Love Rant of An Egoist

Love Rant by and for an Egoist

I don’t think I care anymore.

The only reason I will never tell you is

That in telling you it will become something

I have to continue to live up to.

It would require a man with principles

I have principles. I change them as circumstances require.

I am not sure I can sustain this much anger.

I am speaking of vacuous  male pride.

I am angry now but that could change.

We can hardly tolerate each other.

That has been our truth for many years

Even though we don’t consciously admit to it.

That is not the same as being out of love.

Not being able to tolerate someone once loved

is like low hanging fruit you dare not eat.

I don’t think I care  anymore.Why I feel this way

is abundantly clear and non of your business .

You don’t value my opinions and that’s why you are insane.

But I'm not sure about this decision.

I struggle with feelings of self doubt.

Positive self affirmation has never worked for me.

I have embedded fossilized rage. It is old rage.

It is like an unidentified part of me has been amputated.

For years I have sought to  give the limb a name.

I have carried rage for a long time.

Rage warps my judgement.

It screams its head off like a fucking  child.

I see the world in a certain way.I don’t get along with it .

I make strong sweet tea in the wee hours of the morning.

I make Orville Redenbacher popcorn.

I sit in the dark and close my eyes .

I use two different inhalers. Synbicord and Ventolin.

I also use a Cpak machine

If it wasn’t for my chronic asthma I would probably be a drug addict.

One might say I gasp  for air in this life.

I am always on the verge of asphyxiation.

One might say it  has been purifying.

I put my feet up on the kitchen table.

I count backwards from one hundred.

I picture myself swirling down a long circular slide

Faster than the speed of light.

The speed of light is 186,000 miles per second.

That’s fast enough to ruin your hairdo.

That’s fast enough to soil your pants.

That’s fast enough to shred my God complex.

I land on a sunny hill in High Park next to Grenadier

Restaurant where I fell face first off my new road  bike,

Because I didn’t understand the brakes and ended up

Going ass over tits face first into the pavement.

Where a crowd gathered and a nurse aided me,

And I stood up heroically  bleeding from my face,

And I  walked away with my handlebars and

Ego bent like a big New York pretzel .

There are flowers everywhere and stone pathways

And willow trees are blowing gently in the sunshine.

The willow trees where weeping as poets  like to say they do.

I am  in a beautiful garden with my guardian angels.

They don’t say much but they know me better Than I know myself.

They have been with me for thousands of years, through thick and thin.

I am what they do for a living. They are assigned to me.

Lately they have been arriving late to my meditations

And they seem hungover.

Their hands are stamped like they are just getting back from a club.

This is unbecoming in guardian angels. Maybe it’s my attitude.

I imagine an inner light that radiates out from my heart

And penetrates my bone and sinew  and organs and skin.

I imagine a divine  light shining down from above,

Shining brightly in to me at the same time connecting With my inner light.

My darkness has no place to hide.

This is how I get my darkness to go away.

Light from above smashing into  light from within. Like the Cerns Hadron Collider

I have a six pack of Bud Light and share with my guardian angels.

I used to have almost a six pack but I no longer have one since open heart surgery.

Its mostly boxed wine these days.

I want to win my angels  over. I need their undivided attention.

I imagine myself a wave in the sea of consciousness.

I can’t swim. So  I pray that I don’t drown.

This is the highest entity I am prepared to acknowledge

It is a guarantee my prayers will always be answered.

Mostly all I ask for is that I not drown in the Sea of Consciousness

I still don’t think I  care.

I can’t find forgiveness inside me.But I act it out.

I pretend to forgive and  forget.I pretend I still don’t love you

When in fact I may not need to pretend anymore.

Indifference is a practiced art at which I have been known to  fail.

I just forget what it is I am supposed to be fooling myself about.

I am most comfortable with confusion.

When ever possible I create confusion .

There is something self righteous about clarity and order.

I am always tempted to yank the tablecloth out from under the

Beautifully set dinner table. Without breaking all the dishes.

  I always wondered if that is possible.

I moult like a rattle snake that abandons old skin.

I want to act like I was never that guy.

Sometimes when someone calls out my name I don’t answer.

I pretend not to hear. Im practicing not being that guy.

That that dry sheath of  skin I hid behind the rock  never had anything to do with me.

I think after the dust settles that’s all Death ever was.

Moulting. We make too much of a fuss about it

And it is far too late in the day to stop caring

Even if everything inside me wants to.

Derek Earl Houghton