Viva la Rebellion
“Look, honey,” she said, very firm, very deliberate, “when I don’t want to be kissed, I don’t get myself kissed. I’m a big girl now; I can take care of myself.” The guy grinned. “You know,” he said with a laugh, “I’m awfully glad to hear you can take care of yourself with me. Because I’ve been out with a lot of girls who sure as hell couldn’t.”
Again, I cannot help muse upon the imprisonment of the individual in the cell of her own limitations. She is like a wind that hath no fury, a style with no grace. Always yearning for more than what she allows herself to comprehend.
“There is so much hurt in this game of searching for a mate, of testing, trying. And you realize suddenly that you forgot it was a game, and turn away in tears.” And your tears turn to anger, and your anger turns to hate. And you become so bitter, the salt in your veins can’t mask the scowl on your face.
“The wind has blown a warm yellow moon up over the sea…” A big bulbous moon like the bulbous head of a bulbous man pompously taking inventory of the shortcomings of humanity. Patrolling the night, a lighthouse in the sky. A dear companion, always on time, helpful, reliable, admired by all. “What does he have that I don’t?” The Earth Mother laments in quenchless sorrow.
It’s so weird to be alive. I wake up, eat, shower, get dressed, check up on the happenings of this strange world, run errands, eat, sleep, dream and wake up. The days meld together. Weeks turn into months. As I drift into the future the past seems more like a dream.
I try to make sense of it all, try to live each day unto itself. I try to dig a little deeper, try to better myself. I try to strengthen my spirit and lend a helping hand. Be a friend to my neighbor, and be grateful for what I have.
