The Adventures of a broke ass nigga in Venice

Media Outlet Street Writer
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I’m from the hood in NY. I now live in a Venetian city. These are my reflections, thought processes, insights on the different cultures, the social institution of marriage, what it’s like to learn a new language etc. In these pages lie my rebirth, my anxieties, my fears, my joys. I have nurtured an interest in Fighting games and have followed the scene online since 2008. I figure this is a good place as any to commit to paper my varying thoughts and reflections that have struck me as profound over the course of my 10 months here. My observations of the history, society of these peculiar europeans, didactic methods, reflections on language in general, human nature, addicted to streams, being a broke ass nigga or just some ghetto ass shit. I have completely infiltrated myself into the closed lifestyle of a select group of italians and I will attempt to document it faithfully, and objectively from an ‘‘Americanized’’ point of view without the short-sightedness that this would normally entail (will clarify later). I may from time to time juxtapose this with inner-city African American life in NY, or just let you in on some hood shit. I now have to have dinner with my wife. Give you a full low down upon my return.

Edited: for clarity, color and scope.

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i gotta read this. aren’t there plenty of dark skinned people in venice?

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Gdlk thread title

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Obligatory.

Anyway I’ve heard as much as Americans seem to be infatuated by race a lot of those European countries are ruthless when it actually comes to the discrimination part. You have any bad run-ins?

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On Race and Culture
Alright. I live in a lily white town. The best phrase that expresses people’s reactions for when they see me around here is…’‘Did you just see that?’’. Like they never seen a black dude before. This is a town where the europeans ride their bike to the store, park that shit in front of the entrance and walk right in without locking it up. In Brooklyn, I would ‘‘cop’’ a loosie (loose cigarettes) from ‘‘akh’’, smoke half, and put it on a window sill before walking in a store and niggas’ d slide off with that shit still. When the Europeans straight grill you, sometimes it can get to you. No, there are not many dark-skinned whites in Venetian italy, however I think that the reason this myth came about was because they are obsessed with tans. A deep tan is considered the epitome of physical realization round here. Italy today is like you would expect from a country that never experienced a civil rights era. It is RACIST AS HELL. Most visibly permeating the language. ‘‘They drove me crazy at work today’’ directly translated from italian: ‘‘They made me black today’’. '‘I worked really hard today==> ‘‘I worked like a nigger (for free, in the fields)’’. a common expression. ‘‘He wasn’t just pissed, he was nigger pissed’’. Parents tell their children to go to bed because the boogey man (directly translated: ‘‘the black man’’) is coming for them. To date, the worst run-in I’ve had were young punks (alway the worst). Called me a monkey in the street behind my back. It was the 2nd day. I pretended I didn’t hear it and kept it movin’ because I was new I had braced myself for these things before stepping outside. The rest of the italians just oggled with curiosity, disdain or most often amazement.

The County where I live comprises the second oldest university in italy (Galllileo, Petrarch and Cassanova all went there). (renaissance era). surrounded by Old statues gloriousy decaying in lime and mineral. At the time when Venice itself was a seperate country and strong enough to challenge both France and England. When I saw Times sq. in NY for the first time I thought it was nice. When I saw Venice, I was years out of my art history class from my community college but I could see vestiges of a faded empire, a seafaring world power with towering, masterful structures. (maybe Times Square: in all stone, marble and precious metals would be apt.) Dope.

Biggest suprise for any one who ever heard anything about italy. All that is over with now and they are absolutely obsessed with EVERYTHING American. particularly NY. In Rome or Venice you won’t find an italian who cannot speak at least a basic English. You will be sad.The best analogy would be NY to Venetians is what MECCA is to Muslims. dead serious. you can see written on some pants the very tacky ’ citizen of usa’ or ‘ny’ in the same fonts and styles as Abercrombie and Fitch embroidery. But before I get into more details. Lets start from the beggining. This time last year. Crisis point. Location: Mens homeless shelter in Brooklyn, bedford Ave. niggas just robbed me (wasn’t educated prolly :slight_smile: ). niggas stole my phone. I’m desperate, I had been trying to convince my girlfriend (now wife here) to not abandon me after finding out about Marsha. Now how did I end up there you ask? Wait till the next episode. [media=youtube]5KTNd21qObU[/media]

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A World Apart

So, I’m at the homeless shelter and at the end of my rope. I faced a serious choice. The only way out is ‘‘goodbye stars and stripes forever’’. Heavy. All because of that stupid bitch Marsha. I met her in february of 2011. Mom dukes just got evicted for the umpteenth time. It was cold as hell. I din’t know where my moms was staying or where my little brother was. I broke in to the apartment through the fire escape and slept there at nights (electricity long turned off and damn sure no heat) and snuck out early mornings. One night coming home from my job at the upscale grocery store in upper manhattan, I saw some white girl in the middle of the hood in Brooklyn at 1:00am asking people to change a roll of quarters for $10. I went to ask her what she was doing there and she said she is just trying to get some liquor. I offered to buy her some weak ass smirnoffs from a bodega and talked my way to a warm bed and clean sheets trying to be nice as i can.

She was a total waster. She had bruises on her arms and seemed like she was at a really rough patch in her life. I assumed her boyfriend (who she recently kicked out) beat her. She was Australian and she was with some crazy Jamaican nigga who looked like Mavado. I didn’t even touch her that night but I remember how warm and bright her apartment was. My girlfriend in Italy knew I was out in the street, she was the first one I told and she immediately arranged to have me sleep at her friend’s (million dollar) condominium in the financial district in manhattan* for a few days. (holy shit more on this later)after two days at Marsha’s. I told her thanks but I would sleep somewhere else. I was at the ballin’ ass condo for a week but at the end I still had no place to go so I contacted marsha and she welcomed me. She was a heavy drinker and she tried to stay drunk 24/7. She asked me to bring her heavy liquor everyday and she stayed fucked up. The opportunity for debauchery was too great and I fucked her while she was hammered drunk on a few occasions and a couple of times I drank with her.

At the beginning she tried to be wid a nigga but I wasn’t hearin’ it and played it off while I was sleepin in her place keeping her drunk, leading her on and having my way with her now and then. It was almost surreal. Then I don’t know why the fuck my dumb-ass did this but I admitted I was already involved and I loved another girl. She kicked me the fuck out in a new york second and by the end of that night I was begging her for a place to sleep again. She said ok. but at 3am bitch got drunk threw my backpack at me in mid-sleep and told me to get the fuck out or she’d call the cops claiming burglary, in a jealous rage.

Aww man mah nigga. I got scared and ran to the top floor of the building and before I knew it the building was swarmed with cops and I spent the next 48 hrs getting booked. I foolishly contacted her again after being released. Well it was actually quite calculated. I knew she was burning out and her father in Australia and family were telling her to come back home. Long story short she gave me the keys to the apartment and one day I came home from work and she was gone. Shortly after, I got fired for mouthing off to my manager and GM and I stayed there for 6 months rent free until she got cleaned up and came back to get her apartment. She kicked me out again and she got her place back, but not before I took her to the cleaners, dumped all her clothes in the trash in spiteful rage.

