Wednesday, July 31, 2019

This is not a memory.

Sometimes I’m afraid of nothing and it’s reflected in everything I don’t say.
We have all these totems and myths to signify what’s most meaningful when in reality they’re not worth the stone they’re carved into.
The Egyptians took everything with them when they shuffled off this mortal coil and so would you if Elizabeth Taylor had portrayed you in a movie.

I must decide if getting up to take a shit is worth the effort or if I should just stay blocked and rue the day I ate that pastrami and chopped liver sandwich on challah.
Feel like we were taken advantage of because we took our eyes off the ball and allowed sentiment to lull us into a false sense of surety.
Just because the world judges us don’t mean they’re on the right side of history or that the golden rule adds up to anything more than sticks and stones grinding the bones of another poor bastard into dust.

My mother went after my brother with a wooden spoon and my brother turned the tables and took the spoon away from her.
She was, of course, surprised and fearful Stephen had finally snapped, but I believe there was a small part of her that was relieved she no longer had to carry that load.
I’ll never forget when we went to see The Champ and my brother pretended he wasn’t crying as my mother handed him a box of tissue on the sly and he played it off like there was something in his eye.

Sometimes I dread everything and it’s mirrored in every made-up memory I commit to.
We have all these mascots and saints to prop up our dwindling spirits when hope has been vanquished and even the great patriots have stopped saluting the flag.
No matter if you slice the rye bread or not the Jews are the Chosen people and there’s no disputing that, no matter how many pairs of magic underwear you wear or collection plates you pass around in the name of God.

Charles Cicirella

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