With Charley, as well as with various women, what they’ve all found out about me, sooner or later, is that I happen to be a man of some priceless principles that I’ll resort to defending, in preference to quite a few other issues that nobody else ever seems to want to consider in advance of their objectionable demeanor.

I don’t mind considering my own principles at other people’s expense. Charley found that out rather rudely one day on the road to Lenore what kind of man I am. June found out too. When June was trying her darnedest to have my schizophrenic child, I found it insufferable to submit to any sort of objectionable paternity as easily as she imagined I would.

I’m not willing to inherit my kids, either, because if I have any, they’re keeping it a secret.

I know, I’ve just gotten done ranting about Mary Kathryn, and now I’m ranting about June. Well, forty years is a long time, and I’ve been a man throughout all this time, too. I did my level best to submit myself to June in my maturity. She wouldn’t have it. That much my friend, Louis, knows well enough. But what June could never inspire in my devotion the way Mary Kathryn does, I don’t feel as though I’ve slighted her. Besides, who am I trying to convince here, anyway? Mary ran off and got married to some other guy all she wanted, a long time ago. Who have I to answer to anyway?

She refuses to take my phone calls.

Charley could darned well go to jail for himself.

I wasn’t inclined to do it for him. The plain clothes police weren’t asking me to surrender my own bag of weed. They wanted to know where I got the stuff. So Charley went to jail because they asked me. I’ve spent a lifetime with schizophrenia on my own mind, as a direct result of taking some of the same kinds of drugs Charley was vending on campus out of his pocket in those days. He may very well have felt badly enough to have to sit behind bars for a whole year. But how does he think I felt with a good case of reefer madness, for a lifetime thereafter, anyway?

Sure, bring on the hit men.

I deserve to be assassinated.

Hell, don’t bother, fellas. I’ve already paid enough consequences for my own folly already. Yes, I’ve been unkind to some of the others over a few of my highfalutin principles. It not only cost me something; it’ll cost someone else something as well. People have no idea what principles I’ll defend or what else I’ll resort to, to defend some of the things I’ll stick my own neck out for. Not one of those things has ever gotten me to join any military in any time of war, either.

I’ll either be a hero, or I’ll be a nonentity, that’s my position.

I’m not all that freaking noble, to become a crusader at this late date. I’ve never been one to be obedient to authority, as a rule. Not that it was my own particular choice to avoid the military during a time of war. I just don’t understand what we were supposed to be dying for in Vietnam, anyway. In WWII, it was clear cut. The Germans and the Japanese were killing innocent people for no good reason whatsoever, throwing their weight around too darned much.

They need to be taken down a peg or two. But what was Vietnam all about, anyway? I’m not so gunge ho about checking the advance of communism the who way around the world from everything I happen to know about in my little life. I never did think that position was all that reasonable. One could get a lot of dire straights for just paying attention to one’s superiors over in that hellhole, anyway.

I was in an insane asylum for awhile, then I was presented with a 4F, Unfit for Military Service, since before they were ever done sending my contemporaries to combat in South Vietnam. I’ve writhed in agony over that little tidbit of history for too long, like a lot of the other things I happen to be committed to remembering about my own behavior.

My personal decisions from my long expired youth, while I sit alone considering all the many things I might have done, like going to Woodstock, for instance, and the many decisions I’ve made since, right or wrong, without direct counsel in my solitary life. I don’t care if half the people who used to jam drugs down my throat end up in hell over it.

I’ve finally been released from that hell, myself. I have no intention of going back, either.

This happens to be Veteran’s Day today, and this is what I have to say to the world about that. I have a lot of respect for our veterans. I was not required to serve in the military. I flunked the physical without ever formally taking it. I was never comfortable obeying anyone when I was young.

My erratic, irrationally violent father was always so righteously indignant about my blatant disobedience of his abuse of authority. He even complained just as vehemently when I went visiting him as an adult. What’s the big hooptido about behaving for the likes of my father? He endangered his entire family by running away from us all, rather that doing the right thing and submitting himself to becoming a professor. He finished the schooling. He was just intimidated about being on the other end of academics.

