Friend Of The Dead

It is sad, yet liberating, harsh yet I understand. I know that nobody outside of my circle of too few points to be a circle at all, cares at all. Who would I be to presume or expect? Everybody has their own struggle. Still, I appreciate everyone who listens when they don't have to. It shows heart. Not quite a required feature in this world, but something beautiful all the same. Sooo, what's on my mind? Would you really like to know? My thoughts have been darker than the gravity well of Sagittarius A. That supermassive black hole at the center of our galaxy, death in a circular void. I wonder if in the far future of the universe whether all the living and all the dead might be consumed by such a void. Nothing to everything, everything to nothing, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I went to the fountain only to rust. I suppose that if the soul within the body, the mind within the matter are eons gone, then it make no difference at all, one out of many, many into one. E Pluribus Unum. Requiscat In Pace. Rest in one piece. My father once told me that he (at the age he was) knew more dead people than living ones. Now that I am getting older, I see his past as my future. Friends, family, loved ones... Gone. Then there are a few who still technically walk the earth, yet are dead to me. Dead, dead, dead snapper. The most malignant of mackerel, Celebrator of betrayal. Celebrator of treachery. So you have finally set me free. So you have finally completed your self definition and placed the garbage can lid over yourself. Rest assured and feel secure. Trust me. When the seafood place throws out the snapper that has spoiled and gone over, there are no thieves waiting in the alley to steal it. So secure in exile, so assured in irrelevance, obsolescence, a trashcan rarely needs guarding. One can rest assured it shall still be there when that garbage man in the black robe comes to collect. Snapper celebrates betrayal, but Snapper can't hurt me anymore, can't reach me anymore, neither directly, nor through others anymore. And I read that eulogy many years ago. I mourned an illusion. Belief, innocence, and young idealism: They are the first casualties of treachery and deception. I know I'm not the only one and I wish we could heal each other. But that's idealism for ya. And old wounds are weird. Even when they're mostly healed over, you still feel ways. It is a strange mix of emotion: The loss of my beloved ones to time, the responsibilities, duties, and burdens once shouldered by mother and father now on my own shoulders, the loving memories that lighten that burden. The thought of an angel, that distant star, knowing these arms are not light years long. Childhood memories of a family of five gathered around a table. An ancient treachery of certain bottom dwelling creature of the deep, who threw family, value, and loyalty into the very trashcan in which they now dwell. Highs and lows. Sweetness and bitterness. Deep love, deep loathing. Happy memories, painful remorse, and bitter regret. It's the whole peanut butter and pickles thing. What the hell are you eating? I am no longer looking back. I am looking ahead of me. Good advice from father to son. I had the "I never left you, son" dream again. He gave me that look as if I were out of my mind when I said otherwise. "Where else would I be?" he said. And I, the dream self, felt kind of dumb for thinking he wasn't still with me all along. I hope so. I may be getting old. My son just turned the age that I was when he was born. But I still need my parents. I need their guidance. Even if they're not here and I have grown old. Indeed, I still feel ways. Have you ever noticed just how subjective the senses are? Have you ever seen a face from across the room with such impression beyond all others, a voice whose words penetrate through the mundane haze to the very core of your being? Have you ever seen a smile, the slightest gesture that can make a dreary day bright? Tell me what warms the heart on a cold day? Tell me who you love. Is the feeling mutual, or is it as Paul McCartney sings, all that magic feeling, and nowhere to go. We humans are weird. Highly illogical, as Mr Spock would say. Yet, here we are. Remember, wherever you go, there you are. Ah, but where your thoughts are, where your mind wanders off to... Who knows? Welcome to The Cosmic Galaxy of Wie. And why? Like hell if I know. Some days, I just don't have the ooja mobooja. It seems I'm all out of oogas, boogas, ungaaas, and mobungas, too. Even we awesome cavemen aren't with the club all the time. Though we're still way classier than those darned Rubbles and Flintstones. Wasn't there a Caveman movie with Roquel Welch? Now, that's how I'd get my Unga Mobungas back. Ribbit-ribbit! It's so froggy out there. I'll call this day Kermit. It was a Ribbit-ribbit ribbiting morning drive, 'cause I had to fly, Ribbit-ribbit! The fact that I