Repression

the picture is smaller than I thought

Well, that's alright isn't it? Why, if that was my biggest worry of the night then I do declare my night hasn't been half bad.

...Unfortunately there are horrible things going on, RIGHT NOW, on this very night.

I am an ordained minister and keeper of the Great Magnet's divine light, but I cannot see all. While I know tragic things are occurring at this moment in time I cannot know the nature or specifics of these evils. I must look backward and remember things I've tried to forget because now I know how important it is to do so.

I recall a horrible thing, long forgotten, until I decided to look for it again. I cannot regret the decision. It must be done. Done... here I am somewhere in North Texas waiting with hateful people for a man to come out of a trailer. I can hear Chopin, but not at this moment in time, the music is a gift from the Great Magnet... it wants to make it easier to recall.

After waiting a while the man came out of his trailer with St. Whiskey's divine aura keeping him safe from rational thought. He was confident and angry. He looked towards me and the young hateful men and tried to speak in garish language. I didn't understand but he kept talking. We were there for a reason but now the drunk man's mentally crippled son is at the door of the trailer. He is afraid and speaks as carefully as can. The drunk man turns to his son who lets his terror show across his face. His father pulls him away from the door and forces him into the yard. The son begins to sob.

In the world many of us think we live in this would have been the moment that a hero appears and saves the poor son from the drunken father. How ever it would happen, in a perfect world the son wouldn't have to endure such overwhelming dread and he would know eventually come to feel secure, and maybe even loved, by someone... anyone.

Back in the realm of things that have passed, the drunken man starts destroying his retarded son before an audience of hateful beasts, just as monstrous as the drunk. The son is alone in his fear, alone in his suffering and alone in a world he cannot understand. There is so much pain here that he cannot even muster the strength or will to ask why it has to happen. The drunk man is savage and spiteful. He beats his son as if the poor boy was the everything he ever hated in the world. The lame son's jaw is unhinged, his nose is shattered, his teeth are lost and his forearms are black from the strikes he tried to deflect.

I stand with the hateful people and feel across my body every single blow. My mind has left. I stand and watch with nothing but my heart inhaling nightmare essence while my conscience screams for vengeance. I almost make a move on the drunk, but my mind leaped from the darkness and stopped me just as the drunk man stops long enough to regain any measure of sanity or mercy he once had. He stands over his son who isn't moving... the poor soul is broken in ways you couldn't understand. For him there is no light, no relief and no hope on such an immeasurable scale that it would endanger a good soul to attempt to contemplate the horror. The hateful people say some words and the drunk responds quietly. He reaches into his pocket and hands one of us a baggy full of white chaos and an envelope. Then we turn to go.

On the way back to wherever it was we went, the oldest of us told me to forget everything I've just seen. Just do it he says, and offers something to take our minds off of what we saw.

Right now, before, during and after these words have entered and left you, cruelty and the vile nature of man are inflicting sorrow and hurt on man and nature. Things that can feel pain are being dealt more than you will ever have to endure in your life. I am fortunate to be here, in an enclosed room with air conditioning and a connection to the rest of the world and if you are reading this then you are fortunate too.