I was made like
majority. a man seducing a woman. a woman responding in likewise.
I do not like many
people. many do not approve of me. but I love educating to a smaller degree—especially,
through and by experience.
many women are
powerful, brave, wedded to principles, beautiful souls, slanted with reason. I try
to fathom how men are responsible for magnitude and reach. something to do with
needs or preference or many men making triumph.
I have died
several times—right there in that space, wiping my melted remains into a
garbage bin.
drinking is
handled, cuffed, entertained, edgy, but never a problem. I sound absurd. we
need to call people on that. we, too, should not get angry when someone we do
not respect sounds on point, even intelligent. I imagine a great feat in
hearing something true, feeling convicted, and still giving credit its due. at
some language we stop acting and become authentic in our mirrors.
I am learning
something both perplexing and dismounting it: anger is not cut and dry; it
lingers for years; as for self, although, I do not respect you, I need for you
to give your approval of me. this is a dear, deep, darker secret. something
inside of us is uncolored, demented, pleading for closure where pain is
greater. we desire something from strangers, a social principle, in souls behaving
a-socially. I run an error, please forgive me, I use “We” as mainly culturally.
a little gray, many paradoxes, a few oxymorons.
it is difficult to
approve of something we need to belittle. many would assert humans are not so
vague, so opaque, so inscrutable. I would answer: “Have you not read the
greatest literature extant? Have you not realized we are reliving it?”
indeed. we are
good people doing bad things, with myriad reasons for much deviation.