What was so special about him that I had to obey him, anyway?

I was darned if I was going to submit to anyone as irrational and as irresponsible as my own father always was, with his own family of a wife and four children he had found it necessary to bring into this world. That guy never took responsibility for any of his own procreation. I was a runaway child, beginning at the age of five.

Dad became a runaway father, in preference to becoming a responsible professor for some college or university somewhere. With mother throwing dishes, he could either go get a job and work, or he could run. He chose to run, and I’m supposed to respect that? Hell, he’s not any better than I am, and I don’t obey that sort of thing in the flower of my adulthood.

I don’t think for a minute that my father was ever comfortable with that one decision of his. I think the idea of taking on a professorship, when it was finally presented to him, made him feel trapped, the way he felt with the product of his loins in the first place. I think that was the problem from the get-go.

He found he could not justify his procreation of child after child, because he found out, sooner or later, that we were beyond his ability to support in the first place. Between that and having such a plentiful fruit of the womb to have to answer to, in his ever growing list of too many responsibilities to answer to, got to him far to overwhelmingly. He had to get away from his own mess.

He couldn’t face it when the time came.

He was just not qualified to clean his mess up when it was done, and he realized it.

They could all wave all the flags they pleased, and I still wasn’t going to defend anybody else’s right to boss me around as irrationally as my own dad always did for my entire childhood. It was only when I became hopelessly addicted to substances, and was starving besides, that I finally found out how defenseless I was in the eyes of the pusher man. I was a soft touch for all those sharks. I had been taught to fold in the face of adversity, so that’s what I always did.

None of that sort of slime ball ever cared if I lived or died, just as long as they got their money.

Money is king in the clandestine drug trade.

There were too many people who benefited too much from one little fact about my personal vulnerabilities, for my own, personal comfort, whenever I might reminiscence about life, anyway I can think of. I’ve struggled with too many issues to get too much sleep on a night like tonight anyway. I should put my notebook aside and take my medications, before it gets any later. I did, too.

It’s really not all that important whether I sleep soon or not, anytime soon. Losing sleep about my decision to coup de grass, is a sacrifice I’m willing to make in this whole business of answering the naiad about her objectionable behavior. I’m enjoying this fluid little bit of writing, but it remains important that I take my own medications around the time I’m supposed to take them. I’ve gotten accustomed to making allowances to take my medications, to get them into my system safely and with good timing, so they can keep me on an even keel of good health, while I writhe in agony about my principles being violated, long into the night.

I may go for a walk around the late night halls of Powder Ridge, just to shake loose some of the gas I’ve been having that’s all pent up inside of me at this point. There’s got to be some way to break all the gas loose so I can be more comfortable forgetting things tonight. I walked the circuit, and broke absolutely nothing loose, except for my deepening fatigue. I’m going to have to give into sleeping soon, before I miss my window of falling sleep at all. Once that window closes, I’ll be up for the night, whether I want to be or not.

There was a Vietnam vet who told me a war story once upon a time. He was on a break from action, and was presented with a letter from his wife. The letter informed him that since he flatly refused to walk away from his unspeakable behavior, serving his country as a combat soldier, he would be informed that he would never see his wife or son again in his lifetime..

A combat soldier was not really a reputable thing to be, by most standards of the times, except for a few people who revered the veterans of the 60’s. She informed her husband that by the time he got home from combat, he would never be able find his own wife or son again in his lifetime. Something inside of him snapped, and he irrationally shot a child with his assault rifle. It was an instant section eight, and he was suddenly shipped stateside, to spend his life in the mental health system, where I unfortunately met the man.

He was too violent for my taste. I never had anything to do with his wife’s desertion, either. He always had an issue with irrational violence, and you must know by now what I think about that.


About geostan51

I'm a wordsmith and a craftsman. I've been known to hand crochet just about anything escept granny squares. I've got about twenty titles in my name on the Kindle Store at
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