There is a point in time that is encountered at long spaced regular intervals when change of old patterns is inevitable. Faces too familiar, routes so often traveled as to seem a sleepwalk, old friends and bosom buddies now transformed by the threat of the ties of marriage and the like. The proverbial once tasty fish gone smelly bad, old males and females extinct’d from active phone lists, that special one who was the pivot point of former dreams, gone hostile because of a lack of interest in the forced camaraderie of the rote recitation of that same old tired bullshit espousing the perpetual cup half empty of victimhood. One takes the fall gracefully when there are no more scapegoats left. Our universe demands that life inevitably transitions eventually into death in both spiritual and material realms. And then one is reborn freshly innocent of its continuum and emptied of its plight as if someone newly awakened by the jarring intrusion of the bright morning rays of sunlight reaching forth through an unstrung blind. That flavor of former times fleeting and indefinable and vacant of fit words to describe. The weight of its presence hovering for a time like a great cumulus bank intangibly magnificent.
There is nothing more pathetic than seeing an old man attempting revive his current existence on the stage couched in the fantasy of young man’s dreams. Memories defaulted to slow melodic phrasing of further doldrums caught in reliable muses. Bartenders living to entrap them and their fading sagas like mail order bachelors in distant entreaty. An attendant fatal fall into the abyss awaiting. So deep and far that it looks like piss. A perpetual enemy at my back. Silly little game, really. As disinteresting as the dead teeth populating the back of my jaw in my head. No longer visible to the solipsistic kingdom of the young. Old and fat, perhaps? But not stupid enough to fall prey to a final love affair with tiny animals and sweets. Every face tells a story. Bumps and bruises with a pronounced amount of shaking at the hand level. Sadder longer less loving faces focused on the sweet counter on those females entering middle age.