Most people would prefer that someone would wash their hands before taking a pee. I know I would! But Rodrigo was the sort of person had a higher regard for himself and he valued his penis as a violinist might treasure a Stradivarius. Though his equipment might have been said to be less spectacular than most, his notion was that since he would be afforded only one of same then he would take special care of it. And perhaps was the false sense of strength that led to his eventual undoing? The conceit of it being his own form of sacrament that should be guarded from those others less sacrosanct in their ways with their own respective architectures. The reserve accompanying this attitude leading to a decided lack of its possible employment both socially and in the case of marriage, in earnest. He would have preferred it be stung by some desert insect rather than risk it to the clutches of some scabby old two legged lizard’s lingering tongue.
His baby sister Marietta, on the other hand, couldn’t leave well enough alone. Her fingers always disappearing surreptitiously under her skirts to scratch, pick and explore. That was if not under direct adult supervision. Something being hypnotic to her about this strange device so perfectly hidden betwixt her legs and secreted from view. Unlike her brother she was often prone to allow third party observation both by prior tentative agreement as well as be frequent accident. The sort of practice that she had the good judgment to keep to herself and far away from the prying eyes of any nearby adults. Leaving one to note that her popularity among members of the opposite gender at an early age was great indeed. A fact that was annoying to her brother during those times when he was required to ferry her around the neighborhood as mandated by their parents to the hoots and wolf whistles of those little rat faced boys hanging around his neighborhood that he thought might one day be his friends.
A sense of maturity and adult decorum entering into the picture for both of them over time. The transition bringing no significant changes of respective attitudes beyond that certain marked strategy of employ. Promiscuity in passing temporal friendships for one and a lingering social drought for the other. The etherial lure of bearing children considered from their different poles of perspective, surprisingly similarly and perfectly aligned. Perhaps the common expression of a prevelant family trait for the extreme members of the litter. The middle two totally conventional in their outlook and engaged in marriage at an early age bearing fruit to entrench the family name for future eras. Perhaps these two miscreants where destined for a solipsistic solitary existences.
The constant patter of rain against the lounge window had lost its charm. Being housebound had a distinctively irritating quality to it. “You like french fries, I like french fries, we all like french fries!” You’re going to die! I’m going to die! We’re all going to die! I guess I have lost all my personal empathy for others since my parents stepped down from their thrones on Mt. Olympus and having become mortal summarily died. A random anonymous distant voice from far below says a distant “Fuck You!” in a heavy Spanish accent. Now all of a sudden it is sunny and two days later and we are on the couch. Mutually exclusive to each other. Old worn threadbare furniture far past an appointment with the trash. So much having gone on upon it over intervening the years. Thank God for cool clean fresh air and blue skies. We get that so infrequently now.
The televison’s incessant monologue carries on within the room unattended. Old and new saggingly familiar faces of those barely acknowledged save for the clint of each of their familiar smiles and scowls delivered to respective teleprompters. They don’t have to wonder where the money comes from to pay the basic bills ensuring a roof over their heads or food on the table! They are of a class that has been given the golden plate opportunity to sell out for the big dollars. How many other bodies left in the dust of their wake being of no concern to them. They go out each night to each other’s abodes and carry on uninterrupted with expensive refrigerators full of ice cream in all the best flavors. Sex for them is seeing their image up high for a moment projected on Times square.
My name is Samuel, and they took away my dreams of a future. And then with this virus thing come down around everybody’s shoulders. They took away my routine. There wasn’t much left after five years of being outed, down and out, the future promise of all that was left after there wasn’t really much more to expect after everything else had become a bad cliche. The half-hearted attempt as a daily routine was the last thing that made any sense. But now nothing made any sense save to sit still and wait to die. “Bird, bird, bird, bird is the word, ba, ba, ba, ba, bird bird bird, bird is the word!” No pressure! No victims. No pain. No regret! Nothing.
