When he finally passed away, I went to his grave, took one of my pieces, wrapped it around a stick, and staked it in the ground, deep in the soil, like someone staking a vampire.
Not that I hold a grudge or anything.
What you see here, in these words, and my answers, is the way my brain works, this is what I'm like inside my head. There's no artifice between my thought and the keys. It just comes out. This is as much "me" as you're ever likely to get, including the possibility of meeting me in person.
You must understand that my early years, and my family life for all of my youth and adolescence, could be the basis of any number of psychological horror films. But it's also not something I'm prepared to discuss at this time.