Valentine’s Day, Again.

VD-35

So…I know that I historically lose a few followers every year for my opinions surrounding this stupid-ass “holiday“; and no, nothing’s changed.

I still think it is a pathetic show of disregard for HISTORICAL TRUTH/ACCURACY put forth especially well by my very own country men and women. It continues to be a bad representation on a humanitarian level, the very concept of it is still lacking in scruples, and the fact that so many people take it so seriously is truly disturbing to me.

In any case, because everyone insists on celebrating this warped and poorly evolved “holiday“, even now – after all this time, I say let’s celebrate it the right fucking way, at least.

Saint V was executed by the Pope for refusing to fall in line with notions that he disagreed with on a fundamental level of his own spirituality and individual relationship with God. This man went to a horrible death for what he believed to be that God’s will, in contrast to the over-imposing standard of the Vatican of his era. Modern day human beings are inarguably a shallow lot then, aren’t we? We are certainly shallow and self-absorbed enough to enable and foster the perpetuation of such an all-around bullshit “holiday” on our calendars; shallow enough to desire such a day for ourselves every year; shallow enough to be spending money on sweets and jewelry, eating over-priced candle-lit dinners, and essentially shitting all over the barbaric TRUTH behind the origins of why this date is considered to be historically notable. Such a hideously shameful display it all is; and so disrespectful to the dead guy who gave this “holiday” it’s name…but, that’s just my opinion.

Blood-Soaked Breadcrumbs.

Stopping at

the ledge,

I lean over to see

a life left behind

of you

a future ahead of me

and, it isn’t pretty

not a single thing;

standing out against

a backdrop

of teardrops,

raining down

pelting skin;

Fingers curling tightly,

insurance of

my own grip

chambered,

by my own hand

precisely,

for such a trip

see my footing slip;

crumbling

boulders,

beneath my feet;

have I actually fallen,

ever so blindly,

into the lap

of my enemy?

Loaded gun,

pressed against

a temple,

shots commence –

my heart,

so begrudging –

my eyes,

so disbelieving;

of the stories

that the truth

is telling me;

Leaving trails of

blood-soaked

breadcrumbs

in a soggy line;

it goes behind,

a familiar time

of martyrdom

that unfailingly,

and unsparingly

will stake claim to

whatever life’s

left of mine.

 

Shallow Roots

karma is as karma does“Oh my God! You live with Him?” her voice naturally lowered itself upon her own realization of how “teenaged girl” she was behaving; I couldn’t help but to roll my eyes and nod at her typical reaction.

“Yes…right next door…I even see him nearly naked on a daily basis…” I continued my speedy pace towards my newest roommate, “the Orphan”, where he sat in the shade under a tree on the side of the busy streets of the local Farmer’s Market.

“Okay, try to control yourself, Chica…he’s very timid, despite his gorgeousness…go easy on the lil’ guy…”my voice trails off as my cousin and I approach the Orphan’s position, and I inhale a deep breath to begin my introductions so that she might just go on about her business and leave he and I in peace to mosey the marketplace.

Her hand shoots out across the center of our tiny crowd of three before I can finish my first sentence – the one that would have included what a dumbass she is, if I had been obliged – and she begins to take off on one of her notorious tangents about how awesome she is. I can see the “deer come into the headlights” immediately from the corner of my left eye, where the Orphan stands, shocked like a hunted beast in the netting, his curious nature being nearly overtaken by over-stimulus of the most uncomfortable kinds for a person like him.

“Chris, listen…he doesn’t speak English so well,” (a total line of fabricated reality, as his English vocabulary and conversational skill often gets me up on my own toes…) “how would you like it if you were visiting a foreign place and some totally hot guy came up and bombarded you with words you couldn’t quite process…?” I see the smirk of disgusted recognition disappear just as quickly as it had appeared from the Orphan’s face to my side; I hear my cousin let out a long, frustrated breath as she pulls my arm, forcing me to step once to my right. She hisses into my ear and it feels as if someone is holding an acetylene torch to it as she says, “I don’t care if he speaks English…I just like how good he looks, Bambi….C’mon, you’re messin’ up my cha-cha…”.

She releases my arm and pushes me gently away from her and the Orphan as if to tell me to kick rocks, which I happily did – I know something she doesn’t know.

It only takes about a minute and half before he catches up to me on the trail towards our neck of the little woods where we live; he is smiling broadly and looking content. I say, “I knew you could handle yourself…”

He smiled the entire way home.