Scylla the Six-Headed Monster

Now is the time, folks

I remember some book I think about crossing rough waves
for 20 years or more to get home. And there was someone
named Scylla and another named Charybdis. And one
represented Freedom and the other Security. But they
both turned out to be two suffocating old hags. Wrapping
tightly around your neck. Or maybe it was some book
by James Joyce where all the words run together. Like all
the women youíve ever known. To create some language
that only 2 scholars on the other side of the world
can decipher. One holds it up to a 20 watt bulb,
while the other scratches his head. And the one you
thought was Penelope was actually just someone
making her own journey going the other way.
And you paused for a moment there to take a look
at the huge waterreflectedmoon together. And she jumped
from her Raft to yours and you made love and love and love
and declared it Destiny, Fate, True Fucking Love because
how fortunate you were to make such a deep connection
out in the middle of nowhere. Til suddenly her raft
returned and she jumped on, singing some Frank
Sinatra tune. Or it couldíve been a quote from Candide.
Which I may in my memory have messed up: ĎWe are born
to float between the two vicissitudes. Either in the convulsions
of passion and tumult or the lethargy and despair of boredom.í
Well, let them try to escape one for the other. Try to erase
the hard Hegelian dialectic in their lovemaking.
Just like we did. Me, Iíve had enough of that. Iím going
to my Addiction to Romance meeting. And Iíll wait for the leader,
the one with the biggest hunger, and Iíll do it too when he waves
the Kool-Aid and says ĎNow is the time folks. The only way
to know true peace. Is to cut off our genitals.í Or Iíll walk out
the door and try to slide through my own way. A couple of real
friends who donít want nothing. A good book. The light outside
my window. The non-signifying drone. This warm cat by my side


©2007 by Ray Sweatman

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