have not yet been turned into a frog means all the witches I've ticked off were only figurative ones. On the other side of the matter, nobody wants to turn me into a prince, either. Oh, well. I guess this is what it sounds like when doves cry. Oh well, deary. That precious golden ball can just stay in the well, Ribbit-ribbit! You know? With the right presence, with the right backing, with the right encouragement, with the right belonging, even a scarecrow could face a thousand boxes of matches. Sadly, many of us stand, battling Randall Flagg on our own. See, a lot of what makes us courageous and strong is knowing somebody cares in the first place. It's only things... It's just an old bulletin board with pictures and memories scattered across it. I'd like to think of myself as a logical, reasonable, rational human being.... But when I accidentally bumped the wall and the whole damn thing came crashing down, I kinda freaked and went Nutso The Clown. It's not them... It's not Marsha and my parents, but their images and mementos. Still... Here we are.... And here I am... working on breathing slowly and figuratively taking a chill pill. Years on, grief is still one hell of a trip, man. Never underestimate the importance of there being somebody, anybody who truly loves you. I understand we all have loss. It is a human thing, for we are all mortal beings. Still.... This first half of the 20s has taken some of the most loved people in my life. People whose love and caring for me I never once doubted or questioned. The worst thing is that loss is not a one day thing. It is for the day of and hereafter. They were gone yesterday. They're gone today, and they'll be gone tomorrow. That sharp edge never dulls, my friends. So, if you have a partner, mother, father, sister, or brother, remember: Hugs are best delivered in person. I have saved emails, letters, and birthday cards. Even voice-mails from Momma and Dad. Sadly, somehow, Marsha's got deleted before I could save them. I have heard it said, "If I could only hear their voice." Well, I can, any time. Trust me, it is not the same. How about a subject change? Ribbit-ribbit, clean cup! Ribbit-ribbit, move down! This lily pad I'm sitting on just isn't designed for all this heaviness. Even a frog prince has to fly now and then. Ribbit-ribbit, let's go crazy! [Hops on motorcycle and speeds away] Okay, I don't know when I'll publish this, but it's the Monday before Thanksgiving as I am writing this. This will be the second year that the preparation of Thanksgiving Dinner falls to me. I got all the stuff except I forgot the cranberry sauce. Damn it. Gotta run by the store. I'm hoping to do better this year. Last year's turkey was okay but bland as hell. This year, I've got a baking bag, seasoning, spices, yadda yadda yoda. Plus a ham, a pan of dressing, and a couple of pre made pies, Pumpkin and Key lime. I never thought that this would be me. I blame 16 year old me for smarting off to his momma about how men shouldn't have to learn to cook. Well, after proficiently preparing all the meals for 17 years, and for my kids since they were 5, 7, and 9 years old, I can say I have learned my lesson. Young men, get your asses in the kitchen and learn from yo mamma! As an older, wiser me will say that every young man should know how to cook, just as every young lady should know how to change a tire and check oil. It's called self-reliance, ladies and gentlemen. The day you have to depend on another is the day you give them power over yourself. Trust an old space cadet when I say it is not a smart thing to do. Be like Single Female Lawyer, fighting for her client, wearing sexy miniskirts and being self-reliant. Any fellow Futurama fans out there? Anybody? Helloooooo! Bender is great! Remember me! Remember me! Remember me! Pharaoh, my god-king, you are cold and deceased. Have you ever tried reading the Egyptian Book Of The Dead? It's hard to follow and reads like stereo instructions. Remember, if ya must be a ghost, be the ghost with the most! Alright, ladies and joims. I think we are way overdue for a nice clean cup move down! I think the watch is madder than usual today. Wouldn't you agree? I have miles to go before I sleep. Just as Robert Frost so eloquently wrote. I still have my digital pyramid to finish building. I still have writings to complete. And there is a 12 year old bottle of Whiskey, once a gift to my father, that is waiting, seal unbroken, for a very special day. My mission is to stay alive for at least that long. The Whiskey is waiting and so am I. When one calls the wolf enough times, he shall arrive. While his presence was pretended for far too many times, a charade for fake sympathy, his last visit, in black cloak and hood shall be quite real. You may side step the judgment of God Almighty, but the judgment of time can't be avoided forever. You were never worth going to prison. That is why you live today. But time shall