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For so-me it's the only way to fly. I nearly died of shame in Reno, Nevada once, among other places I also went to die of something, about nothing at all. God knows what. What died there in Reno was my first marriage.
I was sad to death during that ti-me. The weird thing was what made my me sad. It wasn't about the woman or child nor what I'd dreamed sadness was about or for. Especially the for word. As in Being-for-myself vs Being-for-the-other. What is life for?
Who am I doing physical life again for? I wuz tricked. I could have sworn I'd figured it out and matriculated on to other dimensions or planes of ex-is-tense, but ti-me and again I wake up here with a familiar yearning for nicotine, caffeine, and an overwhelming curiosity about and need for something warm and moist. Moist? Moist? Spirits gnow nothing of elements like water. Moist almost always means I've co-me-d again with the senses. What a drag, man.
In Reno I wept for the person my parents and caretakers attempted to make me into for their sake. It was the self-same person my first wife married too. I am had good reason for experiencing sadness. A significant other in these people's lives died because of them, for them, and it won't no pretty picture.
They all felt cheated. Why would they not? It took a long time for them to get around to saying so. They had only been able to say it to who they'd wanted me to be. He died. That boy. He won't there for them no more. It's a cold day in hell. Talk to the hand.
I came here to die from the second wife. I knew the score even though I pretended to hide it from myself. Gnowing that I already know is the bane of my existence. I am is so hard to lie to. It jumps through all kinds of hoops to indicate otherwise. Finally, however, every day, the chickens co-me ho-me to roost.
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I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