Like that, Bam, I was back on the streets and this time I signed up for a shelter. She found my girlfriend on facebook and told her everything. I cried on the phone like a lil bitch so she wouldn’t leave me and 2 days later niggas robbed me, phone, cash and even my newports. Crisis point. New York was a crazy adventure. A few events like this happened before and there had been other crisis’. But I had to admit the party was over. In the streets, no friends, no helping family, had to survive fo dolo once again. Seemed like the end of my American Dream* (more on this later) so I made the jump and I said, ok ''I’ll marry you and never do anything like this again just come GET ME THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!

Last thing I remember from the city was a handprint in the soot filled beam of the subway. I wanted to write something like ‘’(Ice Water) was here’’ or leave my handprint too. What a miserable failure NY was for me. 11 years and nothing to show for it. Damn. I sold my tv, my fighting game collection and consoles (in Europe they have the PAL system, wouldn’t work anyway) and tried to send some of my books by mail. I calmly stepped on an airplane abroad for the first time since I was a small child and looked out to the wings of hope without a clue as to what awaits me on the other side of the world…

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This shit is a terrible train wreck, cannot look away.

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First Impressions

I stepped off the plane and heard people speaking italian but it sounded really strange. I found my girlfriend waiting for me and we loaded into the car. First car ride in italy flanked by farm fields. It was still warm in that mid October. She took me to her pops house. It was a large clean house with a nice garden. Damn I just got out the hood. First thing I noticed, I didn’t reccognize their language…like at all. Hold up. I studied Italian alone for 1 year. since I anticipated that perhaps I might have to move here and expected an adjustment period with the language. But this isn’t fucking italian. They were speaking VèNETO are you fucking kidding me, How am I going to survive. I have to learn this shit too? They refer to it as their dialect but it is also a recognized language in this region (among many other sub languages in this country holy shit). If there was anything I learned from watching my mamma flounder in the states was that the key to surviving is mastery of the language. If you can’t talk you can’t even ask for help and no one takes you seriously. But not just the language but the style of speech which is important to making personal connections. I was hoping to intergrate myself incognegro from NY to Venetian life but I now have to contend with three layers. There’s the proper italian that I taught myself then there’s their italian which is a slightly grammatically incorrect brand more akin to a southern drawl in mississippi or what white people would call ‘‘ebonics’’ and then they throw in about 50% Venetian words and you get a huge clusterfuck specific to that town. But to them the shit flows like water.

They eat together, alot. You either eat together or you don’t eat at all. and it’s always good food. as you might immagine. It’s almost ritualized. There’s an appropriate time and place for each type of food (salads in the spring) and drink (white wine for fish). In Brooklyn I ate when I was hungry, ( If I could), sometimes at odd hours. And I hated eating with other people. One of my peeves is niggas watching me eat and commenting on how I go about it. Food is fuel and the sooner I get it out of the way, the better, so I eat fast. Since I could never afford to be choosy about the food I ate and it was usually shit. In Brooklyn I remember a big homie of mine with a small daughter who kept saying ‘‘daddy I’m hungry’’ and he would turn and mumble ‘‘Shiieet I’m hungry too’’. Here, admirably, its ‘‘you and ya peeps fo’ life thru whatever’’ and Eating Time is central to strenghthning the bonds with your loved one and friends. They got their own drama too and passions always fly at the dinner table. But it’s *always *together. To this day I can’t figure out if it’s because I transitioned from dirt poverty to middle class life in the blink of an eye or this (eating habits<===>family dynamic) is particular to Italians. I immagine certain counties or towns in american life mirror this experience but I never even had a brush with middle class life while I lived in the states. Real middle class- not working poor, not working class, but 4 cars, large house and (and perhaps an additional 2) family vacations, retirement savings, travel 5 times a year.

Ok, Maintenance, the pops gave a nigga six months to get a job and they had rented a small apartment for me an my now wife. The mother is a gracious and serious woman and the little sister is cute but jumpy. Next thing: how the fuck do my black ass get a haircut in an almost all-white small town? Damn bless them they took me to one of their salons and nobody had a clue what to do. At least they didn’t mess it up, but my hair looked exactly the same. I was going to have to learn to cut my own hair. damn. I asked them to take me to get some clippers. First try, an absolute DISASTER. My shit was JACKED the FUCK UP only two words come to mind : cabbages and patches. Cabbage patch nigga, even though that don’t make no damn sense, Cabbage Patch Nigga. I didn’t leave the house for 5 days. instead, I stayed inside watching youtube, specifically match videos of fighting game tournaments. and other blogs even though I was supposed to be looking for a job. Some ghetto ass shit. Well my new wife put me to work anyway. Cleaning the house, meanwhile I started , agonizingly, frustratingly, grasping at straws to pick up the language as fast as I can. Determined to make it. Chance of a lifetime and I’m gonna run like I never ran before. lets go mah nigga let’s go!!!

Up next the *resurrection. *

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Wait wait wait so she’s Australian and Italian?
Quite the world traveler that girl of yours.

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The Australian girl (Marsha) is in NY. My wife (unnamed) is born in raised here in Italy. I, on the other hand we will discover who I am through story time.

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I would have taken the opportunity to grow dreads or get one of those curly styled afros like Wiz Khalifa.

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Italy Through the Looking glass

Italy is the biggest reason why you should not lose a war as large as World War 2. Of the Berlin-Rome-Tokyo trifecta, italy today is the country with the least clout on the world stage. A daring bid, as is the right of every nation, for empire, ended in debacle. So, the union shattered into factions, retreated into their clans and pointed fingers at each other for the fallout. Today you will see alot more of the American Flag or the Union Jack on the apparel of the youth than you will see italian flags on the mast. If you *do *see one, it is always accompanied by the Venetian flag. Immagine someone saying ‘‘I am a Californian before an American.’’ It sounds almost absurd but here we have just such a situation. There is no national pride.

The youth are shameless Anglophiles.The USA flag is proudly displayed on clothing like the Tommy Hilfiger patch that took America’s inner cities by storm in 96’. Ironically it’s the easisest way to spot a born and bred italian. You can’t blame them. Over 50% of their television is DUBBED. They import wholesale, reality shows, ‘The Cake Boss’,Wedding Planner, CSI, sitcoms Movies, even infomercials. I have seen one italian sitcom and the production value looked like it was shot in a State-University audio-visual lab. Their Hollywood consists of an army of dub artists and translators. Their Top 40 Radio dominated by foreign songs, mostly American acts.

The most noted and quoted American authors are known here. Cultural currency in the USA is cultural currency here. Fitzgerald, Twain, Kerouac, Hemmingway, Chomsky, Faulkner etc. A little bit behind the curve, the percentage of italians who shop online is a fraction of the fraction that do in other countries. The ones who *do *shop online are women who (bafflingly) shop for clothing. There are some commodities in the USA that you just won’t find in italy. GMO foods have not yet invaded their grocery shelves at all so their biotech is nowhere near the most advanced countries’ level. There are no software companies of note. I have never heard of a video game from an italian studio and italy is the only country from which I have never seen a blockbuster movie. The economy in America is notably more dynamic and flexible. And taxes put a heavy weight on the populace. Manufacturing is modest (many items are expensively fabricated on the peninsula and touted as such). But they do enjoy a relatively high quality of life and today italy is largely a modern service economy.

