I am in this noisy place neighbour and stuff making getting trying to see when nothing but trying to eavesdrop and dropping smiles as if they want to noise around. Trying to peep and then making haste not to be seen. There is not much when this is what is happening all round me as if the ruin of my dreams is the stuff which is their now prey. It is as if when in the street the buses stop and they all mill round trying to creep trying to behave in their little unnatural states of being these community spirited people who do this every day.
When the school bus does not arrive for an hour and they wait just wait they do not ask the reason they are all reason. I think it is my imagination they glow with pride they have come and gone and then someone else might take their place. It is inside me this feeling this sense of being followed everywhere I go. That is, it there is no privacy left they just want to see. I meant them nothing and no harm but they seek and then someone as I go to the foot tunnel comes looking like someone from Turkey and I feel this is creepy what to make of it this is so like that time. I follow my instincts and go back to the bus stop. The man does not even nod he is just glaring as if on show himself his skin is scarred and he looks not out of place the one in Turkey had more scars on his face. I am not reassured I leave the foot tunnel taking the stairs not the ramp and double quick up them heights.
Then when I calm down, I say to myself fool only in your mind then I repeat after me the images of me nearly being murdered and that makes me calm.
I am trying not to make a sound the noise says the neighbour is intense and he and his family have trouble sleeping because I work at nights. Not really work just potter around and about insomnia is one of the diseases which has settled on me. I find it impossible sometimes to turn myself into peace and harmony and even think of doing some yoga in order to calm down and enjoy the sunrise but no there is too much to think about. There is too much to sort through. Like an enclave of disaster inside my head I have lived a life packed and filled to the brim and did not even know it was so. I am so out of touch with peace and quiet now.
I am almost always molested attacked and made fun and games of it is as if the woman inside of me has become a brunt of humour almost not human as if some sorry state of feeding is taking place but there is not much to sober up in something called life one expects this unkindness this jests because there is nothing I did wrong to put myself in this situation? That I chose the wrong side they said. I choose that side because there is hope on that side and their beady eyes go red again that they feel betrayed.
Sometimes because the trouble is when one is used to working night and day is never enough. I am without any funds but the terrible secret is that when the family say speak to us say what you think and feel they then silence me forever more as if I am a parrot which said the wrong thing the embarrassment is such that they glow red with rage.
The thing was doing some work for the worthy mother and she then said her piece that I hate her and that we no longer need to communicate because of it. The neighbour today as I was dyeing my hair. Banged the walls as if he in some distress he said to me as if I made too much noise but then it is me, I know it is always my fault. He has babies in the house so he wants his beauty sleep the women do not speak even but smile only when they are sick do, they seek my patience with them. The thing is when they sick, I was working as usual is it me? They seem to be in some troubled minds and I do not know I do not mean to be unkind but so I’m I we must practise tolerance and patience with each other because with that comes respect and responsibility but they seem to be saying that I spent so much time renovating the house and then now I am having done the garden which they disliked more than anything that I have made their lives hell.
I made a violent sound two to be precise, he went absolutely mental and as I have a nerve wrecking interview today this very day, I can’t bear it. My hair now dyed and dried I am not working but writing this scribble. I made haste to be ready and able to do what I can for the art world. I do not know what might happen to me on the journey but I think nothing more than being frightened won’t help matters the street is full of people and some even do help out?
Parents and family have been now after me because I am mother’s daughter and I as the only child who has said no to dad it is most peculiar that a dad does that as a normal thing is it not? It is not just me is it because a dad does not fornicate with his own? I am right I think that nowhere in the Bible or the religious texts does it state that we should mate with our own kin. The groups which did were not us we have moved on centuries since those times.
The brides of daddy are his own daughters because he did not have a virginal woman as a wife, he always said this meant this and he would never undo to those girls what he has done. How did he do this how did it happen did it bring them happiness did it bring them joy? Nobody knows the madness of a man who has failed to secure a good woman. When his sweetheart slept with the only thing, he thought he could trust he went mental. His sister let him down with the wife and then he mated and married his daughters in something called love and matrimony because if he had not, he would have been called a fool. Nothing like this has happened to the man because he nothing of the sort sorry? He denies this because he a fond parent? What about that girl who he robbed of the wits and had her murder her own husband? What about the Italian little girl who he acknowledged as his daughter and then what did happen to her? What is it about the illegitimate darlings he mated with? Why because they did not know who their daddy was? But still the dad my dears.
So, he got a taste for the real thing?
For the things he has made?
“God makes them small?”
“What did happen?”
“That he got married to his own because he got away with it.”
The reality hits home does it not? That a pig like dad can and will do such a thing because if he did not then what he does is nothing but good and he not a fool is he? Well what is a fool exactly?
Family is a lunatic? Father is the head of the family the girls just do as they are told to and worm their way into his good graces and then do what they like to do and be what they like to be. But there is no justice for someone who says no to dad. He is not ashamed to say I can’t write and he writes better than I do. It is a dad who has nothing but the sham of being a dad. This is an argument dad is indeed a more famous writer than me. But what I am is not much this expert person who has witnessed her own mortality and because of that have become a writer. Indeed, grateful for this? No but it is useful because I can see the reality behind the grittiness of theory.