(80) Whales on the horizon

From the “Morbid and moronic referential code of life and society”

(80) Whales on the horizon.

When I was a young boy, my parents and infant baby brother lived together far isolated from other people and public services. I never went to school or had friends. We lived deep within the wilderness..

I remember the gloom of remote forested areas. I remember learning some basics of survival and precarious living just by watching my parents. How good a life can be doesn't necessarily depend on these skills.

The desert areas made sand, rocks, boulders, and cacti the focus of my attention no matter where I looked outside in any direction.

The place that was to become the most significant for me is where we moved after my baby brother was born. We moved to an area full of small rounded mountains. We lived on a stone hill 250 feet away from the road in the middle of a field.

The view was an endless stretch of the rounded mountains. Some were close and some far away on the horizon.Their distinct shape and grayish-blue tones offered the outline of their shape to appear in dramatic contrast to the light of dawn and dusk. No matter how beautiful our natural surroundings may have been, they were never a garanti all is well at home.

It seems to me my father never really lived with us. From what I clearly remember, he would occasionally appear out of nowhere. These surprise visits were very upsetting for my mother. My parents would become completely engulfed in a devastating fight. The conflict was alarmingly out of control. Nothing could serve as a way to attract their attention, get them to calm down, and refrain from exhibiting out in the open such unacceptable behaviours.

The children are getting terrified. Signs of emotional trauma are discernable in the form of an intangible spectrum to the naked eye, but that.

Expose itself through the long dark shadows beneath the eyes and so many other subtle and not-so-subtle signs of immense grief and hurt. Misunderstanding lies at the heart of those brutally exposed to such conditions without any protection and support follow-up. It can be compared to martyrdom.

Not a religious one.A real martyrdom consists of the most unlikely and innocent victim. From their moment of conception and afterward birth, a cruel and violent awaits these poor souls, never understanding why they were an object of such hate. The children are to die naturally from malnutrition, abuse, trauma, anxiety, panic, and terror.

A particularly violent sacrifice of an innocent child. Destined to be destroyed through abuse and torment at the hands of deviant, dysfunctional, psychopathic, narcissistic. They are at the mercy of a killing process destined to last as long as the parents need to quell their need for a neurochemical rush of elation. They need the gratification of allowing their violence to reach peak murder level. Nothing ever brought me the only things I needed desperately.

My father once told me he could hear a "call" to action coming from within himself. He had to go where he went. He had to see what he saw. I know it's hard to understand. It doesn't seem right. But the truth is that *"when the Lord made me, he made me the way I am. I will remain so until the day that I die. On my stone, please have it carved: When the Lord made me, he made me what I was."T here was less open conflict and violence with my father gone on his escapades.

But life with my mother brought me much insecurity and trauma. My best moments were when I ran out and played on my own in my imagination. It was during these outings that I felt the least threatened. With no sound from home, I would relax and wait for my return home to start worrying. In the house itself, there was absolutely nothing family-oriented. There is absolutely nothing showing signs of cohabitation with a child.

There are no toys. Nothing small or playful to occupy children. All we had were two animal head stickers on the fridge door. They showed smiling and friendly intentions.

They were awkward and completely out of peace in our home. There was no such thing as a smile except when grownups got drunk. They are lenient with the worst of scoundrels, yet they impose psychological violence along with the iron fist of physical deterioration of health. Rapid death can be accelerated through the increase of punishments and torment.

The only other moment I held dear to me was the bonding with my little brother in his crib. He has it worse than me. I can do so much more for myself. He needed to depend on my mother for virtually everything to stay alive. My mother, however, had other plans, as I was to find out. I bonded quickly with my little brother. He was the only other person I knew, in the same situation as me. We were hostages at the mercy of psychopaths.

I felt the deepest sympathy and concern for my chum. When he cried, I could do nothing else but start to cry also pleading, trying in the most gentle manner to console him. He reminded me of a dirty, nervous piglet.

He was able to scream until his face turned blue. Since my mother had given up completely on taking care of my little brother, his screams were more and more often heard. It was profoundly disturbing to see my mother calmly ignoring his existence. No matter how pitiful, alarming, and unbearable, his terrible shrieks have become.

She has bestowed the death penalty on my little brother. He is to cry and scream himself to death. He has no one but me. Mother is not coming back. The house never felt this way. As the sunset that day, my little brother continued to scream no matter what I tried to do. He died after three nightmarish days where all I could do was have a complete unrestrained emotional and psychological breakdown crying the tears of my soul, urgently, pleading with my little brother, promising everything would get better, that he would get anything he wanted if he stopped screaming.

After realizing there was absolutely nothing I could do to save him, I sank into a crouched position, leaning my back against the crib with my head on my knees. I just lost my mind crying all the grief of my soul. Well, after the sun had set, I remember standing up, opening the front door, and stepping out on the porch. The sunset glowed, and the profile of many of my beloved rounded hills and mountains. They reminded me of whales on the horizon.

Some distant, some closer. I will admit that if I had spotted in the distance one of my parents heading home, even if they were still as distant as some of the blueish whales crossing the sky, it would have contented me. I would have still felt rescued to know a parent is heading here and arriving at any moment.

I would have surrendered myself, sobbing and choking with trauma and relief at the same time knowing we were in the hands of adults, my parents, concerned for us, and capable of taking everything from there. But no one arrived. I covered my little brother, with, our favorite blankets. I was crying at how inappropriate and unfair.

I felt responsible for not knowing how to save him. I wished him to be safe now from anything harmful for the rest of eternity. I opened the front door again, walked out and stood for a last moment, lost in sight looking at all of those whales basking on the horizon. I picked up my bag and walked towards the whales. I was six years old. Fifty years have gone by since that day. I have survived. I was discovered by hikers.

They saw I was alone and lost. They said I was searching for the path to the horizon. I was finally given proper care and examination. What has changed for me is my decision to not live anywhere in the country or secluded and isolated areas again. I even refused the cities or town life. Instead, I have taken my life and dwellings to the sea.

By the time I was twenty, I had decided to spend the rest of my life on the oceans of the world working on board various ships. On vacation, I go sailing on vast expanses and volumes of water. I intentionally chose never to set foot on the ground again. I feel better this way. It has saved me from losing my mind and my capability to trust in something. I scan the horizon each day, hoping to catch a glimpse of a distant whale silhouetted against the horizon.

*Quote from Hank Williams "Ramblin' Man.