"X"
I had another dream about X the other night.
In early August, I found out that X, a former old and dear friend to me, had been found in possession of child pornography, some of which included photographs of his daughter. Also found in his possession were chat logs in which he and a friend of his planned to drug and rape one of his daughters.
X was not my closest friend, and had not been so in many years. However, he was a good friend to me long ago, and, as an older punk rocker, he played a crucial role in my adolescence. For better or for worse, he introduced me to some key concepts that shaped my understanding of interpersonal, social, and sexual politics. Obviously, when I heard the news this summer, I had plenty of cause to reflect on that.
I have the luxury of not having to think about this all the time, the way his family has to. In some ways I felt as though I'd kind of dealt with it, though puzzled by what I felt, confused about how my feelings and psyche absorbed it. Except I keep having these dreams.
A friend told me X was seen at a show in Montreal (where he doesn't live), and that a mutual friend approached him and demanded he explain himself. X said nothing. Later, X attended a show where he was seen by his daughter, whom he is expressly (by law) forbidden to be close to. Her shock, I imagine, was fairly acute.
I can't remember if the dreams started before or after I heard that, but I notice I've been having them more and more. At first I'd dream that I was someplace where I usually went, and X showed up. I'd chase him out, hysterically running after him, shouting "I'm going to fucking kill you! You stay the fuck away!" Then I dreamed several times that I ran into him at random.
Always there's the shock of recognition in these dreams. In a few, I've spent time talking with X as though we were friends before suddenly remembering and beginning to shout and chase him. In some dreams I punch him in the face and head as he run away. I almost always feel weak with the shock, and chase him weakly but driven by the rage.
More recently I've begun to dream that I have a crowbar.
I started thinking about the crowbar few days after I heard the full breadth of the news; after I'd been to the family's house to help X's partner get rid of his vile belongings. Returning on the bus that night I listened to Negative Approach and Black Flag and felt I understood for the first time the full breadth of the rage that music expresses.
My fantasies of revenge at first involved X's partner Y, the man with whom he planned to rape his daughter. Y was a gutless piece of shit whom I never liked, not from the moment I laid eyes on him seventeen years ago. He was a creep, a sociopath, a disgusting insect of a human being, and when I found out he was involved in this I pictured myself breaking his arms at the elbows and crushing his skull with a crowbar. Back then-- still early-- my fantasies of revenge involved Y, whom I'd always despised, but for some reason not X. It was far easier to hate Y completely, without the process of extrication from loving memories that hatred for X required.
For a long time I couldn't figure out even what my emotions for X were. I had to ask the close friends from our circle what they were feeling; explain that I didn't know what I felt, that I knew I felt something but couldn't put a name on it. Eventually I began to see the edges of the emotion enough that I could pull at it, lift it a bit, and get a feeling for what it was.
It's been long enough now for me to hate X. The dream two nights ago, I tracked him like an animal to the apartment where he was staying, lured him outside, and began to beat him with the crowbar, screaming, "This is just a warning! If you ever go near those girls I'll fucking murder you!"
I have a hard time with violence. It disgusts me. In most dreams where I have to fight, I pull my punches at the last second-- I can't bring myself to. Life is just the same. Hurting people disgusts me. But in these dreams the violence is uncontrollable: it's the outlet of rage, of betrayal, of disgust, abhorrence, and inhumanity that I'd never find in life.
X, if you're reading this-- in violation of the terms of your bail --understand that you are now and will forever remain dead to me. If you ever came near your daughters in my presence I'd do whatever I had to do hurt you badly enough that you'd never do it again.
I hope that in writing this I can free myself of these nightmares. They don't belong to me: they belong only to X, who I hope will absorb them and grow sick with them.
In early August, I found out that X, a former old and dear friend to me, had been found in possession of child pornography, some of which included photographs of his daughter. Also found in his possession were chat logs in which he and a friend of his planned to drug and rape one of his daughters.
X was not my closest friend, and had not been so in many years. However, he was a good friend to me long ago, and, as an older punk rocker, he played a crucial role in my adolescence. For better or for worse, he introduced me to some key concepts that shaped my understanding of interpersonal, social, and sexual politics. Obviously, when I heard the news this summer, I had plenty of cause to reflect on that.
I have the luxury of not having to think about this all the time, the way his family has to. In some ways I felt as though I'd kind of dealt with it, though puzzled by what I felt, confused about how my feelings and psyche absorbed it. Except I keep having these dreams.
A friend told me X was seen at a show in Montreal (where he doesn't live), and that a mutual friend approached him and demanded he explain himself. X said nothing. Later, X attended a show where he was seen by his daughter, whom he is expressly (by law) forbidden to be close to. Her shock, I imagine, was fairly acute.
I can't remember if the dreams started before or after I heard that, but I notice I've been having them more and more. At first I'd dream that I was someplace where I usually went, and X showed up. I'd chase him out, hysterically running after him, shouting "I'm going to fucking kill you! You stay the fuck away!" Then I dreamed several times that I ran into him at random.
Always there's the shock of recognition in these dreams. In a few, I've spent time talking with X as though we were friends before suddenly remembering and beginning to shout and chase him. In some dreams I punch him in the face and head as he run away. I almost always feel weak with the shock, and chase him weakly but driven by the rage.
More recently I've begun to dream that I have a crowbar.
I started thinking about the crowbar few days after I heard the full breadth of the news; after I'd been to the family's house to help X's partner get rid of his vile belongings. Returning on the bus that night I listened to Negative Approach and Black Flag and felt I understood for the first time the full breadth of the rage that music expresses.
My fantasies of revenge at first involved X's partner Y, the man with whom he planned to rape his daughter. Y was a gutless piece of shit whom I never liked, not from the moment I laid eyes on him seventeen years ago. He was a creep, a sociopath, a disgusting insect of a human being, and when I found out he was involved in this I pictured myself breaking his arms at the elbows and crushing his skull with a crowbar. Back then-- still early-- my fantasies of revenge involved Y, whom I'd always despised, but for some reason not X. It was far easier to hate Y completely, without the process of extrication from loving memories that hatred for X required.
For a long time I couldn't figure out even what my emotions for X were. I had to ask the close friends from our circle what they were feeling; explain that I didn't know what I felt, that I knew I felt something but couldn't put a name on it. Eventually I began to see the edges of the emotion enough that I could pull at it, lift it a bit, and get a feeling for what it was.
It's been long enough now for me to hate X. The dream two nights ago, I tracked him like an animal to the apartment where he was staying, lured him outside, and began to beat him with the crowbar, screaming, "This is just a warning! If you ever go near those girls I'll fucking murder you!"
I have a hard time with violence. It disgusts me. In most dreams where I have to fight, I pull my punches at the last second-- I can't bring myself to. Life is just the same. Hurting people disgusts me. But in these dreams the violence is uncontrollable: it's the outlet of rage, of betrayal, of disgust, abhorrence, and inhumanity that I'd never find in life.
X, if you're reading this-- in violation of the terms of your bail --understand that you are now and will forever remain dead to me. If you ever came near your daughters in my presence I'd do whatever I had to do hurt you badly enough that you'd never do it again.
I hope that in writing this I can free myself of these nightmares. They don't belong to me: they belong only to X, who I hope will absorb them and grow sick with them.