Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Wrinkling the Universe
When Lucille left Bucky for the last time, he metamorphosed
into a sexual idiot.
The girls he bribed with presents should have spent
their time with the studs they craved, but they did think
he was funny. Funny.
At the end he hooked up with a real criminal, a woman
who extorted many before. Had served some time.
Unjustly in her intricately articulate view. Insanity!
His health, no wonder, went to shit.
Internist, of course, informed him he was killing
himself.
At this stage I met him again–-after mucho avoidance.
He asked for my sister’s number. I didn’t politely
withhold it, I told him flat out that he had lost his
character, and I wouldn’t inflict him on anybody I loved.
Or anybody, really.
He told me I wasn’t a friend. And that it was easy to be cold
with puny inexperience. And that girls were looking for
fun and sex and not quotes from Wallace Stevens!
So that last stung? Many have done as well.
He was stopped with his criminal on the Blue Route,
trunk of her powder blue Cadillac loaded with high-end
watches lifted from Sansom Street jewelers.
And toasters. Toasters!
Cocaine in passenger door. He rode next to it,
knowing or not. So, in deepest shit.
I don’t say this lightly, but better he should die.
Narcissus cannot rehab, knowing more than
the rest of us combined.
No, I’m not just nursing the hurt he gave me...maybe a little.
But the issues are larger here if we wish to continue with
some kind of moral, and not animalistic, world. Okay,
sounds pretentious. I must own it though, since I do feel
that way.
There always exists the risk everywhere that “cool”
people will call you asshole. Courageous individuals
relish it. I’m not there yet.
But I call them as I see them, however tremulously.
When Lucille left Bucky for the last time, he metamorphosed
into a sexual idiot.
The girls he bribed with presents should have spent
their time with the studs they craved, but they did think
he was funny. Funny.
At the end he hooked up with a real criminal, a woman
who extorted many before. Had served some time.
Unjustly in her intricately articulate view. Insanity!
His health, no wonder, went to shit.
Internist, of course, informed him he was killing
himself.
At this stage I met him again–-after mucho avoidance.
He asked for my sister’s number. I didn’t politely
withhold it, I told him flat out that he had lost his
character, and I wouldn’t inflict him on anybody I loved.
Or anybody, really.
He told me I wasn’t a friend. And that it was easy to be cold
with puny inexperience. And that girls were looking for
fun and sex and not quotes from Wallace Stevens!
So that last stung? Many have done as well.
He was stopped with his criminal on the Blue Route,
trunk of her powder blue Cadillac loaded with high-end
watches lifted from Sansom Street jewelers.
And toasters. Toasters!
Cocaine in passenger door. He rode next to it,
knowing or not. So, in deepest shit.
I don’t say this lightly, but better he should die.
Narcissus cannot rehab, knowing more than
the rest of us combined.
No, I’m not just nursing the hurt he gave me...maybe a little.
But the issues are larger here if we wish to continue with
some kind of moral, and not animalistic, world. Okay,
sounds pretentious. I must own it though, since I do feel
that way.
There always exists the risk everywhere that “cool”
people will call you asshole. Courageous individuals
relish it. I’m not there yet.
But I call them as I see them, however tremulously.
Labels: criminal, drugs, excess, integrity, mid-life crisis, personality, sexual gluttony, stealing, youth
