Saturday, September 5, 2015

And Yet!

How much longer must I hold my breath my dear sweet love? How buoyant do You think my feeble heart really is? Why must I shiver the night through in the absence of Your warm embrace? I'm told Your very near, but so am I---the breaking point that is. And yet to whom can I go. You have the words of eternal life. O God come to my assistance. O Lord make haste to help me.

Family-Assisted-Freedom

Faceless fathers, greedy mothers, spoiled-rotten baby-folk, one great big family. Lots of love when time is shared but sharing time is nickel and dime, so love when you can :) if your money can buy enough time :(
If it can't don't fuss, a wink ; and a nod will raise them up fine to find a family of love in a large glass of wine. A drink to dear Pa who relinquished the helm to agenda setting Ma. A drink to dear ole Ma who secretly wanted to be me dear ole Pa for believing it better to be not what she was for fear dear ole Pa might actually wear the pants as if that were an incurable travesty for her to wear a skirt. A drink to me spoiled-rotten self, what's left of it at least, for growing up young in a house of neglected roles and blurred desires tends to leave one arguing that what's white is pink and what's white is gray where a woman's scorn is the only higher truth a cultured man need ever obey except for when she lets him wear his God-given pants and that on the condition that he keep his fathering to a faceless minimum.
Ah! What's one more drink. Here's to the siblings I never had siblings me poor ole parents patted themselves on the back for not having as if freedom were more advantageous to a child then the love that depends upon the ties that bind. I'd have just one more drink to finish off the night but I surely won't do it but not because I haven't got the right but simply because the bottle is empty of friendship as regards this night. Good night Johnny Walker. You can stumble by anytime for a drink as long me ole folks don't find out about the blind eye you got. For they canst stand a blind eye. Because the two of them didst their best to give me two, one from each of them. Now who couldn't love such dear old parents as mine even if I do have'em locked up in the care home under the auspices of "me back is to bad to lift father, and mother is bent over from a life time of trying to put me fathers trousers on." Poor ole things, if I were a little more culturally sensitive I would have voted more mercifully for an end to old age pensions and wrinkles. Who needs cosmetics anyway when we can vote youthfulness in to being the law of the land. Wrinkles I'm sure will be reckoned as indecent exposure in 30-40 years for which the death penalty will be the only attractive solution. I never harbored any ill will toward my parents, I just got sick of waiting for them to get ill so that I could collect the will. Visiting the folks? Yes occasionally when the guilt resurfaces but Johnny Walker's blind eye usually pacifies those archaic feelings of a religious nature, which gladly enough are not reinforced these days and if so by muffled voices that are bandied about so much that you'd swear they had been drinking wine at the price of two can dine.