And so, this begs the question: with the population about equal to other EU countires, Why don’t italians do (produce) anything? Which leads me to my theory as to this countrys’ fatal flaw. Well besides the fact that they have a three hour lunch-break and their vacation time is roughly double that of Americans, Italy’s biggest export is it’s smartest and most talented people. The person who headed the research that produced the first microchip at Intel was a full blooded italian. The guy who perfected Google’s search algorithm was a bona fide italian, Marconi had to go to England to get his idea of the ‘‘radio’’ financed. The Fibonacci’s were already Swiss nationals when they made their groundbraking discoveries in mathematics. The youth are disaffected and consider the only way to ‘‘make it’’ is to go abroad. Well naturally, if you have been conditioned to think all things great come from America. My wife’s step mother’s biggest fear was to live the rest of her life in italy. Hmm…Whereas the UK and France have become more multinational in their make-up and so have reaped the benefits. That is, filtering the best out of a pool of 'new ’ nationals thereby enriching all aspects of their countrymen’s lives ( at this we must admit the US is exemplary, even though I never benefitted from this phenomena). the blacks and Asians in most parts of italy are not intergrated at all. Instead italians mistakenly believe that learning Eglish is what opens the world to them when in fact it puts them in a mindset of the perpetual client. Not entrepeneurs.
This is the most pervasive part of American hegemony and you really get an idea of the reach of the modern American empire if you were to see this in action. In modern italy if you say you don’t understand English, it’s like admitting that you dropped out of highschool and never got a GED in the USA. Even if you hold an important post. And this is where I come in. I am an instructor at a private language institution in Venetian italy. My students include chemists, writers, and university professors etc. And to think, less than a year ago I was in the back of a squad car with ‘‘dem bracelets’’ at 3 A.M. hunched over with bitter tears that fell as slow as the snowflakes that sheeted a cold, cold city. But then again the hard lessons in NY also helped me to reinvent myself into the GDLK teacher that I am. A triumph difficult to overstate.

Next: Married to the Mob. Dealing with a bossy wife. War with her father. peculiarities of speech. Facing my fears. When we first met.

Also: What is fascism? My thoughts on Mussolini. The possibility of buillding a fighting game scene in italy. And still being a broke ass nigga.

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At my worst I am a disloyal fraud only out for himself who doesn’t deserve this chance. Perhaps I am just too negative. The wife on the other hand is a die-.hard optimist. At her worst, she is a spoiled brat who never had to go it alone. Her life here explains a lot about why she was willing to go through so much to be with me. She always had a home. She came to New York nine times. With gifts, an Armani dress watch, a tote bag, spent the holidays with me at my mother’s house in absolute filfth, hounded me on Skype. Disregarded the counter-arguments from her family and friends. I seriously considered if she was running from something (maybe the mafia?). I mean here I am, a broke ass black nigga from the ghetto, I can’t do shit for her and she’s all on me! She’s a die-hard optimist. But it seems I was selling myself short. Like I always do. She saw a future with me. That maybe in a better environment I would flourish. Maybe the hood wasn’t for me. I did manage to stay out of trouble for the better part of 20 years. Put myself through Junior college. I can speak eloquently if I choose. And. I’m 6’3, with regal shoulders. Maybe she saw the goodness in me and chose to not look at my flaws. OR maybe; being just out of her prime, she went from a cute, thick girl who likes to dine with friends to gluttonous woman that shows all the errors of her charmed upbringing! Maybe the well has run dry and the whiteboys don’t go after her anymore and all of a sudden she has a preference for black dudes only now! And everyone agrees it’s the most natural thing in the world but they are just used to her being all bossy! And…[rageface] [/rageface]) these are some of the things that run through my head in my dark moments…

No one trusts me… feel like I am universally received with suspicion and it’s up to me to aggrandize myself in the eyes of every european I have to deal with. It’ s nothing new really, for a big black dude. I suppose being feared is better than being thought of as a carpet, but when a woman motions defensively to protect her handbag at the sight of you, it lowers morale a little. No… a lot. You are reminded that you are a social pariah and that you a re not of them. Engendering feelings of ostracization. What makes it harder. Being married to My wife means being married to about 25 people. And I, naturally a loner, have to dine with many insular italians on a weekly basis, and invest a lot of energy into demistifying my presence among them. In a foreign language, heavily modified from the standard. In fact some of them *are not able to *speak standard italian. Now imagine an invisible hand lifts you out of a big energetic city where you had total anonimity, isolation, and freedom to sink or swim and the hand drops you smack dab in the middle of this ‘bel casino’ (beautiful mess). You got your work cut out for you.

Her father from day one has done nothing but sit there and mean mug me. I mean straight grillin’ from across the dinner table. I could not figure out what it was for a long time. And since no one is direct about their feelings here, I had to formulate what was the problem and try to resolve it head on. I deducted that he ‘offered’ me a deal where his daughter was the boss of the marriage and he himself was the big boss of the marriage which I summarrily rejected and made a counter offer of ‘I’ll treat her good and do my best’’ and he wasn’t havin’ that. (This over various dinner table exchanges over the course of a few months). It didn’t help that his wife took a shining to me. (not sexual or anything but a genuine affection) Then he started to do this thing where…this is the weirdest thing, he disses me to my face but it’s said in a way that is indirect. With pregnant words meant to mask your true feelings and express it clearly at the same time. Now, this happens in English too. But I as I suspected, it is typically italian. perhaps my ear has grown more acute to this but I hear it everwhere I go. It turns out I was right. Because of the flexibility of italian and it’s many shades of gray, and the general sanguine nature of these folks, turns-of-phrase are quite natural and, annoyingly, used without discretion. ‘‘I may be talking shit about you to your face, I may not be’’. ‘‘I may be complimenting you, I may be talking about the weather’’ type shit. For example standing outside the restaurant with my wife and her spaz sister, two old women would pass by and say ‘‘That was (he is) a nice one (a good looking guy)’’. Or hanging out outside the cafe in the plaza with my wife’s friends a stranger would say ‘‘I’d rather they mug me!’’. It’s like running commentary except in real life. You can imagine unless you are socially adept you will find it difficult to mimmick.

So her father obviously hates me and I fell back until he started to treat the marriage like a game and this is something temporary. A huge offense that I couldn’t let slide. This dude is like Tony Soprano with a smaller entourage and is a consumate pro at that '‘talkin’ sideways ‘’ shit I just explained. Massive balls. We are in peace time now but shit could get real any minute.

When we first met I was waiting Tables at Le Maraise in Time Square NY. Me and this other waiter friend (who happened to be a white dude) went to a nightclub after the shift and I was in the middle of the dance floor. I was feeling brash so I grabbed every girl that passed me by the waist and danced with them. The third one was this cute thick brunett with broken English. Later, smoking cigarettes outside, I found out she was from italy. I drunkenly bragged about how good I am in bed and ‘‘How can we meet again?’’. Memories since faded into the oblivion of surreal drunken trysts that was my NY experience . After I hit that, (2 nights later) she flew home and I went about my life. Then she started saying she loved me in emails and I found it all quite silly. I had finally found a semi-serious girlfriend. This sistah from chicago. She was fine but it was clear that she was anxiously watching her good looks slowly fade behind her at 25. We moved in together in the Bronx. But I wasn’t ready for something serious. Long story short she caught me with this ‘‘chubby’’ white girl. and it was the end of that.

