Boiling Blood. A Recipe for Disaster.
October 20th 2008 06:49
It makes my blood boil.
Dad failed completely as a husband and father, but he had a great, long-term relationship with his car.
I didn’t just have competition from dad’s car for his attention and affection. I got it from his cleaning equipment. Even the bucket and sponge were more important. In his eyes. Those eyes as empty as a soap bubble. Pop.
“Not now, pal. I’m busy. Go and annoy your mother.”
I don’t know how many times I heard that one as a kid.
Dad would have been happier if mum had given birth to a matchbox toy. As long as it was a Ford Falcon. He might have played with it.
Mum wasn’t much better.
“Not now, Kevin. Can’t you see I’m busy? Go and annoy your father.”
I probably heard that one just as often.
Dad should have left his precious car idling, and shoved the exhaust pipe up mum’s cunt. “It’s … a … matchbox toy!”
Mum should have got a job. She was an expert at pretending she was busy when she wasn’t doing anything. The perfect employee? Management material? Promote that woman! She’s not only mastered the art of appearing busy doing nothing, she even believes she’s busy. Get her to host corporate conferences about increasing productivity?
Mum’s idea of preparing a meal (or trimming the excess fat off cheap chump chops, because dad liked his meat lean), was to stand looking at the mouldy, leftover dishes and last week’s oily dishwater in the sink with a knife in her hand.
Dad didn’t like his women lean.
‘Treat ‘em mean and keep ‘em keen’ wasn’t his motto. He was a bullish man, not just in attitude. ‘Get your fork up some pork’ was more dad. Mum’s eating disorder(s), neuroses, prescription meds addiction, and general skeletal appearance probably explains why I was an only child. Mum looked like a concentration camp victim who wasn’t thin from concentrating.
Being conditioned as a child to think you annoy your parents, makes you believe you do. It affects your relationships with all adults, especially those in a position of authority. From henceforth, and forevermore. Amen.
Having a knife waved in your face by your mother does not make you immediately think of becoming a world-famous conductor of operatic music. Or a direct marketer of unneeded and unwanted objects.
Mind you, if I hadn’t become a serial killer, I would have made an excellent conductor. I could see myself wearing an apron, and conducting Chopin with a set of cheap steak knives at the world's most famous operatic venues. I would have given the audience free, dirty crockery to bang together at the crescendo and climax to save them from clapping, and their hands from chapping. Because dishwater is good for your hands according to Palmolive. It softens your hands while you do the dishes. “You’re soaking in it, Madge.”. In London or New York. But not in Greece. You can’t hand out crockery in Greece. Those grease-balls would have smashed the plates. I would have given the hairy halitosians pots and pans and told them this was not Maria Callas’ wedding set to the tune of Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro. This is Chopin’s Funeral March you dumb fucks. Or maybe given them all a vinyl copy of The Best of Demis Roussos. Or a copy of Yanni and a free kalamata olive?
I’m not just reading the Bible in prison. I’m reading books about conditioning. And recipe books. Cook books. I might even write a best-selling, picture recipe-book from prison about how you condition your child to turn into a murderer. All you need is two non-caring parents. Just add half a bucket of dirty, car-cleaning suds and some oily leftover dishwater from the sink, and bring to the boil? Slowly.
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Comment by Damo
However you had me at 'those eyes as empty as a soap bubble.'
How often have I read blogs filled with the same emptiness? POP.
I am glad that I am not a serial killer.
Comment by Anonymous
Comment by Lady Henrietta Muddling
Potter in a Harry
The thought did occur to me that the title may have come across as a Special Messages post but that horse has been flogged beyond death and glue.
The posts are reaching tragic proportions.
One of the posts I did enjoy recently was on Secret Writer's Business with an excerpt out of Steve Toltz' book. It's worth a read if you haven't read it yet.
Really Long Link
Comment by Lady Henrietta Muddling
Potter in a Harry
It's a continuation of Nothing Land, the novelisation of a screenplay I wrote about the childhood of a serial killer.
The screenplay dramatises Kevin's childhood. The novel is Kevin's recollections of his childhood from prison.
Don't take it as an autobiographical account. It involved a lot of research ... and, um ... growing up with Catholic parents?
Comment by Damo
I just read the link and you were correct. It was outstanding.
Sometimes I miss riding on a train to the city. I could read in peace and write without distraction.
Comment by Lady Henrietta Muddling
Potter in a Harry
Yeah, Joanne has some great posts on Secret Writer's Business. Steve Taultz' book would certainly be worth a read. But like you said, you almost need to catch public transport to get a chance to read nowadays.
Comment by D. Armenta
The Florida Keys and Everglades
The Black Sheep Chronicles
What constitutes bad manners?
The male mystique
Debate Fan
L.A.M.P.
Waiting for the next installment...
Comment by Lady Henrietta Muddling
Potter in a Harry
Writing this is the only bloody relief I get from posts on your country's elections.
I'll be posting the next instalment soonish.
Hope the music industry is treating you kindly.
Btw, have you ever considered playing the drums with a set of K-Tel knives?
Comment by Kleonaptra
Kalikapsychosis
Brilliant. I could do more...So much of this is just awesome.
As for reading and public transport, you are right. I used to wake up in the morning and read. Now I wake up and blog. I dont think I like it. But I like even less settling down with a big thick book and not getting further than a page before I have to close it. It just doesnt seem worth the trouble. So, I enjoy a nice long train trip. Its usually good for a poem or two as well.
Comment by Lady Henrietta Muddling
Potter in a Harry
I'm hearing you.
The instability of life some of us experience doesn't promote the reading of lengthy works. Or even writing them.
Years ago I could have written this stuff in my sleep. But my mind is tortured to the point where if I manage a post every few days, I'm doing well.
The only bonus in all of this is not a gold watch, or a handshake from a boss sacking me, but that sometimes I can direct my anger at life at the page and inject the page with the same. Fuck literature?
It's what leads women to settle down with something big and fat of the non-literary kind.
Anyone up for a BBQ?
Did anyone bring any onions?
Hollywood can keep its happy endings. Give me a tragedy any day.
Comment by Norm
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
Damo, I miss the commute too for those reasons too. Except for the writing bit.
Comment by Lady Henrietta Muddling
Potter in a Harry
It hurts my head just thinking about the war.
Comment by Damo
I can highly recommend it.
People only look at you funny for a few days the you end up being that guy who writes on the train.
Comment by Kleonaptra
Kalikapsychosis
Thats so funny. When Im tortured my hand cant keep up. Thats if I have reached the point where pain is discernable into words.
Comment by D. Armenta
The Florida Keys and Everglades
The Black Sheep Chronicles
What constitutes bad manners?
The male mystique
Debate Fan
L.A.M.P.
Play with knives? I dunno..it's maybe too cutting-edge for my venue.
Comment by Lady Henrietta Muddling
Potter in a Harry
I'm just cathartic-ed out as far as writing goes.
I'm entering what is called the numb stage.
It's obviously time to do some reading.
Comment by Lady Henrietta Muddling
Potter in a Harry
hahaha @