Wounds

 

“Time heals all wounds” – Rose Kennedy – Mother of J.F.K. & Bobby Kennedy

The last page of the wall calendar is torn from its moorings. It flutters in a time flies perennial death spiral to lie prostrate in a final wasted repose. We’ll recycle it along with the imaginary meaning we give time, that made up quantifier that satisfies our incessant need for epistemological certitude. Now too I think of the woman I left behind in the time it took for that calendar to perish – another town along the road – another woman, here, then gone. Last year at this time we were still feasting on the organically feed and locally raised Christmas ham. It was just her and me then, still whimsically skipping through what passed for the initial blinding cinematic throes of love.

Men fall in love, not women. Men need to be loved – women need to be wanted. Men rule through physicality and thus understand mercy. While woman are guided by intuition and socialized to empathize with others ( and here its prudent to stipulate that no man knows what goes on in any woman’s head), suffice to say for the purpose of this treatise, mercy is not on the menu when it comes to a woman’s bayoneted love; once the vessel is pierced there will be no appeal – it’s a one-shot deal.

While men are rendered virtually mute concerning the death of love; a woman can verbalize the geometry of its length, breath and width ad nauseam. While men are left hump-backed and crooked by the Armageddon-esque aftermath; woman are revitalized. They have a good cry, redo their hair and set out gingerly to find a new victim.
My best advice here and my personal life-long practice is to let her be the one who leaves. I don’t believe I’ve ever left a woman. That whole hell hath no wrath like a woman scorned is no joke and I don’t need that kind of psychic revenge hovering in the ether around my aura.

The wounds that time inflicts, the damage from blunt force trauma body blows by other men bruise, then heal; while the attachments formed with women tear the flesh when detaching; leaving scars – wounds, injuries that never fully heal, traumas that elicit painful sense memories when our mind decides to revisit it. Couples either marry or separate. Come to think of it even couples that marry separate. So it hard not to conclude that attachments only hurt – they never help. The temporary distractions they provide are intoxicating and I admit my own personal heroin. I want nothing more than to get lost, to lose all sense of time tangling the bedclothes with my latest paramour. Yet the knowing that some small difference will eventually drive a wedge between us is pushed out of the mind; because love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence.

Some say life is about loss. We start out with everything and gain more and more until a peak is reached. Then a tipping point occurs and we begin to lose; friends, parents, siblings, sometimes even children; our bodies break down – and in the end we lose it all.

I had a recurring dream as a child that I mistook for a nightmare at the time. I saw myself in a pure white room, sterile, on clean white sheets and a soft comfortable mattress. I took it to be a hospital room though I had no pain, no wounds. The scary part was seeing my spirit self leaving my body, astral-planning above my flesh and blood self. My soul rose slowly while the earthly me got smaller and smaller. I think now it was a projection of my death and I’m good with it since dying on clean sheets in a clean, white hospital room with, I assume a morphine drip, is just fine by me.

Rising weightless, having released all of life’s addictions; the desire, the hope, the ambition and the wounds. Its like that final calendar page free-falling with its symbolic lose of time both imaginary and real until finally the body that held the soul is left behind with the wounds of the time dream – just like 2017. #MeToo

 

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About circusinpurgatory
Nick Masesso Jr’s fictionalized short stories, poetry and prose have been published in the Starry Night Review, Elegant Thorn Review, Language and Culture.net and Vagabond Press; the Battered Suitcase. His latest book “Armor of Innocence” and first book “Walking the Midway in Purgatory, a Journal” are available on-line and through bookstores.

2 Responses to Wounds

  1. Off the Ever-Loving Life Chain ! Crisp and sharp, cut by the Blades of Stark Reality. A Prickly Point Injection of Truth, Saved by a Surgeon, Life before the Passage of Death … on the Midway.

    • Nice.

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