because i feel like looking at myself...

[~vxn~]

considering the geography, yes.  lol... my aunt lvies there.... i think it's a 9 hour drive from here...

[Exterminator]

Yeah, you're pretty far up there.

[Exterminator]

Now I know where Jeffersonville is (google maps...fancy that).

[~vxn~]

yeah... it's a distance...

[~vxn~]

what the hell is wrong with my face?  i blame my health for sh!tty pix, maybe it's just my sh!tty face i should blame... (laughing so hard at that.... lol... wtf... lolololol.... i need to lay off the sauce...)

[Exterminator]

Are you fishing for compliments?   

[awol]

ya got no eyebrows.

[~Daisy~]

Now I know where Jeffersonville is (google maps...fancy that).

Hey that's the next town over from where I grew up!

[~vxn~]

Are you fishing for compliments?   

not in the least... just unhappy at the photos i've taken recently... i've been ill--so i blame that. 

[~vxn~]

Hey that's the next town over from where I grew up!

i haven't had the pleasure of visiting that area since 1992. 

(thankx for noticing awol!  lol.... you have such an eye for detail...)

[~Daisy~]

I haven't been to Jeff since 1986. But I visit New Albany fairly frequently!

[~vxn~]

i never leave my state any more.   

[~vxn~]

baby vxn:


two of my cousins i haven't seen since i was 10.  little vxn, reading a book:


the acts of domestic slavery at 6 years old... (notice the permanent tan... that is what's wrong with my recent photos...)


me and my favorite cousin... when i was 7

[~vxn~]

notes to myself... perhaps another book, or something to educate--public speaking....

a thought.  while looking at myself in photos... the evolution...

as much of the horrors of my childhood that i remember--there are many things that i have locked away in my mind.

i remember that my father and i would sometimes watch "saturday nightmares" on USA network when i was little... my sister was too scared.  it was our thing.  i'd wait for him to get home to eat dinner with him, he wouldn't show up until breakfast--so we'd eat count chocula together.  i always thought that i could make him love me enough to stop hurting me.  it never worked.

i remember that the love of horror started as abuse that became a driving force.  my father thought it would be funny to force (yes, literally) my sister and i to watch the scariest movies possible and then make us go to the dark basement and tell us that whatever evil on the screen we just saw was waiting in the basement--waiting for us.  it worked on my poor sister.  not me, i started thinking, "well, if freddy krueger is down there, he'll kill me and make it stop.  nothing he could do would be worse than my life."

i remember that my parents in the same year:  my mother told me to eat shit and die and my father told me to go to hell.  (go to hell was the horror of all horrors, being raised in a strict roman catholic home--not that eat shit and die was a better thing to say to a kid...)

i remember being four years old and not longer after, my father dislocated and broke my shoulder.  looking in the knife drawer and thinking that if i stabbed my father while he was asleep, i might have a shot at killing him and that if my mom tried to stop me that i would have to kill her too.  i thought better of it and realized it would be easier to just kill myself--but who would protect my little sister? 

i remember wanting to tell my grandfather all that was going on, but my father threatened to have him killed.  i ever ruined a plan he made with some friend of his.  he told the guy to kill him and make it look like a botched robbery.  my mother was right there and heard the whole thing, too--but it was me who yelled, "don't you talk about my grampy that way!  i'll tell, i'll tell!"  fove minutes later my father shoved me out of the car onto the curb and took my sister for ice cream.  when they got back he made her eat it in front of me--she cried, i think it hurt her more than it did me.  she asked if i wanted a lick--he beat her.

i remeber after my brothers were born and my father slammed my baby brother off the crib rail.  (he was a preemie)  i remember my father shooting at me with a bb gun.  i remeber target shooting with him and his dad.  (i was a better shot than both--and i still am.)

i remember blood, i remember beatings, i remember screaming, i remember watching my father break my mother's face in a car door and her wrist.  i remember her doing nothing to change the situation until my father and she separated and he threatened to take us from her by proving she was insane.  (and sweet jesus, was she ever.)  i remember leaving my grandfather's house and being so scared that my father would have someone kill the only person who ever loved me.

i remember violence being the only place that made me feel safe as an adolescent.  picking fights i knew i'd probably lose.  breaking knuckles on someone's face.  i remember stopping.  i remember drinking--which calmed me, but made me more dangerous and less likely to stop myself from doing very unkind things to humanity. 

i remember building a house with my grandfather.  i remember grampy laughing at my ability to climb a thousand feet in the air but not be able to climb down 15 feet and teasing me that he's call the fire department if i wasn't down by dinner.  i put most of the roof on, some walls up, flooring... you name it.  i loved construction--or maybe i just loved that time with my grandfather.  i remember "killing" the nails--that method won't drive them in--rather send them sailing into the distance.  my grandfather could get a nail in in two hits, i never could... i'd often hear:  "stop trying to kill the nail, gently.  *you did get some good distance on that one, though*" 

i remember wanting to be a better parent than mine were.  i remember grampy helping me with that.  he really was the only person who could ever talk to me.  no one else's opinion mattered a rat's ass to me. 

i remember things so vile that i dare not post them in open public for anyone to see.  they stay here in the dark, they stay here with me. 

remember kids, there are abused WIVES and GIRLFRIENDS but there is no such thing as an abused MOTHER.  once you become a parent and let that go on, even if he isn't physically hurting the children--YOU ARE JUST AS GUILTY. 

sorry for rambling. 

[Exterminator]

No, it's good to get it out sometimes.  Was your dad an alcoholic like mine?