If at first you don't succeed.

I hate how much I try. I am falling into hate; a dark cynicism is digging its roots in with a tighter grip into the dirt of my mind. My heart's beat weakens and clarity is leaving my eyes—you can’t help me, and I can’t promise I can help myself--how I wish I could.

I can’t even pray confidently for it to pass right now. The fruits of its branches ripen and fall, and burst in throws of anger and rage, this fear isn’t going away at all anymore—and it promises to leave me alone in my old age. I am too tired to find another hatchet right now; and if found--then what? Another set of hack, hack, hack. Spit, chew. Hack, hack, hack.

It doesn't go down; the attempts against her, the black tree, dark and suffocating, work like antibodies that viruses become accustomed to--my attempts make her stronger, and weaken

me. My heart's beat grows quieter and is slowing down, the clarity is leaving my eyes.

Then, there's Somalia. Famine by definition must be at least 10 child deaths daily attributed to malnutrition for a set period of time. You live in a world that has created a definition for famine. Maybe it all stems from an unspoken fear of death. What does it matter if I have tangible evidence of my youth for my children? What if I have no children? Why must I need tangible

evidence to prove I once existed and had a mind?

This is probably back with my Grandmother. She was completely undignified for the last eleven years of her life. Her only real joy and pride seemed to come from watching her old movies. Unable to clean herself or even ask for what she wanted, it was when she would see herself a youth, acting a villain that I would watch her joy emerge.

My Grandfather on my fathers side, K.N. Singh. He had a family, but he bed my Grandmother on my Fathers side (not the same as the one above) and created my Father, who for his life called him "uncle". A piece of film picked out of his long career spanning 15 seconds or so is still taught in Indian Acting schools today.

I've lost my train of thought, too many distractions. Hack. Hack. Hack.