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.
The pathway of destruction is wide
And many are in route
The end looks like the beginning
And the beginning…
A cloud of soot
But the stairway to serenity is more than meets the eye
It spirals up instead of down
And lifts you far up off the ground
The first step is wide as wide can be
A simple task to catch a grip