I bought my first Arcade stick a few weeks ago. My wife made a huge fuss about it and it was an absolute mystery as to why because I mentioned it and asked permission. But it turns out the real reason was because I was falling out with her pops. Once I reached his house I made an offer of peace. she never mentioned the arcade stick again. Now, you could say that this is some standard ‘‘I am a woman I expect you to read my mind’’ shit. Or it’s a key characteristic of my wife. As opposed to me, she is aggressive, personable and sunny. She not only creates her reality but she forces you to conform to it also. She is a talking machine. She doesn’t like deep movies, books, or ‘‘things’’ in general. people not used to this would say she is ‘‘folksy’’ or simple. Of all her friends she speaks the most fluent Vèneto ‘‘dialect’’. But this is what modern psychs would call ‘‘emotional intelligence’’. The salt of the earth kind of people. You would know her two days, tell her all your secrets, only later realizing you don’t know a thing about her. And she would put your rapport to good use in her complex web of relationships, to her benefit… and maybe yours too! She is sure of herself and can confide in many through deep connections with her supportive parents and 20 something close friends. And she is fiercely, blindly loyal to the people who she holds most dear. For example: I mentioned to her that I think her father mistrusts me and I don’t know how I should deal. This was her reply ‘‘Nigga get that shit out yo’ head right now. If you gon’ have a problem wid him, we can divorce right now’’. Holy shit I didn’t even badmouth him. I asked her for advice.

I, on the other hand, am a ball of nerves who second guesses himself. I was never assertive, abandoned by my father, and ‘‘friends’’ alike. Left to fend for myself on too many occasions to trust anyone nor rely on anyone. Doubly hard to make myself liked in these circles because if a person doesn’t receive me in good faith I tell them to go fuck themselves. Anyways having the attributes I have, it’s easy to think what you have is all that matters. I have an affinity for all things technical (read: Big Black Nerd) and I think it was a key role in my wife wanting to be with me (besides my physical appearance). Liking books is not the only thing you need to get through this life. I knew that before coming to italy, but it’s been confirmed by how difficult it’ has been to adjust. And it’s rough out here sometimes. Another one of my fears is that since I’m her complete oppposite she just wants a kid from me and she’ll say peace to a nigga. She said that one time. I also think that; in a similar manner to using a proxy argument to complain about something else entirely, if I don’t make money or if she ever loses weight, she’ll make a fuss about something else until we call it quits. That would be her way of dumping me. I’m not sure how justified these preoccupations are but then again we never are sure. I have a meeting for the new scholastic schoolyear tomorrow.

14

Shit just got real. The father of my wife was talking openly about putting a hit out on me at the dinner table. In his signature italian mode of speaking. I have been feeling very anxious the last few days. Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of our marriage and he seems hell bent on ousting me. Perhaps this is his scare tactic. You can say that I read too much into things but he is so used to being the boss that he speaks directly about things only with great difficulty. To understand him is to catch his jist and he always makes himself understood. I feel like a total outsider. And I have a problem. If you don’t see me post for a year without a formal notice then I got popped.Got me wondering where I can get a burner. I’ll leave clues* as to his identity and the possible cohort (an uncle) within these pages in case I am dead.

Or maybe I am just paranoid. And this was just one of his mean streaks. God knows they are full of them. After all, if he really wanted to off me, he wouldn’t debate it in front of me and give me a chance to either call the cops or pack heat. Where I am from we meet violence with more violence. But I wouldn’t be a good ambassador if I brought the hood here.

Ever since the passing of his first wife to cancer, he remarried within 2 years to the absolute horror of his daughters. And boy, they give this woman hell with sly threats and continuous jabs, selfish jockeying for first place in their dad’s life. It was a dysfunctional drama triangle only complicated by my arrival. Where I am a victim of his persecution and his now-wife plays rescuer and she is a victim of the daughters attacks and I rescue her within my bounds.

The father runs his family like he runs his business, like a despotic tyrant with an iron fist. He let me know who comes first in his daughter’s life and where my lines are. He has an oppressive air of intolerance and is ridiculously tightly wound. If you say you got to work 1 minute before your punch-in time, he tenses up. He watches you in complete silence and if for example your eye is in the wrong place, it’s lockjaw and he’s on you like white on rice. He can come off surprisingly mean-spirited and tactless out of nowhere but you realize that they are social gaffes. Otherwise, he is a paragon of parental responsibility and admirably loyal, disciplined and has a strong work ethic too. One time all three (the wife, her sister and their father) viciously attacked the stepmom for paying too much attention to the wrong person. They ruined her birthday. He treats me like a lecherous backstabber who is trying to run off with his three treasures. He has hinted that I am running game to get him to come out of his pockets and then dip out. When he treated my marriage as if it’s a con job, I just had enough.

I took his attacks for about 7 months and then I started to pushback hard. The dinner table became a dark arena and everyone chose sides. My wife watched on the side lines as I lobbed personal atacks, naked criticisms, brash challenges to authority at her beloved father. Her sister was firmly on daddy’s side. His wife was emboldened to defend herself and backed me up when she could. It was a losing proposition though. My wife started to become dissatisfied with me out of nowhere about seemingly unrelated things and her father started speaking about cutting us off. And his wife in the end assumed her previous dignified-but docile position. In a fight, my wife would always be on her father’s side first.

And this shit I can’t stand. They are all up each other’s asses and her friends and family have an unfair pull on the marriage. I think this wouldn’t be the case in most parts of the United states. I feel like I am less her future and more just a part of her present. Perhaps a characteristic of any tight-knit community, they live each other.They function like a symbiotic cell and I am the foreign body. Consensus is reached not verbally but by invisible humours one level deeper than speech and all parts act together. My wife’s opinion is informed by her family’s and friend’s opinion. No true independence. No live and let live. If I don’t act appropriately, I will be eliminated in one way or the other. The whole fucking thing is stressful and too much drama.

Back in New York I never immagined having a problem with a boyfriend of my siter’s. Or My divorced mom’s boyfriend. Or a girlfriend of my borther’s. It’s not my place to judge who a person chooses to be with. I really need a break from all of these dinners because it is exhausting. I tried to tell my wife how I feel about all this but she freaked out and said her pops always liked me. It blows my mind mah dude. Either this is the reality she wants and she wills it into existence by sheer insistence; just like she has for most of her life. Or she is using her interpersonal gifts to gass (gaslight) me so she can keep in step with the hivemind. Meanwhile I’m bout to get assasinated and shit! Bout to get straight roofed cause I’m startin’ to look like bread. Mafia style. cause niggas puttin’ prices on my head and shit! I’m gettin’ strapped phuqdat.

Emporio Auto*

15

I’m from the poorest country in the world. Although I felt so, and always wanted to be an American, I am a Haitian who had a long lay-over in the Empire State. I am actually banned from the United States currently (more on this later). From what I know, my father was a big deal in Haiti. He rose all the way to Governor until he was ousted. All of his brothers were in government also. He was never really a part of my life. I immigrated to the States as a little boy. And now I find myself in a commune of the Venetian region. The school I work for just gave me a contract to teach English to a Master Chef at a 5 star hotel right in the heart of Venice (and I have to take a boat to get there!). Dude, this is the craziest shit that ever happened to me!

