ego

(archives)

No more bills, fears of an impotent provider

I’ve let a house define me.
Like so many before.
I’ve created a role which gives me meaning,
Thinking:
“I have to keep going, to keep us strong, established, stable, together.”
Head down.
“This is why I exist”

This thin veil is cut through as quickly as a guillotine dispenses of a long redundant royal head.
And as I am relieved of certain responsibilities,
I find myself to be not relieved.

To my surprise, I’m the one that struggles with the change, 
the pressing necessity to keep us warm and dry, gone,
Feeling:
Lost,
Spare,
Emasculated.
I see the opportunity,
But this freedom does not liberate me,
It endangers me,
It lands me on a line at a distance from my being.
Demanding of me a new definition,
A new raison d’être.

Like when the wings of an angel
Are clipped by god
At angelic request,
The consequences are read only by omniscient eyes and never wholly relayed.
Thus hoodwinked,
I’m left teetering on the precipice,
The normal restraints, retaining me, removed.
Left hoping my faith in my existence and that of my family will save me from a fall and from the worst of myself.

Stodge Angels and Whisky Demons

Singing with the angels through the lifeline of a breakfast baguette, (Bacon, Sausage and Egg are always better served with a hangover and regret) I’m losing my mind to this golden rhyming time that’s lost to a thousand other voices in here, that question everything, that say nothing other than the things that come out straight down the middle, a little riddle, a ponderance or two. There’s a McFilth Breakfast for everyone that needs one – mainline the coffee, it’s perky, worked up in a lather that tastes sweet to its victims as it rolls monstrously fast over moist egg and grease glistening skin. Masking the taste of Lagavulin. Divine salutations offer happy ever afters whilst you dance with the devils within.

Legacy

The things I do, I do for me,
These things are my legacy.