do that work for me someday. Cant you hear it counting down like Kasey Kasem? For you and I, and every soul, eternity awaits. And so do I, and my unopened bottle. If mercy is with the gods, the night you dine in hell, shall I drink on earth. Justice, don't be slow. For that will be the day that death finally takes someone who actually deserves it. I have lost too many good people. You see, Momma didn't deserve it, Dad didn't deserve it, Marsha didn't deserve it, My 12 year old classmate Lori didn't deserve it, and neither did any of these people that I loved. Ah but you, Dead Snapper? Audrey II was right. Some people deserve to die. For far too long the reaper has been a thief. I have been waiting for the time he shall finally be a garbage man. I know this makes me sound bitter, hateful, and hell bent on revenge. But I'll still try to explain why it's justice I seek. I am not Khan Noonan Sighn, but I think a set of eels would be a perfect match for a snapper's ears. In other words, vengeance is just a nice added bonus. And I'll go through the galactic maelstrom and 'round perdition's flame before I give it up. Why? Because justice is long overdue. See in an ideal world we each must face the consequences of our own actions. But not Snapper, never Snapper. They were always superb at starting problems, causing chaos, then leaving it for others to face the whirlwind and retribution, and to try as they might to make right what Snapper made wrong. She has never physically, emotionally, or monetarily ever built anything herself, only draining the resources and sanity of others until the host was no longer of any use, then moving on like a locust to the next field of crops. I was not the first. And if I ever meet any the others, my first action will be to apologize for believing the lies and bullshit and therefore thinking wrongly of them. Not only with relationships but others too. Her father who was a good man that I still hold the deepest respect for, and was also most likely one of the first people she put through that hell. The inner stoic strength of that good man must be respected. I don't know how he got through so much. And the others, I understand now. They too, thought that they could be that hero in shining armor to save her, to fix all her problems. Only to be thrown away and badmouthed to the next one. I know from my own experience her method of operation. And I have long ago realized that I was just at the end of a long list of people she first used and then wronged. She has used, lied, gaslighted, and left behind a trail of heartache, destruction, and trauma in her wake. No conscious, no remorse, no regrets. Just false crocodile tears when she thought it would suit her agenda, even faking terminal illness. She has been 'dying' for these last seventeen years. I have never seen someone be so full of bullshit without the least guilt. In the wake of losing my dearest loved ones to absolutely real death, you can see the reasoning behind my hatred and disgust for this worthless pathetic scumbag wretch. You can see why. And while I might can forgive the many ways I was wronged, hurt and mistreated, for I was stupid enough to fall into her web, I can never forgive how my children (Innocent and brought into this world through no choice of their own) were hurt. Or the way she tried to use them as an excuse to get to me when she could no longer do so directly. The absolute zero attempts in the six years since my youngest turned eighteen just proves it was never about them. The only thing that made me any different from her past victims is the fact that we had children. They were not spared from all the damage and destruction she caused. And that, my dear friends, Romans, robots, and strangers, is what I can not and will never forgive. I will stand before God. I will stand before the devil. But I will never upon ever forgive. Not this. Not ever. If that damns me then so be it, for I have been damned before. Besides, there are things I must still deal with even to this very day. There is damage within, and without, that I continue to work on repairing. It has taken me these seventeen years to get even this far in repairing the damages of ten. Think about that. This is damn near a three decade chunk of my life. Don't you think it's time? So. There you have it: All my baggage bared in so many words. It may sound bad, but it feels so much better when it's out of my head and onto the page. You know? A human being, any real human being must ask his or herself, How do I feel? We all think we know, but the answer can still surprise you. Writing is how I explore my own feelings, good, bad, and ugly. Here through the lens of a spaced out cadet, you get the truth. And I have to say, not all of these truths make me very proud of myself. But spin and persona have no place here. Not if I wish to truly see and understand myself. This may sound insane, but it's all I've got.