I’ve started again, to write about him. This must be crazy. I’ve turned crazy. He may be among the stupidest people I know. If he’d a strand of humane thought in him, I’d rejoice. Now, I’ve nothing like that even in far-distant domains and it itself is a pipedream, I guess.
He doesn’t know about this place. That there exists something documenting the saga. This must be crazy. I’ve turned a paranoid, putting together fresh madness.
It’s the strangest thing, like everything else. The way strangeness sits between us, when we’re at a table, he owns most of it. Yes, I’ve admit if not blatantly that I’ve a shitty bro.
Among other things, I HATE his singing his voice is the stupidest when he sings.
To write about him, he’s a self-confessed double-lifer. He rarely talks to his dad. Rarely, really really rarely. He mostly uses mom to get his things done.
I wish I could put sanity into his head, wherever he’s headed. But we don’t talk. He wouldn’t call it sanity that I’m trying to put across to him.
The talking whenever it happened in the past come with restrictions. Not restrictions wholly, I’d say, like added risks he’d use an old old story, re-invent it to his advantage and use it against me.
It’s the stupidest to be around this bro.
It’s easier to let it happen. Like I don’t notice anything. Letting it be.
The meteor heading for collision.
It’d be my sweet revenge for his plotting cold war against me.
This is the story of me at least a part of it. Every part of this is real. I’m not the one re-inventing old things to make anything (even, a good read) out of it!
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