The Ballad of the Childbeater Pervert

I wrote this around 2012  My boyfriend at that time read it and was silent and blank faced.  He had schizotypal personality disorder but I didn’t know it at that time.  He was diagnosed way after. (there was an order of protection out on him until last week but that is a different post)

My brother died while researching the effects of radioactivity on the plant world.  He went to (xxx) University, and did experiments in France and Switzerland.

My father died when I was 7.  He was rebuilding the education system after the War, and he was the powerful physical  education teacher, who was overtaken with consumption.

My mother. I broke her down to have my way.  Why I was the male left in the house, and my little brother, his head was too big for the rest of his body, and he wasn’t athletic like me.

My first daughter-                       She was born with her eyes open and a head full of hair.  I was going to stop drinking and work.  I was going to be responsible and make art.  But its not easy and its even harder when things don’t  go according to my fantasies.

My wife I met in cram school.  We both didn’t get into (xxx) Arts University.   Our friends set us up.  She has a narcissistic disorder; of course I still don’t know this.  I took out my frustrations on my first daughter.

I put my penis in her hand and I stuffed her vagina.  I threw her into sharp corners on the walls and on furniture.  As a teenager  in my town in my country there was 1 TV.  I used to watch  mean and  strong Freddie Blassie body slam the weak.  I hit her head with a hammer when she ruined a nail, she didnt hold it straight enough.  Of course family has to stay together and kids should help out with stretching canvases

I punch d her every day.  Rarely a day would go by without hitting or kicking or stepping on her.  She had herniated discs early on,  but….

See I couldn’t get into the boxing team in high school; I very much wanted to,  my father was a phys ed teacher in academia, but my arms are short, I have no reach.

I couldn’t get into boxing team, I needed to be angry forever.

I also punched her because of my friends’ getting their works in exhibitions, while I didn’t.  I didn’t try I was busy working on the drinking whiskey part of being an artist; but it is easier to escape and fantasize.  I is harder when nobody knows who I am.  They don’t know how grand I am inside.

How did I punch?          Really hard.        I have to be strong.

My daughter, she had nowhere to go.  My wife could run back to our homeland to her parents and I could have lost her.  As for my daughter,  we were all she had.

How did I punch?                                                              really hard.                                                                                            I have to be strong.  My daughter had nowhere to go. My wife could run back to her parents and I could lose her.  My daughter couldn’t run anywhere, no relatives here.

I did it because she had to know how hard it is to survive.  I did it to teach her about respecting adults.  I did it because I was ready to cast my sins onto her.

I couldn’t stand up to myself; that’s how.  I gave her the gift of spinal injuries, mental illness, fear, pain, undescribable sadness, and unimaginable courage.

I was the male.  My brother was afraid of the stairs and of spirits. I laughed at my little brother  I was the man.  I used to chase dragonflies and make fart noises with winter cherries that were hollowed out.

My father was an athlete and an educator.  He died of consumption when I was 7 years old.

My mother was an elementary school teacher; she spent the workday with kids of other parents.  Yes, some of these kids had fathers.

My mother opened a cigarette shop when my father died, so we can survive.  My little brother was bad at baseball, bad at stilts; he’s dead now.  When he was 4 years old, he was afraid to walk down the stair because he was scared.  When he went up the stairs, he crawled and stopped and rested because he was tired, and his head felt heavy.  I remembered and couldn’t help myself from laughing when I told my family 30 years later.  Of course I hit my daughter and yelled at my other daughter and my wife when they laughed; I am the man of the house.  He went to (xxx) University, became a scientists and studied the effects of radiation on agriculture.  He committed suicide in Europe while researching.  My friend thinks that my brother  found out something and his death was an inside job.

My friend was drunk one night and told my daughter that my brother committed suicide.  I had always told her that it was a stroke that killed her far away uncle.  She was a waitress and he was a drunk customer.  She was angry that I lied to her.  She always liked reality and truth.  She left home at 16 years old.  She didn’t run away, she saved money and went to live with a boy/man.  I used to beat her so bad~ she has permanent spine damage She is in pain every day of her life.  She has other pain.  When it hurt her to walk or use the bathroom after I taught her adult things, I beat her up for having a diagnosis of urinary tract infection.  I told her that she shouldn’t have that in 5th grade.

But I don’t know about her pain.  I have to protect myself.  I need to forget what I did.

My daughter, my first one, I named her after Yukio Mishima’s grandmother.  I lied to her about that too.  My drunk friend told her.  He started going to her job to flirt with her.

I didn’t get into (xxx) Arts University.  I met my wife in cram school.  I didn’t get into boxing team.  My arms too short.  I got into gymnastics.  Years later, my daughter went to see a screening or “Throw Away You Books, Run Into the Street”  She was drenched in tears amongst hipsters.  This was not cool at movie night for her.  This was tears to mourn her not having a childhood, and for the generation of post war Asia.  This was tears of sadness for girls who were sold to men fathers and brothers to support them, and tears of grief that she was thought of as only something to make money from so her dad didn’t have to drink.  Tears for me, her father, who may have had a different life if I had gotten into boxing team, or to (xxx) Arts University.  But I don’t know about this incident.  I haven’t seen her in many years.  I don’t know what movies she sees, or who her friends are.  She dropped out of school and left home at 16 years old, bringing shame to the family.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s