It's a family affair... (Alambic 22/5/10)

Neither of them followed the rules, but not for the same reasons : one for the sake of rebellion, the other because the structure had given way by then blurring the index. A funeral by default; a gravestone withering in weeds...

- disaffection as a trophy was easier than admitting you were hurt, wasn't it?
+ you are so up your own arse with your big words
- me? up my own arse? Clever. Who was it who had to spend a week in hospital having their shit pumped out of them because they held on to it so tightly? You could have held back a reservoir with your sphincter muscles, no sweat.
+ if my memory serves me well your little episode of cystitis led you to hospital as well
- exactly, and the difference is I've been aware of that acid burning my life ever since, not denying that I came out unscathed
+ move on, move along. You're so bogged down in the past you're an archeologist's dream
- trowels, bowels, funny that
+ wordy words. Your neuroses bore me
- I may bore you but at least show me the respect you would give to anyone else
+ respect? talk to me about respect.
- you have always despised me or maybe envied me. At any rate you've spent most of your life trying to eradicate me from the map of your existence. I could have lived and died by now and it wouldn't even have crossed your mind to check how I was doing
+ I don't want to listen to this crap anymore
- tell me something I don't know already. Go on, surprise me
+ you had it so easy
- make me howl
+ you were always the favourite, always having excuses made for you
- and was that my choice, my decision? And have you ever thought about how that disabled me for facing things in the real world? Have you ever stopped to imagine how that disempowered me. Becoming someone else's object?
+ don't come over all psycho babble with me. Move on, get over it
- has it ever occurred to you that's my life's definition but I want you a part of that reconstruction? Knowing all the while all I'll ever get from you is scorn and derision. And the worst of it is I keep coming back for more. If we still have a relationship it's because I make it happen
+ I live my life
- and for you that means I don't exist. A curious notion of life to deny your own sibling. When did your rivalry start to get the upper hand? When did I become such a threat by my very breathing that you had to shut down? Let me think. When I granted our father the right to be mentally ill after you had suffered at his hands?When I questioned our mother's wisdom in leaving us behind? When I saw through the tyrant in our stepfather, your convenient, instant new male model?
+ you'll never understand. It's a gender thing. And your mockery and rejection of mother made me livid. That's women for you. Can't stamp out the bitch in you
- you haven't grown have you? You've just endorsed your own intolerance all these years. You stopped loving the day you stopped shitting and replaced love by hedonism to endure all that pain. And because you're a man that's all you need to do. I'm alright Jack and if I just party from now to eternity that suits me and I can just cater to my own needs, safe in the knowledge of my superiority.
+ me? superior? have you ever heard yourself talk about being a mother. Bla bla bla. Like some saintly force for the planet and us childless pariah must beg permission to continue taking pleasure in life.
- when have I ever berated you on that score? Look at me. Who do you see? What do you know of who I am? Can you really imagine I could set myself up as a model for perfect parenting? That's why I forgive where you choose to forget.
+ you're going to make me cry, or laugh. I don't know which.
- your ridicule can't touch me any more. I'm done. You can't dole out any more punishment I'm not collaborating any more

And do you know the interesting thing is that for all the wordy words exchanged his remain empty, devoid of meaning as he continues to send cards at Christmas, like he's not the author of his violence. He thinks, like so many men, that words are devoid of sense, exonerated from commitment. Half the planet opens its mouth only for the sake of exercising its vocal chords. No verbal contract ever existed for the male of the species. Is that why he chose photography? A short cut to truth? A dumbing down of the message? No effort expended in bonding. Just gloss. Just airbrush out the context and stir up the emotion from a safe distance. Be the one who spies from the haven of your lens.