Love, Hate and Demons

Lovely Athena Waters the Garden

My children. Pure love. More pure than any love I’ve ever experienced in my small small life here on this globe. Some would call me a cheat, a scalawag, a skirt chaser, a lover of pussy. All true. Others would say a drunk, a loudmouth, boisterous and egregious. A dropper of the f-bomb! Heavens help us mere mortals! On these points probably true depending on the situation and who you ask. (YES PLURAL HEAVEN)

Love? Hate? Just perspectives on the same intensity. I’m moving through a divorce and the person I was absolutely smitten with for 15 years – had three children with, I cannot stand to the point of loathing and hate. Exempli gratis: I hate the way she picks at food like the entire meal is hers. Filthy dirty fingers dancing on my fine dinners I do say!! The little things that were cute are now detestable. I delight in knowing that the ones who I’ve fallen in love with that remain unrequited are probably the best ones to fall in love with. The Tao of that lovely beautiful willingly sacrificed emotion, becomes the tool of the destroyer when reciprocated, wrecking vengeance and hate on a universe neutered by such lusts and desires.

Which rondo’s back to my children. That is a love hopefully unrequited forever. I love them so much I’d give my life, not the least my testicles and a lung. Kidney? You got it child. Blood? Marrow? Yes and yes. For anyone else? Well be honest you fucking cunts, you’d not give your life up for anyone, especially once the rubric of like for like, quid pro quo has been attained. The instinct of life is TOO great. Too great a preponderance. We’re all fucking cunts and bitches.

The rondo above is complete. A Scarlatti binary sonata almost. I am demon. A lusting demon waiting to prey on the possibilities. Here’s the thing, you are too motherfuckers. To be human IS to be a demon, because even saints are demons. To be immortalized? Fucking lust just the same. The paradox is this: the denial of being a demon makes you one.

Now now my dears, don’t lie to yourselves! Dixon Lipps do make the frankfurter!


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