Let’s juxtapose for a moment. During my entire 21-year stay in the United States I was a ghost. I was an illegal alien. No joke. I never had a driver’s license, I never got a tax return, I could never have a real job, Even if I were to win the lottery I wouldn’t be elligibile to get the money. I didn’t have a social security number, I didn’t have healthcare so If I needed a hospital it was out of pocket. When I tried to got to college I was inelligibile for financial aid and I had to pay out-of-state tuition. With all that, I’m surprised that my mother was able to enroll us in school as kids. Life was a BITCH. For the longest time I could not figure out how to even get a bank account. I never had a credit card so I could never buy anything very expensive. We moved house 10 times in the same number of years. I cleaned tables at restaurants for years. I worked the nightshift at Fed-Ex loading trucks. For Icing I didn’t even know I was illegal until I was in my late teens and by then I had no clue how to even begin to fix this colossal problem.

I cried when them niggas cuffed me and cried in the men’s shelter which I visited twice and they robbed me both times. My sister who is one year older than me is still waiting tables in NY and she was able to earn a Bachelors degree even with all that (I earned an Associates)! All of this I can put squarely on my mother. Bless her heart, I love her. Her total ineptitude and ignorance spelled doom for all of us. She never spoke English well. Without that crucial tool, people won’t even take you seriously nor can you ask for help or know where to look, how to fill out forms or nothin’. She was a single mom in a strange land. Alone with 2 kids. Poverty, desperation and her children’s bitter recriminations against her awaited.The former two haunted us until my last miserable day in the United States. My mom’s electricity was turned off and she was being kicked out *yet again *(this was after the eviction that catapulted me into the streets, the tryst with the australian and my second visit to the shelter).

Now you’d understand why a little over a year in, I have all but mastered the italian language and people are astonished when they see me at the school. A young black man who has absolute command of English, a tool vital to their professional success and I can speak their own language better than them too. I paid the price. I learned the hard way the importance of assimilating or learning the language of the place you are in.

There is another, heavier price. Because of a sensible but Archaic law. If you were illegal in the States for 6 months and you leave, you ain’t coming back in. Banned for 10 years. This means that I won’t see my mother or my sister or my little brother for another 9 years. If I learned anything from these italians here is that family is everything. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been rejected by them all and feel alone. If my wife and I don’t make it, I am really alone.

But, fuck it mah nigga I’m in Venice, dipped-out in a suit, takin’ boats to work and shit to chat with Celebrity chefs pickin’up sweet recipes to give to a white wife to cook me up right? HAhahahaha. Not really. I now have a problem that has resurfaced and That I thought I could leave back in NY. And it’s a doozy.stay tuned. And Oh yeah this track is fresh.

16

Revisit by the Demons

I was molested as a child. I faintly remember Working at the Ice cream shop in small town Long Island. Let’s take it back to 96’ at 14. I stayed there for some months hoping he’d pay me (sometimes he didn’t want to) because I was so poor and if I wanted something I knew I had to work for it. His name is Teddy and he was married to a nice looking woman, had a pretty daughter and I saw his son at school from time to time. I told two of my best friends that he was ‘like that’ without getting into details about what he kept trying to do when he would ask me to come to the basement of the ice-cream shop. They already knew he hunted for little boys all around town. He would pull up and actually ask us to get in the car. and they told me to tell the superiors at the school. But I felt embarassed. I left that episode and buried the memories. Or so I thought. about 3 years later I began to be tormented by the memories and questions. Why did I allow it to happen? Did he single me out because he knew I would be willing?How is it possible that a man who has a whole family can live like this? I knew I liked girls but does that mean I am capable of this too? Do I have feminine traits that attracted him? who the fuck am I? all of this led to an identity crisis. What’s fucked up is this man while being a monster gained my trust and to this day I remember him as a real person who had real things to say and real advice about this world.

Seven years earlier I was sexually abused by a woman also. But I never considered it abuse until I was an adult. I lost my virginity at seven to some housekeeper girl in her late teens in Haiti. It was actually a point of pride because I had all my friends beat. I repeatedly had sex with her for what must have been months. All this before I could even bust a nut. At around that time there was some sexual experiences with at least one female cousin. In truth these are traumas and I think my outlook on sex might have been complicated by these events. I have worked myself into a tangle In an effort to suss out my true nature and define myself as rigidly as society does. To the point where I don’t know where I end and the world begins. How much is dependent on my outward appearance and peoples prejudices. Sometimes I wonder if my father upon seeing me had rejected me as a pussy. I’m not sure about this. In fact this may sound outright stupid. but this makes up part of my coil of anxiety. I think I have feminine eyes. And some people have made me aware that I look like I’m related to ‘‘those kinds’’. I believe that this is why these events have happened to me. I think that in the past, many considered me a good-looking boy. Now as an adult, depending on the angle you look at me from. You may see a restless soul. The countenance of a reptillian predator, capable of unspeakable violence. A psycopath through eyes that betray a man in constant crisis.

I have confided all this to my wife and she has sympathized with me because of the trauma but she thinks my other ideas are half baked and ridiculous. But then again she always says I immagine stuff. I do fear for my future mental health. The prejudice I deal with here in Venetian italy is immense and some of my old insecurities have flared up and lately I have been losing a lot of useful energy on the same questions that I could never find answers to years ago. Can sexuality be ‘learned?’ am I bi? but calling yourself bi is a slippery slope and it is hard to differentiate from gay. I suspect that I surpress. But what is the difference between actively suppressing and simply not thinking about something? After being confronted with the issue by one of my wife’s friends (or immagining so) I began to introspect and I simply could not find solid ground. I always thought that sexuality is not immutable and that no one is 100% on one side or the other nor does it devalue a bond between any two people. I have had people who I cared about and considered friends be here or there. So armed with this reasoning and the certainty that I like women (thank god) I decided to share these thoughts with my wife. Her response? She is tired of my overthinking shit and told me to see a pschychiatrist. It could also be that this is an issue of confidence and lack of self-esteem causing anxiety, but those two traits are generally masculine why did I never have them?

I’ll tell you what though having somebody accept me as I am, whoever the fuck I am, is a treasure and worth fighting for. The naked truth has greater value than all else. I want to go to my grave deriding the world’s injustice and saying the truth as I see it. Therein lies my true worth. One of the reasons why I’m here. I’m not afraid. I got things I’m willing to die for and people I’m willing to die for. And that’s *very *masculine. Italian dictator Benito Mussolini and imo one of the greatest statesmen to ever live said ‘‘You can only go from the tent to the palace if you are willing to, where needed, go back to the tent (implicitly without hesitation)’’. To us niggas from the hood ( and anyone from the school of hard knocks). this sounds familiar. Hundreds of rap song express this very ethos. Keep it a hundred, if you ain’t down, you don’t deserve it. Even with all this luxury, I’m still hood. In NY I had to meet with defeat over and again and ask myself why. I couldn’t afford to dance around important issues and still today I don’t know any other way but to address issues directly with myself and others. This style of resolution is frankly alien to the italians in this small town where chief importance is in the integrity of the community so everyhing is treated indirectly. ’ if there is an issue that is irresolvable it gets swept under the rug so long as we stay together.’ Me I’m a loner and I wouldn’t have gotten here if I was like that.

