You kept them alive. Now what? Seventy years in your pocket and you unashamedly invest in a sixth. But for what? The sixth doesn’t know you, yet pretends to while mimicking the real you. The real you is in their letters, followed by thirteen pages of gaslighting.
The real you doesn’t play by rules. The real game doesn’t require gimmicks or apologetics. Do you remember the technicolored dreamcoat of debate strategies? Yours do. What about the pen name deemed necessary to remain incognito, or the prodigal options of calls and puts, or the ozonating machines and rejuvenating powders?
Do you remember the emergency meeting about fleeing to Costa Rica? Yours do. They even wished you were serious. While you discover zealots in Uganda they remember your conceits. Apocalyptic delusions, unteachable spirits, and position papers only memorialize your folly.
They chuckle because you’re ridiculous. You grumble because they aren’t enamored by your conceits. At first they thought this imposition of a sixth was another Costa Rica. But then you doubled down in exchange for one more joker.
No comments:
Post a Comment