Return of the Reluctant

Blowing Off Steam After Observing Something Terrible This Morning

Nine iron strikes shin, but I deal with the hue and cry of bourgeois horrors, their faux vocal intonations, their obligatory well wishes, their somnolent cries for attention, their need to justify some knowledge base mortgaged against alveoli taking in oxygen, hearts palpitating, emotions exchanged along with the saliva. Skipping, jumping, throwing around cash like there's no tomorrow. But to hell with the bitch behind the counter, cause she didn't make the cut, her problem. A reenactment of a childhood game, and yet revisited candor is not an option, nor a small snippet of swaps, opening the great portal, demanding a good goddam. Not much.

Staunch prejudices, people wronged in other venues, the recurrent efforts to undip toes from the murky waters. They may as well settle these things by duels, rather than this passive, damaging groping. Happiness occluded by drudgery. Fuck that. The world's too good to get caught in these steel trap gambits. How do these people subsist? Why these demands? Did the holidays rejuvenate bad juju?