When I was young I though myself a rich kid. I didn’t think that anything could hurt me. Occasionally, I pulled a dumb self-serving stunt. Not burning down a building or sticking my fingers in a cash register when nobody was looking, or anything. But living for a short time in places that even a rat would think twice about staying in. Just to see how it was! Knowing that Daddy or Mommy, or somebody would pull me out of there, and rescue me with a check for plane fare back home. But now I then I had gotten my deep down secret wish. I was poverty bound with no hope of ever getting back to any semblence of unearned prosperity. Sinking ever further into the mud of my own indifference. What did I care? I’d been there so many times before!
Water has a way of seeking it’s own level! Check the toilet if you are in doubt. Now I have the rest of the whole world to keep me company floating about in the shitter! Their better’s pulling the plug on the whole bunch of us all at the same instant. We are all fucked from this day forth. The past is now a bad dream merely there to get in the way of surviving what is evidently our fear ridden future. No job, no money, no where to live, no food, no car, no clothes, no nothing. But hey, that was already said! Anger in a man is something always self-indulgent. When you let it out of the cage, it immediately gets out of hand. Too soon it turns out to be the predictive programmed version of a bad movie Hollywood probably made some thirty years earlier.
Yet something, little things tell one if they are on the right path going somewhere else? That it makes no difference that I didn’t know to that to begin with. Never would know! How could I know? Funny little clues kept popping up. Unexpected items and actions of some person or a thing that might have something very noticeable or eccentric in view, or maybe just hit me the wrong way? Then later, as if sensitized by that prior peripheral contact, I might see that exact same thing or have that generally same experience occur before me? And I could pick it out of the rest of the day’s otherwise routine of less than no routine. It would be like a Cheshire cat, or a Bugs Bunny with a big cartoon mallet that would hit me over the head. It would remind me that I was off on to some fatal epic journey that was meant just for me, and only me alone. Not some generic superhero muscle bound over-marketed robot avatar made up from every characteristic that had been baked into me long before by the persistent viewing of television, and the movies, or the Internet and definitely the phone. Something else or someone else was talking to me?
Heroine or heroin, what was the difference over the long term, when it came down to it? Sunsets like pumpkin colored old liver spot beset flesh rotting away to black upon a paper mache horizon. Glib fantasies, most of which one has picked up along the way, tumbling out of my spare ear like a pair of loaded dice. I became nothing. I was invisible. The fact of a lifetime existence where no one sees me, or gets to know that I am there. A perfect situation of absolute clarity by way of all possible choices long past over leading to the absolute same conclusion. If could be considered sane, then by all other reasonable conclusions, I would have to judge all else to be insanity. I have now have nothing to distract me from thinking otherwise. But at least Rodrigo has his almighty prick to keep him company. And Marietta her very well visited insatiable hot snatch. And that means that they are going nowhere as well. The scariest thing one can thing that one can imagine is to find one’s self alone without anything at hand to divert them from taking up all their time to become aware of themselves.
The, this is really, not really, same thing, other thing, on a merry go round, round and round, on the merry go round. But no yet brass ring? No never! Something making one feel not very good, not knowing how much longer there is for this empty farce to go on? Maybe better to be flying around some long forgotten Pacific atolls doing sales calls trying to strategize something new? A third of the way here and halfway gone from another place, embracing a strange love affair that calls itself intense. Trying to make them part tense. Putting the right people on the right plane, but then not getting on myself. Then having to fly to Sydney, Australia, while they fly off to somewhere else. Chaos, and organized passions! And waking up hungry while the other ‘we’ all have their siesta.
So, after seventy years bing banging around like a ping pong ball, being shot down one alleyway only to bang into a bumper, bing, bong, bang, cling, cling, cling! Trying to score some points but just ending up going down the chute, running out of balls. I discover that the whole thing was about my gonads. “Find he right girl!” “Fifty-Two-Forty or fight!“, and have some kids! Simon, not Samuel sez, carry on the family name when you bite the dust. It’s the family name, I misinterpreted, as if it had something to do with me? And something, anything, that I could create on my own was in reality, was much easier than to live with the constant smell of my own piss. The smell of a life just pissed away! And much more difficult, at the same time, than getting all those ducks of mine in a row, putting together the universe on a spreadsheet while trying to set up the equation, so as to prove my own theorem. All to serve the only fit occupation justifying existence! That being to find your own and protect it.