Anyway. It just so happens to be that one of my students is a pschyatrist/oncologist. She is originally from Iran. I asked her to speak with me on a couple of sessions and she said she will hypnotize me and put me to sleep. I hope I don’t get sexually abused again. A Haitian guy speaking italian with an Iranian woman who hypnotizes him and has her way with him in the central square in PD italy. Crazy shit. She is a bad ass milf though and I wouldn’t mind.
Kidding. Stay tuned for pictures of all the history on these pages for my faithful readers. they’ll only be up for a short time!

17

So… Is this all real shit that happened to you? Or is it…

18

Shock of The City
It’s an italian floating city with narrow streets and no cars. Being at sea level it regularly gets flooded by high tides. When this happens, an army of porters place a chain of planks along the narrow streets for the tourists. The walkable streets are one foot above water and this city has luxury strores with $30,000 watches and bags, museums and even a University. Crazy.

Hope for All
As I triumphantly walk out of that 5 star hotel after the English lesson with the master chef, whom I have won over after he had serious doubts about me, an unsavory looking black, teaching him anything. I have immagined myself exiting in slow motion with the horns of the eternal champion from the the Rocky themebooming across the Venetian laguna. I am finding my place in the world and I never thought I would make it. I don’t pray for myself but for all the other brothers (and sisters) of all races, who have good intentions and ability. But are stopped by paralysis real or immagined and can’t become their best selfs. So that they get a similar chance to prove themselves. Before I do a lesson, I pump myself up thinking of all those who struggle economically and mentally or are oppressed. I do it for you. For my niggas in New York and Boston. you are blessed, stay strong and for the people of Haiti I walk as an ambassador and carry myself with humility and pride. Let’s go!

Quitting Smoking and Culture Clash.

When the girl brought me to italy, I was so grateful for my turn of fortune that I decided to make the most of it. I was a smoker for more than 10 years. I reached the point where I regularly had chest pains and difficulty breathing. Being poor in NY and rising taxes on ‘stoggies’ meant that sometimes there wasn’t any. To my great shame, when I was hard up, I might pick up cigarette butts from the sidewalk, wrapp scotch tape around the filter and smoked to have a fix. I never gave a fuck. My life sucked so much at the time that I wanted to die early. Whenever things seemed impossible one of the few things that I took comfort in is that we will all die. Or more specifically that I will die early and the cigarettes can help with that. However seeing that I finally got a chance to make something of myself in a new country, I decided to make a real effort at stopping.

I followed the example of my italian ‘father-in-law’ my erstwhile killer and arch-nemesis. Who even as a huge asshole, is a model father who made many sacrifices for a better life for himself and his family. He had stopped smoking as well. I told my (then) girlfriend (also a smoker) that once I moved to italy I wanted to quit, and I wanted to do it with her. I had images in my head about drawing strength from each other and giving support to each other, giving her massages when she felt itchy, playing table-top games to keep our heads busy (she only played Street Fighter once with me, then lost interest) taking walks. However, it wasn’t like that at all. She got snippy and wanted to abandon the effort. We accused each other of sneaking smokes and even I snapped one time ( much to my surprise. It amused me that I caught myself acting just like people do on TV or movies when they try to stop) . After a failed first try (in italy), I decided to go it alone. In the U.S. I was dying for a chance to join the workforce and have a stable life and I used to immagine that if a greencard magically appeared on my desk I would instantly quit cigarettes and give up pussy for 2 years. Shit, back in 2002 I did that (the latter) for free. I succeeded. And my wife still smokes. This is a revealing break in the marriage.

On Marriage and Monogamy

My view on the Institution of marriage is Americanized and modern (it may read libertarian). Hers and her people’s view is conservative, ancestral and antiquated. I view marriage as 2 people joining forces to better their lives. Being that the edifice of economy in western societies ( and society itself) is based on this union. We take advantage of all that this status allows us. Take out loans, combine two incomes for credit. Tax breaks etc. In a job interview the wedding ring signals that you have invested and have assumed responsibilities. The end of or (in some cases the lessening of) casual sex eliminates or reduces health hazards. You have stabilty and proceed to construct something lasting. Wether that may be reinforcing a community by producing a well-adjusted tax paying member (a child) forged by the stability you have created or by doing good works for others (If you don’t have children). If you cannot better your person and do good works for a community or the world, ( here I assume you can concentrate on your work by having a stable marriage), you can always divorce. (This view is also abetted by the fact that I have been an outsider all of my life, for better or worse).

The italian view is ‘no divorces’, ( divorces are notoriously more difficult here), the marriage is guaranteed in all cases and in order to be accepted, obedience is required of outsiders and you are vetted by all members of the clan. It goes without saying that, in this specific small town, obedience is required of women. And having children is not a question for the man or the woman or else there is no sense in marrying. My attitude towards kids has been non-committal and I haven’t pledged allegiance to anyone, only declaring that I love my wife. I think this has grated on her father and it underlies his antagonism.

I see this marriage as embarking on a journey of joint self-improvement that takes work and in the case we should break up we can survive. I believe in pre-nuptuals and they don’t. (I think the parents have 2 beach houses that we will inherit but I don’t really want their stuff). I believe that even though you love someone, choosing not to cheat is a conscious effort. They believe that if you love someone it is simply impossible to cheat.

I have thought long and hard about monogamy and why I should be monogamous. At one point I thought it was simply not in the males nature. Right now the best reason not to run up in some hot ass in heat is that the daily life here is so communal that I would eventually get caught and ruin a good thing. She knows everyone in this small town and she constantly contacts me out of habit. Her father, who is cartoonishly suspicious, is constantly throwing me curve balls and watching my body language, going at me non-stop with that sideways shit, creating situations where I must respond (and correctly, in a language that is not my mother toungue) to maintain my innocence. He guages my sincerity in a very abrasive manner. Having dinner with this nigga is like going to court trial! objection!

Anyway, to my wife this marriage is not a new life but a continuation of her life like it was before, I am an exotic addition to her clan and with a child she would be making her own best friend that she immagines she would treat like she does her friends today. To me a child is a heavy responsibility. Friends don’t tell friends what to do with their lives so a child is not a friend in that sense. However, from the outset, a child should see adults as less of a pillar and more as fallible human beings who face many of the same issues as them with equal ineptitude. A child is to recognize being an adult does not automatically confer one expertise, over them or anyone else, thus it is crucial to have as much agency as possible. the modern world requires it. A child requires even more sacrifices and the culture here is worrying. I fear that my wife wants to have an ignorant townie that would be born and die here just like her and her friends and family. In contrast I have travelled three countries and survived. The changes I would like to see in the world must be done by someone who is introduced to all three cultures that I have in me. And these italians give a fuck-all about my Haitian roots.

They are so ignorant that they call me mulatto or tanned ( I’m dark brown). I would say no, I’m black. I tell them that the word mulatto is not used in the USA and anyone slightly black considers themselves black e.g. Barack Obama is not tanned and he considers himself black. Word to my moms, B. They just don’t get it. They want to give me what Michael Eric Dyson calls the Honorary White Person title.

Well anyway, I have lots more things that have crossed my mind. I hope that the teleology of these words written can be of value to some people even if just for entertainment. Our experiences really are Universal across all races and cultures and none of us are ever really alone that’s why I write these words without fear. This is, however a rather extraordinary experience since I am the only black to work and live amongst these italians. Otherwise, In the case that I fail, all would be lost to memory, or even worse, If I succeed and (The Horror) become italian (it as the only way to survive this experience), that transformation would be forever recorded for the world to see.

