As I wrote this post, I have just finished a movie, my ritual after work… no matter how late I went home, I always seize the day with a flick. This time it was “Choke” by Chuck Palahniuk. He is an American modern author which was increasingly popular among the hipsters, he even became a cult figure. People might know him from Fight Club, made popular by David Fincher into the big screen in 1999, with Brad Pitt (of course) and Edward Norton.Yes of course, it was brilliant especially in 1999. I knew he was big when I visited every hipster friends I have, all have his books on the shelf. Even this 65 year old guy I took care in the Upper East Side of Manhattan read it, told me it was his hipster daughter’s gift. No kidding.

This “Choke”, was not had that huge impact, but it moved me enough at this late, 1:19 am, to get up my ass and started typing. His typical main character, more or less, are losers. Suffering from bad childhood memories, dementia, delusional, alzheimer,  schizoprenic, kind of thing. Which is something that I feel more these days. I try to stay awake until morning and get busy to not thinking about stuff like the future, I just let my self free from negative thoughts. I don’t want to choke.

The main guy, Victor, had a mother in a Mental Institutional suffered from schizophrenia. I, had a dad suffered from bipolar. Which is something not the same but similar. He had some vision of his childhood memories, being left by his mom and then he got adopted but she came kidnapped him again… sort of. It was not very clear while I’m sure the book would be lot better.He always tried to find the reason why she did that, who is his father, etc…

I had a vague memories too, about my dad. He never left me like that, fortunately, but I’m pretty sure that he was doing something worthy as a Dad too. I remember that we went to a cinema to Charles bronson movie in the middle of the day after school, he was not working. Mom was. Why?

and this time when he ran over my foot with his car when he supposed to take me to school. Why? did he like to see me suffer?

and one time when he hit mom, spit at her, threw plates like frisbee or even painted all the kitchen floor orange from the chili sauce when the bottle missed my mom’s head and hit the ground? Why? Did he enjoy the superiority?

and that time when we saw him wearing my mom’s pantyhose, her panties and bra on their bed. Why? Was he kinky?

and this time when he got caught watching porn with his friend in our living room? Well, Why? What the hell…

why would anyone sane do something like that in front of his daughter?

the only answer is that he was not sane.

It was just some questions left without answers.

Yes, it was just some questions doubted me to rush into marriage, to be cynical upon engaged friends, to have doubts that I could raised a kid better than my parents,  to insist that I might be sterile because I never once been accidentally pregnant or even had an abortion, to have some crazy idea of long distance married and more crazy insecure stuff.

Yes, I hope I could just choke myself with big piece of food down my throat, run into someone that could help me to get it all out so I could just get on with my life.

It’s 2:11 am now. Good morning, I’m going to bed.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, June 10th, 2009 at 12:22 pm and is filed under Artwork, Cinema, Diary, Life, culture, family, literature, psychology, social, women issues. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.