Monday, June 20, 2011

When the shakes Enter Into Your Hands

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    The funeral was beautiful. My father was laid out and handsome. He was dressed in a sharp suit and tie and he looked like he was sleeping in his coffin. I’m so sorry that I missed you old man. Many thoughts played in my mind when going through the motions of the funeral, climbing in and out of the limousine, seeing my sister for the first time, which is another long story, and walking the distance to the grave that had to be dug three times because the gravediggers just couldn’t get it right.

    I was burying the most important man in my life. The one man that I looked up to and was formed by and I have to say, that I wasn’t sad, but instead proud of my old man. He left people behind that thought highly of him, thought of him as a friend, a father, a husband, a co-worker, a client. He left people behind that respected and cared about him, and what is life except what we leave behind?

    I was concerned for my mother. I didn’t want her to break down alone. I knew she was in pain, but she didn’t show it. She seemed to be like a rock. Indomitable, stalwart, strong, she did not even get watery eyes during my entire stay with her. She was like me; or rather I was like her. Without weakness, without emotion. We buried my father, in a modest ceremony and that was all there was to it. We laid the man that we loved to rest.

    I stayed with her for another week. We were good together. We laughed, smiled, joked, and talked. We were mother and son, drawn closer by death. The house was not quiet for her, and she wanted me to stay, but there was no way that I could. I love my mother, but I can’t live with her. I just can’t. There are things that a grown man needs that he can’t secure with his mother in the next room…pussy for one.

    There is no way that my mother is going to allow me to bring stray pussy into the house. And a man needs fresh pussy every once in a while. It’s good for the health, the skin, it keeps you young. Good pussy is like plugging into life’s eternally flowing circuit. It’s where all life comes from, and inside of it is magic power. Good pussy has strong power that can’t be denied. I can’t unplug myself from this force of nature just because my mother doesn’t want to be alone.

    I mean, I go great stretches without pussy sometimes like many men, but I'm not so sure that I want to say no to pussy for the rest of my life when I am only 49 years old. I think I've got another ten years of fucking left in me. So, there's no need to say goodbye to the possibility of sex so soon. That's one reason that I don't want to be with the old lady. Next is the need for independence. I need to be able to come and go out of my home without someone 'worrying' about me. That is a little much, and I'm used to the freedom of movement that many men don't have. This is also important to me.

    So here I am now, days after the funeral, sitting in a car in the dark of the night before the Green Apple Quickstop, waiting for the Greyhound bus back to New York. My cousin David is sitting next to me, my mother in the back seat. What am I going to do when I get home? Put my life back together again? How? I'm returning, minus a father...and no pussy to make up for the gap.

    My ride back in was unevent- ful. I could bitch about many a thing, like the stupid shit that I had to sit next to in the bus who just couldn't sit still all night. I know I'm a big motherfucker but we have the share the armrest between us, and when you do, my shoulder will press against yours, and if you open your legs as big as I do because you get tired of squeezing your balls together between your thighs, then of course our thighs will touch during the ride. This motherfucker had to squirm all night every time our bodies touched as if I was trying to stick my dick in his mouth during the ride. His moving made it impossible for me to sleep. I was glad that the fuck got off at Newark. New Jersey, the bleeding rectum of my existence. The pus dripping dick of my life. I should have known better.

    I got off the bus at Port Authority and took a cab uptown to my room. I am happy now. Now, in the confines of my home, I am happy. I rest, sit back and take a break. The day is over and night is creeping up quickly.

    I'm back home. I'm back in New York City.

    Amen.

    HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2011/06/when-shakes-enter-into-your-hands.html
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