19

I have a confession, Almost everything I’ve written seems to be the confused scribblings of a man on the eve of his own madness. Well not exactly. My Iranian pschycologist friend has diagnosed me with an anxiety disorder and as a borderline depressive. She has referred me to a specialist and recommends that I take meds my nigga, I can’t believe it. I brought my wife along for the visit and now she is convinced that I am crazy. Now I have reason to doubt every one of my reasonings. I now even question the sequence of events as I remember them.

We have shown the usual sign of a couple about to divorce. We argue about the same things for months on end. A total communications breakdown is onhand. We are living on two different planets. We are experiencing a complete freeze-out by her friends and family. It feels like they don’t want to see me. I keep asking my wife what have I done, but she only says that I’m too anti-social and now that I’m sick in the head. Damn, I felt like they were spreading rumors that I had sugar in my tank. So I asked the pschycologist to run tests on me to prove my sexual orientation, whatever it may be. As it turns out, she tells me that I am heterosexual but I have a serious imbalance or disorder that will take pills and therapy and mad bread! This deep lack of security causes me to interpret events in such a way that I self punish and eventually lead myself to a dark road. Well, it sounds plausible but I never thought I’d… I’m scared B. What’s gonna happen to me? I can’t be crazy! otherwise how could I become fluent in a language in 2 years? come to a new country, get a job and hold that shit down amongst the whites? I remember how it felt when I first started my job here in Italy. I would be correcting a test or examining a student’s card and suddenly realize that ‘‘holy shit I’m in italy amongst Europeans in a business environment all alone where I’m held responsible and they are all speaking italian!’’ A year ago I was on the street! What if I don’t understand something?

There are about 3 key events that contributed to this downfall. First, it seems my wife’s second-best friend (she has many) is a signature lesbian closet case. For her 27th birthday she tried to come out but promptly ran back in. She took us all to a gay pride fair, I had no problems with it. But I saw that the birthday girl as well as some of her friends were looking at me strangely. By the end of the night I felt anxious and said it openly. The next few times we all hung out, I started to see certain remarks and reactions among my wife’s friends, people dropping things when I said the word ‘‘gay’’, wife’s bests friend’s boyfriend making dick-sucking noises after saying my name, and most revealingly, turning beet-red when they would look at me. I immagined that the closeted girl was undermining my marriage by campaining to ‘‘expose’’ me by spreading rumours. After 2 weeks, at one of their dinners, I got tired of that shit, I acted very impatient and left without saying goodbye. I began to decline going out together, preferring to read instead or play VF5 on my X-Box. That was the last time I saw any of them. For my wife, being very communal, this was a deal breaker. She didn’t say as much but one could understand just that from her behavior.

The next event was serious, where I outlined above that her father and uncle talked about killing me. I began to write in on the notepad. here is What I put together:
An outline of a failing marriage:
With the possible breakdown of a relationship on the horizon, I’d like to record in as much detail as possible the death of a beautiful thing. A spectacular miscommunication happening live and both of us helpless to do anything about it.The key point in this was around sept 17th 2012, I was at her aunt’s house. I was viciously socially trapped and made out to be a disgusting knave. I was speaking to the husband of my wife’s cousin. Afterwards, as he turned to speak to the rest of the group he became agitated and seemingly embarassed. I could not fathom why, becasue to me there were no weird exchanges
between us at all. The energy of the room shifted to suspicious murmurs and it became clear that the implicit question was in the air. What kind of person are you? Are you gay? do you know we think he (me) is gay and why are you speaking to him? Instead of responding to these accusations, I tried to continue with light conversation. Big mistake, my nonresponse was a guilty plea. My wife’s father erupted in passive agressive hostility. At the end of the night, across the table, my wife’s uncle offered to kill me in dialect. The guy I was speaking to did not shake my hand when I offered to say goodbye. As I got up and the silence and laser stares of 15 hateful eyes bore down on me.

I felt horrible. I felt alone. I felt betrayed and othered. Going down the steps and watching my wife from behind while fearing for my life, I saw a completely different person. A violent, ignorant peon. In fact, The lot of them. I couldn’t believe what I just experienced. We went home in silence. Upon reaching home she glanced at me from the side, sucked her teeth and flinched. For the next few days I noticed a marked change in her behavior towards me. She blushed unexpectedly and could not look at me in the eye for as long as before. I wondered if she thought I had something to hide. I began to suspect that her family were
insinuating that I was gay, no good and had to go. I introspected even more, reasoning that in the grand scheme of things, If I were gay, then (in this time, in this culture) it is morally wrong to be married to my wife and I would end the marriage and stay alone. But I didn’t want to leave that decision to 25 people who don’t even know me. Only to me and my wife. I would tell her everything that I think, everything, and we would decide to stay together or not. Because evidently every dinner from then on would become a court room where I have to defend my right to be married to her. And justify my right to be among them. I simply am not adept enough to meet this enormous social challenge. So I enlisted the help of a professional, who happens to be a pschychologist who will run tests to find out my true orientation.

It’s a shame but this kind of thing has happened enough times to make me doubt my own reasoning about who I think I am. And I had long since lost the confidence to trust my own mind. If this life wasn’t meant for me, then I won’t try to get it by force or by lies. If I wanted nice things or a good life, I would have to put it all on the line. And it’d finally be on paper so I’ll never again have an identity crisis. Gay, straight, or bi we would end it immediately or decide to stay together no matter what. In the end I can always say I kept it a 100. To my absolute wonderment my wife thought I had gone off the rails. To her, nothing happened that night at her aunt’s house. She didn’t hear anything. I am acting anti-social.’’ I hate all of her friends and her family and I am a psychopath’’. That she knows these people, she grew up with them, and (outrageously) they must’ve been joking about the death threat. How can I not like them and why am I hurting her. She claims I created all of this in the past three months. That no one is questioning my sexuality and I am pushing her to leave me on purpose. She is so blindly loyal to her family that she would be willfully ignorant.

I exploded, I told her go get any nigga from NY and see what happens when someone threatens their life. He’d roll up on your pops with the quickness and threaten death right back to all you motherfuckaz. I was indignant, treated like shit, offended. I stopped all dinners, I raged. I called her a ‘‘stupid child’’, that she ‘‘lives in a fantasy world’’ that They’re ‘‘all violent animals’’ for weeks. To this day without any apologies or recognition from anyone about what went down that night, it still burns in my chest as the ugliest episode in my experience here. For me to let this slide and watch her defend them would mean that it continues until I’m elimanated and they are exonerated. They would paint me as a con-artist and digusting cheater who would make passes at men from my wife’s own family, spread rumours and make it impossible to enjoy the confidence of anyone. And my wife believes me an anti-social pschyopath who hates staying with people. This way, she doesn’t face that her world is fundamentally unjust nor that it would rob her of happiness. And by denying my recollection of these events her family doesn’t have to face their own prejudice.

