Raw Cayenne Sprinkled on the Fish.
It’s kind of like admitting – you’re immature.
Or rather, a stupid, conniving act-of-statement in public-realization and self-denial: that you don’t think anyone could do something similar to you and you are the only one allowed to win.
And if someone competes – they’re trying to be like you and you’re jealous.
What would cause this jealousy?
If their own petty imitation, led to do something accidentally decent in their life besides just sitting around or lounging, started from aim of the person that inspired them.
Whether it started from aim-of-takedown or authoritative “challenger” saying I love your shit so much I’m going to take it and do it better than you.
I think in the end, it all turns out to…
A Lottery of Celebrity Sweat.
“No one really wins dear, and there’s never any winner.””” .. . . . ….
That’s what my Partner says to me.
As I’ve had low self-esteem, and fluctuating-to-none of self-worth.
As I’ve always had my lows amongst Women.
Fear in the party I wanna talk to, let alone actually bond or make friends with.
Hardly any of them are cis anymore.
And the deplorable-moral-state sanctioned by the Pop-Arts of the Sideliners on the Curbs.. We admit they suck and kinda ruined our lives with High Expectations, Jealousy, Envy +
Pushing us to live their empty, unfulfilled lives. [they dreamed of; this was their dreams: eternal mediocrity and popular-life.]
It’s been decades since childhood took its hand away from and wrapped you into some bow that turns into Adult.
I don’t see much difference from empty tea cups and plastic-served food for the tea party.
It’s the brawny women I always looked up to as a Kid in film, media.
When Women past 50 into their 70s look you in the eye and say “You raised yourself.” and you don’t mention anything about Family, Home-Life or feeling like you’ve been abandoned at every corner or Ms. Honey admirable-dream-option.
Suddenly 17 couples have filed to take over your legal adoption and the Coroners of Childhood have come to your door to say – hey. We’re gonna press charges but we can’t keep moving you anymore.
Imaginary Friends, there was a good cartoon about that.
I suppose the best you can say is –
I come from Nothing and I made my World in Something and I don’t choose a Throne to take a Shit-on. It’s porcelain; like everyone else’s.
Even the gold ones – porcelain with gold plate.
The Plastic Ones – porcelain tubing for the water irrigation and flooring valve.
To the Women that chopped wood and broke switches for kindling of the fuel, the women that taught their kids how to braid their hair with sweet grass, maize, and banana leaves; frankly, the women that raised me and enhanced the Vitality of the Divine Feminine in me… when I sorta just drifted between auhhhhhh – nothing. I identify with nothing and choose nothing. [Let alone The Women willing to take off the splicer plate off the back of the toilet and go perusing in there and lift up the valve chain and unclog the toilet with decade and half old plunger that just works for the giant shits the women take in their houses but still smaller than the gigantic night-shift shits that men offer that inherently -diswell the plumage in the water-suspension: These Womens are my Heroes. Shoutout Harrisburg. 8TH STTTTT =]
Melancholic Misanthrope.
Cynic Nihilist.
Optimistic Nihilist.
Nihilist Stoic.
Believing in Nothing, got me far in the World.
I’m broke, but I’m happy and livin’ on love.
Even when I can’t find it, I don’t have to search far for my favorite asshole to turn the corner or let me look at his eyes [it’s hard he turned 6’9 after the submarines when he decided “i kinda fucking hate humanity and imma give it 3 years.” and that turned to 17 years eventually and now we just hang out with the only people we don’t really hate.
[all my texan-exes of course, we grew up together!} shrugs]
Big Iron by Marty Robbins is playing, now.
My dad would always play this, because his dad played it.
And long ago whether anyone can admit it,
The Orphan Shit remembers all-my-life.
Sometimes I’d see him just as a Kid, too.
Still Orphan Shit like me, and that’s how we came across each other a couple times a lifetime for me.
Still my Granddaddy, my Dad is still my Dad, regardless of the culmination of my Disability,
And the negated fact I remember the Phillippine-Italian side:
Just Fine.
I know all your mistakes.
I’ve known all your fuck-ups.
I’ve fixed many.
You showed me nothing after that, and I never helped again.
YOU THOUGHT: because I had the funds and professionalism to help you and offer you charity – you could become dependent on me bailing you out.
Sounds like a Nepotism-baby if I ever knew one.
The East-Side Wilsons don’t put up with that shit.
Not even the West-Side Men.
They rather get divorced and become Single Fathers.
[ ⭐ bc they tried to save their marriage, I mean it. I’m the Family Counselor that doesn’t charge you for a conversation about what’s kinda the distant-turmoil-that’s-kept-you-up-at-night for like 8 years or maybe 24… better than a 5cent Stand, what can I say.]
Which is hard, because not a lot of people acknowledge that Not Every Single Mother is a Fit-Mother.
Not every hetero-normative couple with a suburban life: are fit-parents.
Most Millionaires that shit out an affair-baby in 17 countries over 8 years: are not fit fucking parents, but decent at business, I guess.
Travel is expensive, so I think you’re eating in margins that don’t exist without a pad and you’re gonna hit deficit before it gets publicly announced you’re at 323Bankruptcy.
The World Can Be Your Oyster.
Be Like the Oyster: Raise other Oysters.
Suddenly there’s more Oysters.
And No one goes digging around for Pearls in those Oysters, throwing the Oyster back in the Ocean to suffer doom and be drowned and suffocated on their way back down without a shell.
Everyone’s had a nightmare where they showed up to school or work without their pants on or naked.
Or maybe even lived a life where 3 Whole Outfits and 2 Pairs of Shoes; was something hard to come by. Maybe once or twice a decade.
Well it takes less than 2 decades to feel that sting while Mom gets a handbag every Christmas and Dad doesn’t know how to explain how he prioritizes his Wife, is costly.
Simple Means for Chagrin Themes.
We may not sip the same tea when we sit together and chat and catch-up:
I’m not looking for an evil-doppleganger-imposter.
I just want to feel like I have parents after all this. Maybe even a family I’m allowed to say I come from.
Just wanna come from something, no matter what I do.
It’s always the jealousy and envious that hang around and leave you.
So I left that moral quake first and just choose to Be Cordial.
Respect-or-Not, that’s minutiae.
The Ones in Your Corner: don’t say much.
They just allude because they’re proud and want to see more.
There’s a lot of respect to privacy in that.
…
Ending Tracks:
Lost Highway by Hank Williams
Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex
Catz+Tagz Story Tracks:
Ribbon Bow by Karen Dalton
Outro Single:
Get Thy Bearings by Donovan
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