Noblesse Oblige

Nick Masesso, Jr.

Phone calls long distance to tell how you’ve been; you forget about the losses, you exaggerate the wins. And when you stop to let ’em know, you’ve got it down; it’s just another town along the road.” – The Road – Jackson Browne 

Mt. Kilimanjaro is a snow-covered mountain 19,710 feet high; said to be the highest mountain in Africa. Its western summit is called by the Masai “Ngaje Ngai,” the House of God.” Close to the western summit there is the dried and frozen carcass of a leopard. No one has explained what the leopard was seeking at that altitude.

When Ernest Hemingway wrote his short story The Snows of Kilimanjaro in 1938 he imagined the leopards quest for solitude to be like that of the writer or the boxer who goes off alone to commune with his demons and his final redemption. Rejecting the church that…

View original post 2,147 more words

Advertisements

Trumps Hells Angels

Nick Masesso, Jr.

Every mans life is a comedy, a tragedy and a drama” – Mark Twain

Having spent the best part of an entire year assuring folks Trump would suffer a McGovern style defeat; I awoke election morning shell-shocked inside a surreal dystopian nightmare; my thoughts flew scatter-shot like a bag of spilled marbles. What the hell just happened?

I was fond of saying Trump was cancer and now irony compels me to realize that like cancer it’s not one thing but a host of bad results that accompany the disease. I feel obligated to swim in this sewer of confusion and disillusionment long enough to make some sense of it all and deliver a quotient; a final reasoning for why this seemingly insane event occurred; if for no other reason than control of my own sanity.

Not one of the gentle people in my circle, many of whom voted for…

View original post 2,607 more words

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

 

Convergence

Maybe I was 5 years early.

Nick Masesso, Jr.

“I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord. And I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord” Can you feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord, oh Lord” –In The Air TonightPhil Collins

Not long ago my mailman told me 3,000 dolphins had washed up dead on the Peruvian coast. No one knows why or how but there is speculation. Conservationists claim the cause is acoustic testing offshore by oil companies. If true, it’s yet another awful price we pay for our nation’s careless heroin oil addiction.

Mailman believes it’s the result of global warming, and, as do many authors hawking doomsday books, it foretells a lead up to a realization of the Maya’s “Long Count” calendar, marking the end of a 5,126-year era; the end of humankind we should expect on Dec. 21, 2012. Personally I…

View original post 560 more words

Dead Air

Wishful thinking…

Nick Masesso, Jr.

“When we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better, too. “ — Paulo Coelho, “The Alchemist”

My woman, prostrate on our bed, is crying; scared she says, that being a woman, a Mexican and disabled, three things she’s heard the president-elect sling hateful rhetoric at, she’ll be deported, or shanghaied to some internment camp to be used as forced labor to build his promised border wall. I tell her not to worry; that such notions are absurd. But since that was the same advise I’ve given her for the past six months, a mortal lock certainty America would never elect such an odious character, she’s less than sedated by my views.

I have mixed feelings. Part of me believes the genius of our three equal branches of government, despite all being controlled more or less by one Party, will restrain the worst impulses of the…

View original post 425 more words