Fascist family

De-greyed, remade, remaking, unshaken …

 

… that is my family in its rank inability to speak face-to-face;

to communicate not in enigma but appropriate grace;

to be quite direct instead of the shit

of this bull; this bull that angel C, for one, does represent.

 

And they really might have chosen a quite different

path: and they really might have

chosen to do that face-to-face: but no, they

couldn’t do that and no, they shouldn’t

care to be sincere and be aware and be careful

of the violence they were deciding to

commit against her person: “Oh shit!” they now say, for

the game doesn’t permit them to intervene

overtly without her, rather hurtly, pointing out that the

game does exist, and its rules do persist, but – of course –

the issue now happens to be

she’s up for the challenge forever, to resist and

resist …

… to resist and resist and resist.

 

And so T’s lost a brother, and that is

forever;

and K’s lost a cousin, and that is

forever;

and C’s lost a second one, and that is

forever;

and forever I tell you, it need not have been.

But it now does need to be that way, because precisely

it’s her dignity which finds itself at stake

here:

the stake they plunged into her

beautiful heart, as their goals and their objectives

and their blessed KPIs became far more

important than the rights of

her humanity, and

the practice of her loveliness (such an undervalued

term, by people like them and us: the

fuss and the fury of this ordinary nation); and

the frankness of her being,

and the honesty unbound she always did try to

surround herself with.

 

And so this fascist group of family, and their

games and playing and saying and

not doing, has made and remade of her life this

dreadful bastard son:

and yet, and even so, she desires to carry

on: in the face of their

dastardly nature, and their bastardness already

said, broadly

implemented and ridden

and hidden and sucked into and spat out

of all these or-full inhumane runs,

even so she wants to enjoy the life still left

her on the silver-plated – hardly

solid – tray of terrible terrible betrayal: and

even so, she believes in this life as it

stands, even as it is wrapped around her being and

her banned … even in this

way … even

in this uncertain shade.

 

And so one thing she won’t do is give in

to the fascism of family: of a family who

over these years has attempted

and tried

and striven to own her free

spirit, and own her be

spirit, and own her do

spirit, and own her kind

spirit, and own her

practically all that she’s been, and where owning

wasn’t possible, to medicalise her reality

into a dark dark fudge of

immortality.

 

So many spirits, gathering loose around the fear:

so many spirits, here, of pasts done and gone:

of these really quite

disagreeable inglorious bastards:

daughters and sons lost and won.

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