  Made money out of your every mistakes.  And brought them wondering why this  happens to a household, a blessed household like yours.  And they won't really care that much.  Their reasoning may have become standard.  Such is that service deal. They too have become predictable as well.  Too polite to a fault, to earn something afterwards, the awkwardness of it, and the fun that comes and goes.  It's like a blind spot.  Every household's blind spot.  Now we're down to for that urge again. Work, work, work.  It's just work, work, work all over  and over again.  And you'd constantly will have to keep seeing about it, hearing about it. Because it seems you cared more about it.  About that perfect notion of the good.  It seems  you cared more than them. Why do you keep doing so?  And we're back to it again.  Eventually. Drag me along sister, and think along sitter.  This could very well be the most awesome ride you're gonna run into.  Hold on to something and there's no stopping this.  Even the traffic lights would not have enough colors to control this speeding through for the drive.  The number of traffic light colors will never be enough to control the unmechanical drives of your well beings, your awkward pursuits, your undeniable unsatisfactions. 

Fart on.
It may just be a written word.