Darwin Was An Asshole
While it has always been apparent that I’m supposed to be alone I catch myself time, and time again fighting the natural order of things. Why nurture nature when nature can nurture?
Predestination? One can only hope, Calvinist or not.
Juxtapose a wolf which mates for life, and the creature “we” are supposed to resemble most, I am a rather solitary living thing accidentally born into a social kingdom. Accidents do happen like humans born with an extra, or absent chromosome. Our society is too advanced for the slow and hairy.
Questo perchè, Saturn ha mangiato suoi bambini. No?
I will never understand or better yet feel at home with the population surrounding me, always regretting then retracting every word or motion that flows from my body like a misguided or misfired shotgun. The shots explode in directions then penetrate, planting discomfort like a selfish or untrained lover, in depths that I can’t retrieve. Still, I bring out the forceps digging into the membranes of the universe around me, stitching unsteadily to fix the wounds.
Anatomy is always better cared for when Grey.
So far I haven’t found a cure for twenty-five years of invasive stares from everyone around me, at times leaving me with an intense abhor for my “fellow man” a disgusting taste of violation as their eyes probe raping me surface deep. Later, my disgust is replaced with self doubt as they change without warning, repulsed, aghast and thinking she wasn’t kidding. I never am. Though I know perhaps I should pretend not to.
Brilliance that sparked, and sustained a golden era.
If I were mute, organic with sinew, the world might be more inviting. Unfortunately words flow from me like a gold plated automatic nine millimeter, all of the backlash but none of the benefits, insanity is only fun in grotesque.
The subsequent loneliness burns as weapons of irritation, confusion, anger are fired in my direction releasing female endorphins to numb the pain of skinned pride. One minor benefit of a crimson asphyxiation. Isolation is always worse than choosing a cozy weapon of defense like solitude. A lifetime spent forging it in the depths of my artillery unit. While counter active at times and often out of date it’s tolerable to follow the natural order of things.
Fa male. But, ‘this is worse’. C’est le vie
It’s a preference, surviving on ones own terms; regardless of the haunting sound of silence and the resonating ominous echo that thunders every minute of my wake when we disarm and set the guns away.
Rebellious by nature, we fear the imposed while waiting open arms with high hopes of what a deafening silence missile dreams bring.
In my armchair, clenching pipe in teeth, surrounded by friends,
I assert myself the expert of all things.