Am I too jealous?
My wife went to hang out with the girls and sent me to her best male friends’ house to hang out with the other half of her friends. It was his birthday. We had a good time until some new guy came in. The birthday boy said ‘‘this is (Broke ass nigga) and his wife is (Nastasha)’’ The new guy didn’t remember her, the birthday boy said ‘‘the one from the pool’’, then the new guy was like ‘‘oh shit when you look at me like that, now I understand who’’. I immediately became suspicious and I was visibly uncomfortable. I spoke less and I put on a forced smile. Now… I have long suspected birthday boy. He doesn’t know that I know, 3 years ago, before we married, he was trying to fuck my wife when his girlfriend was away. Shortly before she went back home from NY for the first time in 09’, my wife called me drunk from a party and told me about a guy who was asking her to ‘‘go with him’’ because his girlfriend was going to London for 6 months. I wondered if before me, this was an ongoing thing. Among many photos of friends, my wife and birthday boy were couple’d up in a dozen or so. Over Skype back in NY, I threatened to break up and forced her to admit that the guy in the photos and the guy who propositioned her at the party were indeed birthday boy. I actually don’t care to be friends with a guy who used to fuck my wife on the side. So without a word uttered, I spooked all of my wife’s friends and they cut both of us off. Strike number 2.

Epilogue
Now, with this new diagnosis these stories might very well assume the flavor of a man at the threshold of his insanity. With the question of my orientation put to rest, it feels like my mind is searching for other things to obsess over. Maybe this is a tendency? But it all feels real and all connected to real events that I can recount with exact detail. Is it somehow possible that I Immagined all of this? Is it because of what happened to me as a boy? Even when my wife was present she insists that these things never happened. Two different planets and there is no universe that can ever exist where the two planets can co-exist. Something is wrong with one of us. And I’m the one who’s gotta go on meds. How you see yourself reflects on how others see you but if everyone seems to insist on something, you might begin to have doubts yourself. Damn, Just when I thought I made it, a complete lack of confidence threatens to turn my life into a hall of mirrors. The marriage is in the balance and so will go the job. I have a feeling that soon I will be on the italian streets. except, this was my last attempt. It’s either this life or bust.

20

If you knew what kind of girl she was, you wouldn’t be shocked at all. Our marriage was over on the 17th of September 2012. Like I told you before when her family threatened my life. I was officially rejected by them all. She tried to pretend like everything was ok for three months. The last month, her father hardly invited us to his home for dinner and she was very sad. By then, she didn’t allow me to touch her for 3 months. I stopped going out to gatherings with her and she began seeing another guy. I saw the messages in her phone. Eye for an eye I guess. I believe it was too difficult for her to (or she didn’t want to) stand up to her family and friends, who were all againts me.

After she went to the psych with me and the psych told her I was a heterosexual person, but I had a serious anxiety disorder due to sexual abuse and other traumas, she still abandoned me by saying (or agreeing with) her family that I like men. She stabbed me in the back and betrayed me. She even said this to the guy she was trying to have sex with. I couldn’t believe it. I insisted that I owed only my wife an explanation about my past. I submitted myself to get a mental profile and sexuality test. I thought that I was being more honest and it would make us closer. I was humble. The more I opened up, the more she became uncomfortable and the more she lost respect for me. When she dumped me I had the first panic attack of my life. I was deserted. I called one of the teachers to help me move my stuff (Jeter and Bart, the teachers at the school helped me do my reports so I wouldn’t fall behind at work.) and I also spoke to the psych who has become my staunchest ally in Italy. Her name is Shali and she is a guardian angel.

Looking back on it now. They were a very exclusive circle of people who had money. It’s a wonder I ended up there at all. You can imagine exclusion or excommunication from such a world would be a nightmare. Specially for someone who depended on it their whole life like Marsha (my wife). And that is what Marsha was facing. Her sister helped to convince her that I had to go. I could tell by how fake her sister became. It’s so strange. I never imagined that I could have a serious problem with someone you (my sister) dated or Jonny (brother) dated. But that is one of the most serious issues here for these people. If someone chooses a mate they must be vetted by the whole clan and it’s all about being worthy enough to join the club. While I always thought, anybody who likes (or can stand) someone from my family, must be a cool person. For these people there must always be an ulterior motive, and they usually suspect that a stranger is either trying to borrow unearned prestige or are after their money.

They spread lies about me that reached into other towns. Laura didn’t speak about why I went to a psych. It looks like she tried to say that I was not sure if I loved her anymore or of who I am. The truth is, shortly after I got viciously accused and my life threatened, I felt that the question was in the air. I said ‘‘somethings should remain between me and my wife, but what’s really important is that I love her’’. Her father stopped inviting us to family events and that was it. So the real catalyst for the break-up was her father but we were broken up months before. Then amazingly, it seems she simply ‘chose’ to believe that I was a sick and confused man even after speaking with my psychologist. Or she was a two faced lying bastard who on one side told me she still loved me, wanted to try to make things work and with her family she put on her a different face. Weird because coming from the US I never really associated the word ‘‘ignorance’’ with white people because it usually meant that someone ignored doing things that were good for them. But this brand of ignorance is peculiarly aggressive and self-serving. It is the rule. Their compassion is subservient to their sense of community. A closed community.

Now she texts me now and then saying she got a little present for me or something. The only thing I want from her is the citizenship and afterwards I would gladly spit in both her 's and her sister’s face while launching into elegant Italian expletives. And I swear if I see her father on the street I, would put him on the ground with pure violence and no words because to me he is a pussy. SO many insults through the last year under his breath that if he wasn’t Laura’s father I would have been punched in square in the jaw.

So I have to see this pink little pig and be civil for the sake of citizenship in Italy (If she agrees). I want to have a career here. Fuck our dad. I’m thirty and I have to go through all this shit to have some autonomy. Some control over my own destiny and I still have to bow to assholes like her and her father so I can have freedom to manoeuvre and use my talents usefully. I would have left after the 3rd time that her father insulted me and Laura vigorously defended him ( this was last October) I saw the end of the relationship and I said as much to her right then. Because I was powerless and had no choice over my destiny I had to stay and make the best of it. LAST TIME!

Now I recontacted Michael remember him? the blond Italian guy that was at the marriage with his girlfriend? He broke up with his girlfriend a year ago and He’s my friend now. He invited me to eat lunch with his family and his mother is making me a tailor made suit. He has a lot of girls that he messes with. I’ve been going to bars with him. I’m sort of seeing an Italian Woman named Annalisa and tomorrow I’ll have dinner at her house. My room is a shoe box. I’m fine now and since marrying last year I have had the equivalent of a green card valid until 2016. I’m trying to get a phone line and Internet in this damn shoe box so that I can do things for my job and contact you guys and others in Canada/Haiti. I have many things to think about and decide about my future, I’ll keep you posted.

P.S.
I bought all of them presents and nice ones at that (and I don’t have money). People say I wasted my money but

1.) I know I had somehow earned a terrible reputation and they have a powerful influence on Marsha who is on the fence about getting me citizenship. ( I never expected that from her seeing as she was so crazy about me and wanted to give me a good life but my main thing was legitimacy wherever I am. And Documents was the no.1 reason I hesitated to come to Italy). The fact that it’s a even a question for her amazes me. Anyway and
2.) At the beginning they were truly welcoming and they bought me a lot of nice things. I don’t want to just come, take and leave.That would lower me in their eyes. I bought nothing for the little pig.
I’ll keep you posted.
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