Monday, September 14, 2015


Self, Other, The Lack of Reason, & The Paradox of Pleasure

Can this just be the interlude?
Can this just be who cares?
Can this please not be heart-
break?  Can this be the story
of how my grandmother came
to be with my grandfather?  For
fifty-something years, yes?  The
ick of hosting an anniversary party
for them at my childhood home;
me, perhaps a high school senior.
Was it their 45th?  In my heart,
and to this day, that was and is
a very big deal.  I might slump
a bit as I type this, but I hold
them up as heroes in that
regard.  The template.  And
the wonder of the why and
especially the how of the how.  
I did not see this through my
teenaged eyes, but from this 
much older pair.  I see with 
verity.  What I,
myself, have sought,
and that which I’ll never 
truly have.  But haven’t I 
lived?  And thusly, such a life 
that both of these heroes would, 
I know, be in awe, so proud 
(well, I am their grandson), if
not even a bit envious....   I left
home soon after for college. 
Papaw passed on, and then
what?  She lived on for
another decade plus.  Even
saw another man (Papaw’s
closest friend, then a widower
due to her--Granny Louise's--
closest friend's passing).  But 
the pain, the declination,
was so furious that I could
never look again through those
loving eyes.  To find equanimity
in the inevitable heartbreak
of a life spent living.  I try to
continue to want this.  I seem
unable to even suppress such
an aspiration.  Even now, with
the stupid grin of such an age,
knowing its impossibilities.
But, yes.  Now more than ever.