"Dad passed away early morning in his sleep at 85 years of age"...
No, that is what I call writing to the point, short and simple, no drag here but a clear message coming across the sacred internet and into my Yahoo inbox...
Twenty-five years of Pas De Contact, running away early in my adolescent years, across Europe on the cheap and with forged interrail tickets, surviving in the streets of international capitals in Ancient Europe, visiting the garbage belts of Third World countries where a stupid foreigner with a Rooi Nek had no meaning or purpose, an endless quest to understanding of the rodential nature of the human species but in reality running away from my roots and fucked-up background, the tormental upbringing in a nutcase boarding school...
I look at the Facebook pictures of a grown up family coming together with beers and sweet Dutch pancakes that I never was a part of...no recognition of brothers or Nongshao, never was a part nor did I want to...
I live in a live where the only reality is ilusion but the ilusion is reality, the live where the only fear I have is reality in itself, a fear that has only one purpose, to be conquered.
An eternity of anticipation for the next existence but no wish to ever again see those that are next of kin, not even in these trying times of losing the arch father of the family...
A sleep well and see you in that next existence sentence seems therefore out of the question for me.
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