worst Christmas ever

well...seeing as how im still not doing anything yet, i figure i'll tell you curious minds the origin of my sincere disdain for Tarrance Sr.

christmas eve...im not exactly sure of the year but it was Christmas eve. my family and i were in Gary, Indiana, my birthplace, for a funeral. a funeral for my Uncle Fred whim i had just met maybe the year before. the funeral was this day...so it goes without saying that this was already a dark Christmas. did i cry during the funeral? no, only to pretend to be strong for my relatives around. i couldnt have been much older than thirteen. playing adult and holding my aunt in my arms like she could really feel my strength. i can laugh now. but inside my soul was burning under a bright blue flame.

that night i spoke to the one man that i loved more than life itself, Tarrance Sr. he promised me that he would pick me up the next day, Christmas. i was so excited. that was my idol. my mother and step-father often criticized him and told me such horrible stories of him all of which only led me to despise them. how dare they speak ill will of my father? my hero?! especially my mother who at one time liked him enough to fuck him and produce me. the nerve. when i told them my plans for the next day...they began their rants...the nerve.

Christmas came...presents were opened and enjoyed. but nothing was too gleeful. i realized that i only saw some of these relatives because of this funeral. and again i began to burn.
but Tarrance came to my rescue and i gladly left to hop in his blood red suburban. i wanted to hug him, but i had to be hard in front of him, so i withdrew the urge. his hazel eyes always put me at ease. but they were different this time...there was no red tint behind them. he was sober...and i was happy.

we drove to pick up a young girl, four years my junior. as he explained later on, she was my sister. never had i heard from her before...or again. i cant even recall her name...cey-something...key-something or some shit. with Tupac blasting...we drove more. to Bubba jan's (his mother) house. my new sister and i taught them how to harlem shake (which was big at the time) and other new dances.

in essence, we had a great time...

finally, after a few more stops we went to one of Tarrance senior's friend's house. i was the only child my age there, all the others were either younger or old enough to drink.

the biggest flaw of Tarrance's that was hardest to overlook, was his drinking. he always became a more violent and uncontrollable person. tonight was no different. he drank and in the midst of watching some basketball game, he decided one of his close friends was now an enemy. a fight almost broke out...he dragged my sister and i out of the house. we drove...and drove...and drove. until i fell asleep. when i awoke, he had purchased more liquor and was headed back to the house to make amends. he did and all was well...

...for about twenty minuets. this time he sent my sister and i to his truck and he was soon to follow.

once in the truck, we sat...and waited. the friend he had the altercation with, "Little-head", had come barging out the front door to his car. but he opened the passenger side door. i sat and watched in confusion. "he cant drive from that side...". but that wasnt his intention and i was too foolish to know. he quickly reemerged from his vehicle with gun in hand...my jaw dropped. not only was that my first time seeing a gun in person, but he was going to use that thing on my father.
luckily, two other men were there to wrestle the weapin from him and carry him back inside.

not long after, Tarrance mad his way to the truck...and we told him what we saw. instantly, he was infuriated and sped off. again...we drove and drove and drove. until i could no longer see anything. it had been snowing all day so the road was slippery. randomly, he stopped and asked me, "what do you think i should do?"
in my ignorance i replied, "pray about it." how cute, this young boy telling his psychotic father to pray. mistake.

he took his gun out of the arm compartment and cocked it (by this time my eyes were huge with fear). "you can pray...i'm gonna go blow his head the fuck off..." he stopped at a stop sign and all i could see was the darkness around and the snow flakes that had fallen on the windshield.
then, suddenly, he turned the gun on me and said, "and if you ever tell your mom about this, ill kill you too."

i couldnt cry...not yet.
he dropped us off at his ex-wife's house and instead of staying the night like i was going to, i had my mother rescue me. when i returned to my step-grandmother's house, i sat in her play room and cried
for hours...in the dark i cried. it was all i could do...my idol...my hero threatened my life.

that day...the worst Christmas ever...changed me forever
and embedded this Hate for the previous me....
...Tarrance Bernard Foster Sr

Tarrance vs Tarrance

no...this is not a weak "T.I. versus TIP" phase that every unoriginal weak minded teen went through when he did. this is an actual battle for my soul between two bodies with the same soul of darkness and hatred. my name is Tarrance Bernard Foster 2nd. so there was a previous version of me. the original. the first of two failures. my father.

father...
he deserves not such a title, so out of spite we will call him everything but.

