Open Letter

Dearest Father,

I realize I flew off the fucking handle at you. However, in my defense, I have TV static where some of my formative memories should be. Also, the clear memories that I do have are why I am writing now in the manner I am now: to forget. You are not like Chad Woodcock in my Transimus Maximus stories. You were not a Christian until you miraculously “found Jesus” (to borrow your mother’s words) when your name was being put on the offender registry. I didn’t realize that until ten years later. I didn’t have the sight then that I do now. I didn’t want it. I still don’t. When my mother died, you got mad at God. Meanwhile, you got re-married with the quickness by the local minister and sent my siblings and I to church on Sunday mornings. You would get very angry when I would express joy in the things I had reverence for that were not Biblically based. And yet, you were mad at God. The only God you could imagine. 3-O God as described in the Bible. It just did not add up to my admittedly tiny brain.

ANYWAYS, you were right. You called it. I do hate you. However, I don’t think you hate me. This is not because I think you love me. It is simply because I don’t think you are capable of hating me. I will explain why.

True hatred requires a deep knowledge of what is hated. With you, there isn’t very much depth. You haven’t changed or grown since the last time I shared physical space with you. You probably still call anime “Japanimation” and pronounce “manga” with a long “a” and then a short “a” (not to mention you’d probably say “manga comics” – a tautology – instead of simply saying “manga”). You’re probably still mad about that Optimus Prime toy that I really and truly do not remember (for serious I remember a Powermaster Optimus Prime toy because it came out after I started forming memories and I remember needing help with the Powermaster engine compartment transformation gimmick fucking get over it Optimus Prime is literally the most boring character SUPER GINRAI 4 LYFE). You still seek a life of convenience, comfort, ease, and familiarity. Further, the changes that you have undergone are entirely predictable, which is unfortunate for a number of reasons.

Basically, you’re just a bitter old man. There are hundreds of thousands of bitter old men just like you. You want to feel good about being a bitter old man. The hundreds of thousands of bitter old men just like you also want to feel good about being bitter old men. Your mother, a little over twenty years ago, told me not to push you to engage in emotional exploration. She said that you’re just not that good at that sort of thing. I suppose she was a bitter old woman just waiting for you to become a bitter old man.

You see, I know bitterness all too well. Salt almost killed me. I write this with no small amount of irony given how my mother died.

In short: I don’t think you hate me. I think you fear me. You fear me for reasons you can’t put into words, but I’ll try. I think you fear the cognitive dissonance I would bring to the table. I think you fear the questions I might ask. I think you fear that I might make things just a little bit too real. You’ve been in therapy for six months (or I guess maybe seven or eight now) because you’ve had two wives die on you, which is a natural process. Granted, losing your first wife at such a young age must have been a terrible blow, but losing your second wife after over three decades of marriage AND after marrying her just six months after first wife died… come on. My dude. My guy. Daddy. My Brother In Christ™️.

I could point to one of those big wigs in the philosophy canon that says I have no brains because I’m a woman (but since I’m not a REAL woman I must have brains for eons who knows), so instead, I’ll go with what may seem like a complete non-sequitor and simply ask that you please attempt to roll with me.

The Star Wars prequels were ambitious, and they would have been made so much better if they had someone to tell George Lucas, “Listen, this is a good idea, and I can see where you’re coming from and where you want to go, but the way you want to do it is FUCKING. AWFUL. Let’s try it a different way instead. Here are some suggestions…”

Anakin Skywalker wasn’t a slave in the sense that enslaved Africans in the US were slaves, but that doesn’t mean he and Shmi Skywalker (his mother) had it easy. He got free thanks to some Jedi swindling due to an attempt to use something resembling hard sci-fi to bridge the gap between the science (blood) and the fiction (The Force) and was immediately separated from EVERYTHING he fucking knew. When he got back to that tiny place as a grown-ass-man, he watched the only part of that everything he gave a fuck about (Shmi Skywalker) die in his arms, and proceeded to slaughter the Tuskens who tortured her to her death. He then couldn’t openly marry Padmé, murdered Star Wars Morpheus at the coaxing of Sheev Palpatine (srsly that’s a first fuckin’ name), murdered a bunch of children, force choked his pregnant wife, blamed his best friend for all of it, and then didn’t yield to the high ground like a fucking doofus.

Fast forward twenty years, Leia Organa watched Darth Vader blow up her home world right in front of her eyeballs along with the only parents she’d known up to that point (Breha and Bail Organa), learned that Darth Vader was her sperm donor and was possibly having visions related to Padmé (the writing in The Return of the Jedi is clear, but it’s open to interpretation), and STILL didn’t turn to space satan and start doing genocide. Why? Leia Organa in these stories was led by fucking principle (which may or may not have been communism or anarchism who knows but lets not get too political, and also fuck you “extended universe” nerds… I’m not gonna split hairs about the politics of Leia Organa beyond the movies).

Sure. Star Wars is just a bunch of movies. And I know Star Trek was your thing. And being real, they both suck compared to the Chinese versions of everything related to Three Body (hard sci-fi best sci-fi). However, they point to something very clear: women have a huge burden placed on us societally. We don’t go on mass shootings. We don’t rape and pillage and plunder. We might be terrible mothers and teachers sometimes, but that’s usually in tandem with the violence inflicted upon us by patriarchy. So, whether or not I’m a woman or a man is moot. I’m telling you that you hurt me, and I didn’t deserve it, and you need to look at yourself in the mirror every day and face that. You hurt not just me, but numerous other children every day. You need to look at yourself in the mirror and face that. They didn’t deserve it either. If you can’t face yourself in the mirror, I know a guy. Oshino Meme. Look him up. Either way, I’ve done my part. I had the guts to tell you how you hurt me (“That Day” by Poe). Thankfully, I was able to eat most of the pain you inflicted instead of passing it along and hurting others.

Your life, Dear Father, has been terrifyingly mundane. You act as though it has been simply terrifying. That is why I tell you that you do not have the capacity to hate me. When your first wife – my mother – died, you got mad at God. I grieved, certainly. Eventually, I pointed my finger at the proper culprits: patriarchy, capitalism, and white supremacy. That is the difference between you and I. Why would I, a “white” be angry about white supremacy? Don’t I benefit from it? No. It weakens everyone classed as white in ways we cannot even begin to comprehend until we become aware of it (look up Hinton Rowan Helper, a bass-ackwards bastardized version of John Brown). Patriarchy, capitalism, and white supremacy are a hydra monster, the heart of which is domination and exploitation. These cannot co-exist with love. Thus, you never loved me, and you never desired my happiness because you have always sought to dominate and exploit me. That I am writing this to you means that I love you. It truly is a gift.

– b

PS you once told me you’d never be impressed with my guitar playing unless i learned some boring ass leonard skinner guitar solo and i’m terribly fucking sorry i never learned it because i have better things to do like get laid but WHAT EVEN IS THIS ALBUM (or maybe it was for the single?) ART IT CAME OUT IN LIKE THE FUCKING 70s BUT IT STILL LOOKS LIKE IT WAS MADE BY STABLE DIFFUSION WHAT THE FUCK just look at it it’s the right hand coming from the left side of the ball the trigger well is squeezing down on the middle and ring fingers and holy shit it’s just so fucking bad why is it so fucking bad??? Someone got paid to design and paint something THAT. FUCKING. AWFUL.