“i don't know what else to say or do.
other than, i don't want anything to do with you, and
that i hate you almost as much as i hate him.
and i am no longer your brother.
go fuck yourself.”
Though wound tight and explosive, my brother used to be smart, in the way of a boy accustomed to spinning logical binds, games (or traps) of language that incensed or amused his family. Now he’s simply foolish, the kind of young man afflicted with a terminal lack of insight, who would rather drop ineffectual bombs of language rather than listen to even a slight difference of opinion.
He specializes in responses studded with essentialist assertions, homophobic language, arrogant posturings, and creative re-tellings. “I paint better than most people.” “I’m Cambodian, so I’m a fucker like that.” And, no, Dad was not a monk in Cambodia. Although he wandered the countryside with monks when he was a homeless child, Dad has never donned saffron robes. And like Mom explained, your name is still a missspelling, of the quirky sort that Dad specialized in; it was supposed to be Date. Think before you talk to the folks at Giant Robot - your sister might be reading.
But Deth seems entirely fine with his style of discourse. After all, he has simply shut off all sight and sound of his sister, as if it was so easy. As if the presence of a woman he has known for years could dissipate so easily, blood and flesh disappearing as if never-been or a troubling figment of his imagination. But that’s it, right? I know what it’s like, little brother, to tailor your past and the things you say in order to suit yourself. Everyone does it. Everything I write here is another creative retelling of my life and sometimes our lives. Our times. . . But do you need to invest everything - even anger and hate and patriarchal values - into the seeming truthfulness of your belief system?
So go ahead, don’t engage in dialogue - your way is the right way. Tell people they're faggots and pussies and cunts. Say, I’m better than most people. Disown your sister and not only that, tell things you shouldn’t be telling to your parents so that, yes, they’ll disown her too because, of course, your way is the right way. (Damn, those Baptists really did sink their teeth in you, didn’t they?)