this man almost single handily ruined my life. he turned me into the cold hearted being that i am. all it took was one day, Christmas, to turn me against the world. that one day confused me so horribly that all i could be was angry, once i had enough strength to stop crying. and still i could not comprehend what had occurred. now that i am fully competent of what transpired that day and in all of my other run-ins with bitch of a man i can never forgive him. only hate remains where admiration used to dwell. yes, i hate Tarrance Bernard Foster Senior.

the worst Christmas ever...a story for another time my friends.

the purpose of this entry is to explain how successfully i had evaded this man. ignored calls, disregarded messages, burned letters. i did everything in my power to run from him. he who embodies pain. i had won. calls stopped, messages ceased, letters no longer came.

but today, july fourth, two thousand and eight, my birthday, the day i knew would go wrong before it came, he calls. of course i could have ignored it...and i would have...if he called MY phone. to my dismay he isn't as stupid as i would like to think. he called my mother and spoke with her for a while. meanwhile, i lay in my bed wanting to be sleep. when my mother barges in my room holding the phone. i knew it was someone wanting to wish me happy birthday, but when asked she wouldnt tell me who. i was trapped.

"Hello?"
"Hey Boy! you know who you talkin to??"
of course i did and no longer was i sleepy. i was infuriated. at my mother for giving me the damn phone and him for even remembering that i was his son. he told me to call him later, i wont.

after a hour or so, i was over it. until i went downstairs for breakfast...when i heard the worse news of the century.
worse than knowing that my family will be going to see a shrink...worse than knowing that my cousin and my aunt are moving in with us.
i found out that he would be moving to the same city...

after years of having escaped his grasp...he would be here...but this town aint big enough for two Tarrances.
my worst fear is coming to pass...and needless to say im not happy about it.

picked mind

my family has decided that it was a good idea to sign us up to go see a shrink...as a family. i keep hearing that it will be good for all of us. it will allow me to really express my sincere disdain for my stepfather. but, not only do i feel no need to let these people understand my feelings, i also think its entirely too late. i am soon to be moving out. mending any "bond" with the moore family wont matter. especially since i do not plan on hearing from them once i leave.
when im gone im gone

i keep hearing:
"Tarrance, you're not a villain. so why would you call yourself that"
only villains have the dark thoughts that i do. i watch a lot of cartoons and in each one the villain has much time to develop. i match well with each of them. it was either that or "diary of an anti-hero" and that doesn't sound cool at all.
i am the one who walks towards the shadows instead of basking in the sun. the one who watches the lighting rather than run. i am the dark character of your favorite book. and i enjoy it.

so this is nineteen

some birthday

nineteen

nineteen. the final year of the "teen". still not old enough to drink but not young enough to mooch off my "parents". eighteen was an interesting year. i accomplished much, and failed more. i realized that my stepfather and myself cannot live under the same roof. i learned that the beach looks better at night. i was taught b.e.t was evil. and i learned how to be a better me.

i hate birthdays. mostly mine. people ask "how does it feel to be a year older?" maybe i'm the only one who noticed, but not a damn thing changes in that one specific day. so often i respond (like i have today), "i just feel that much closer to dying." people mistake that comment as a sign of depression.
but am i not right?

nineteen. the year of ultimate confusion
nineteen. the year of pre-manhood and post-boyhood
nineteen will be a long and troublesome year.

yeah
happy fucking birthday

some birds cant fly

i feel as though i'm headed for failure. like there is nothing i could do to reach success. i know i have the tools, the training and the ability. but do i have the power...the destiny? what is my destiny? what is destiny? the pre determination of one's life...to be told how one will end before they begin...

earlier this month i spent a week in Myrtle beach. even though i spent it with temptress, a talkative family and a heavy heart i throughly enjoyed myself. never had i been so at peace with myself. often a text message from my mother would appear. knowing that she is the source of many of my stresses (or at least the messenger of such). i spent many nights with my feet in the warm water watching the moon pass through the skies. many poems were written. that week saw the essence of perfection in my eye. returning home was similar to letting a convict enjoy freedom only to lock them up again.

"home is where the hate is," -Common

lately suicidal thoughts have flooded my brain. even while in the perfect place, i often found myself wanting to throw my body into the drink and not come up. never have these thoughts been so vivid. i am somewhat afraid that i might actually go through with one soon. what frightens me even more...is that i fear nothing. death itself is actually just another event...and not "the end". living this way...i dont plan to see past thirty-five. and i dont mind.

so maybe im fucked up
i am a fuck up
and i dont give a fuck
.fuck.

maybe im not meant for greatness like i always dreamed
maybe ill die alone and poor like in my nightmares
maybe this hell will remain my reality
maybe the beach is as close to heaven as i'll get
.maybe.