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Meeresbande Zine #1 S.46 The messages of hatred and death

23. Januar 2011

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Text:

The messages of hatred and death-threat that our “parents” screamed and snarled at us through the look in their eyes alone, are one of the most chilling and frightening memories I have. There were other massages in the “parents’” eyes, too. Envy. Jealousy. Cold judgemend and condemnation. A look that seemed to go right through me and tell me as a fact: “You have no worth or value whatsoever. Why do I even have to look at you? The world would be FAR better off without you!”

Then there was hunger, greed, madness, frenzy.

From my “father” I remember mostly dull indifference and utter lack of understanding about what a human child might be. He did not know what to do with us at all, and he didn’t much care; only to lie to himself and others that he was a good father, did he even try to act as though he were, treating us more like a trophy and/or puppet than anything else (which, tellingly, is enough for this society to accept him as a good father!). I don’t think he EVER saw US or looked US in the eyes! He always saw what he thought he should see and mostly what he wanted to see. He was not able to let any truth in his eyes, otherwise he would have seen himself, too. So he looked at his sick phantasies a lot when his eyes gazed through us. It was as if he were looking at something only he could see that was behind us. That was especially clear when he used our body and whatever he had projected into it/me/us for his sexual violations.

The only other time he seemed to take interest in us and the only time I felt he cared for me at all (which he didn’t) was, when I was showing interest in something he was interested in, too. When I was younger, I thought I liked his hobbies and I liked being near him when he was in the hobby room, later I showed some interest in his job. He liked to have me around, I guess he was proud to show off and to have someone admiring him, actually taking interest in him. He also projected a lot of stuff into us. He had no clue who we really were and what we really liked and found interesting and he did not bother asking or listening to me or any of us.

The “mother” was a bit different but no better.

(when I used “I/me” in this text I was referring to the everyday-Person)

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