Reoccurrence I

There he is standing in front of me grinning like the proverbial snake that just had a fulfilling mouse dinner. He’s glaring at me with those horrible black and empty eyes. Eyes like a shark watching its prey, cold and calculated waiting for the right moment to rush in for the attack. He’s holding a black leather belt in his hands. It’s folded in half, one side lying on top of the other. He keeps moving his hands together causing the opposing sides to separate from each other like a gaping mouth, then with lightning speed he pulls his hands apart causing the belt crack like a whip as the lengths of leather come together. The sound is terrorizing in its promise of painful violence. I back away and that’s when he smiles. His dark lips spread as he smiles, revealing rows of needle like teeth. I recoil from his presence in a state of pure fear and panic. That’s when I scream, “No Dad! Please don’t, please!” and turn to run.

It’s the same nightmare over and over again. It started in youth and still to this day it will interrupt my sleep. I’m standing in thick fog in the cold. I can feel the sensation of tiny droplets of frozen rain on my face. I’m looking into the darkness of the night sky and smiling. Although it’s cold I love the feeling of the miniscule ice crystals on my face. Then I hear the snapping sound and the fog begins to clear. “Crack!” And dread washes over me. I start to shiver. The fog becomes thinner and I see the silhouette of my father as he snaps his belt over and over, all the while smirking as he tries not to smile revealing the horror beneath his tight purple lips. When I begin pleading for him to not hurt me and turn to run the fog disappears and I find myself on top of a flat circular plateau. I stand on the edge and look down into what seems like miles of darkness and realize there is nowhere for me to go. I turn to face the monster I keep calling Dad and notice that there is an old rusty car between us. It’s running and thick dark exhaust is billowing out of the tail end of it. The belt snaps again and echoes out into the nothingness that surrounds the infinitely tall rock platform we are standing on. I jump into the car, throw the car into reverse and hit the gas as hard as I can. There’s is a loud thump as the tail end of the car slams into my father and then a dull “tha-thump” as the back wheels roll over him. I put the car into drive and roll over him again then back into reverse. Drive, reverse, drive over and over again. I’m afraid to stop because I know if I do he’ll get up off the ground and that needle toothed smile will come closer and closer and closer.

I remember waking as a child thinking if only I had a car and the chance I might be able to free myself from the real life monster dad I lived with. Then I’d cry because I was ashamed and eventually go back to sleep.

Brad Gone Mad Version 1.0

My life is changing. New ghosts are being made and the old ones are still haunting. I'm not a young man anymore, yet I feel like one. I'm out of control and can't find the end of the rope I need to grasp so badly. If I can just get ahold of it I'll be able to steady myself. I can always see it dangling in front of me and as I reach for it like the proverbial carrot on a string, the powers that have me under their control yank it away and I have to settle for the same old thing. Like a dog being served one more fucking dish of dry dog-food, I keep thinking the T-bone is coming but I know in my heart it's not.

I can see the other side of the fence in my minds eye and it's beautiful. I also know intimately the demon that must be slain in order to gain the prize, yet I always seem to be holding a butter knife. (Oh, good luck comrade! Have you seen the teeth on that fucker.) How much time is there left on this sinking bog before the last bubbles float up to see me going down into the muck? (Adios amigo!) I wanna be the star of the show! I wanna go where no man has gone before. God-dammit!, I want the golden ticket, the chocolate factory, and the world's king crown. But I want it served to me on a t.v. tray with my half-warmed meal. But I'd gladly settle for a good how-to book that isn't written in gibberish.

How does one leave a mark? Not some gross little stain like a swatted fly leaves behind, but one big enchilada! Something akin to 3 nuclear bombs. I just want to know that somewhere, somehow, I made a mark on the world. I want to be remembered for more than the 50 years I may get if I'm lucky. I want the mark to be genuine too. My problem has only 2 relevant words to describe it. Fear and laziness. In the opposite order though. I'm gullible. I swallowed them both hook, line and sinker. I believed that I was both lazy and afraid and to my own dishonor fell into them both comfortably. I snuggled into the big sofa of life with the snuggley pillows of procrastination and stayed there for the duration. I belong here. This is my place. I have been handed the comfy blanket of placement by judgement, and I want it. I want it for all it's worth. And so the nap begins and so does the madness.