His letters of love, and hate by the way, did reach out on ether, in either/or say.
His grasp of ambiguity was such a clever trick, but hickery-dickery dock your cock,
its witty refrain, again and again, destroying his capacity for love.
But then one day he realised the problem he’d had: he was looking to be loved by
the wrong people entirely. And tirelessly it was this resilient pursuit, which had led
him down so much route of disgrace, and perchance and replay and so much unsaid.
So in fact came the day – and that day was last week! – when he judged it quite just
to say goodbye to the people who loved him for reasons which failed
to make up with the life he really was wanting: the life of that grand happy fuck.
And so that was when he saw all this life in his time: and he saw how he’d been losing
so very much: he’d been missing like sirs and ladies of grandeur such a big part of
what thriving did give so very many: what striving could anyways provide.
And that’s when he stopped hiding and explaining his self: that’s when he decided
he’d embrace what he was: that’s when he accepted his nature as entirely
unchangeable: that’s when he decided to fuck and kiss and smile and laugh and
write and scrawl, and be all and everyone and be no one and be sin, and be in and
be out of the ball of dancing people, and the hall of clever souls, and the darkness of
the truthful hearts, and the lightness of touch that now brought so much of his love
and life, and striving and thriving and finally living without fearing that criticism of
food-stained clothes and rows of wrongs, and doings and undoings and that never
quite enough which had dismantled all integrity from the date of all that life stuff
he’d gone and pursued, and lost with such huge cost. And so little was left to assert
and revert to: little was left but to say: “Fuck yous, yous tiniest of minds! If only you
could see what now I see so plain! Come to me now, if you dare to come at all!
Come to me now, and enjoy the fall!” And although one day the end would approach,
and though one day it would breach barriers of joy, before that day came, and from
now on and till again, the future was good: the future was yellow for sure …