ginger ale and whiskey,
isn't that much of an innovation,
but i'll have to admit,
it's not exactly ms. amber
and pepsi...

            two weeks ago i found
out that genetic heritage
finally caught up with...
    high blood pressure...
runs in the family,
  and, apparently,
once you're on high-blood
pressure tablets?
that ****'s for life...

  plus i already knew that
some form of alcohol abuse was in
the background,
if it passed my father,
   because: sure as ****, he doesn't
know how to drink,
   he can't channel it
   to any productive end,
then i inherited it from
          both my maternal
grandfather, and, my paternal
grandfather...
     drunk like cobblers...
                  and worked their *****
off to but...
    the only shame?
            i do knitting...
                          of words...
                  no hammer & sickle...
but at least not blabbering out
    confused words...

      'so living with my parents
suddenly makes me
some sort of ed gein?!'

'funny you should say that,
given that ed gein was
the prime instigator of
h'american culture...
   ******, alfred hitchhock,
  the texas chainsaw massacre,
  mudvayne,
   slayer...
rob zombie... am i missing
anyone?'

  'silence of the lambs!'

'****, i knew i forgot something...'

'well d'uh, buffalo bill's
tailoring of skins?
   all ed gein.'

mother with arthritis,
drops basic items of a kitchen,
some sort of spinal
problem, had an operation
on it,
   nerve entanglement,
walks with a walk stick,
can't exactly bend over,
   reliant on potent pain-killers...

and sometimes when
i don't take drinking "too far"
into the night,
i wake up, bright as a *******
sparrow,
  chirppy, chirp-chirp...
help her bake cookies...
and then make tomorrow's
dinner...

   cottage pie,
     she just has to put the ****
together if i don't wake up
on time...

           and i am the sick
sadistic ****?
           "once upon a time"
we entrusted our faith
in our neighbour to look
after a cat,
    they ****** off to the maldives,
i went to my grandparents,
2 weeks later,
   the cat was dead...

    in between...
   i talked to them and told them
i needed to go back home,
a senseless paranoia gripped me,
something bad was about
to happen...

             you know, the general
complaint of the asiatic people,
they don't really enjoy petting
animals...
they're more into breeding,
and in-breeding...

   got a phone-call with
dear dear mother crying into
the phone: oscar darshan
was dead...

                            great cat,
i too cried when my childhood
"sister", an alsatian shepherd
died...
                  with a cat's death?
i thought i'd do something special...

the cremation was done,
idly sitting in a box in the study...
i took out a croquet
which i found, left,
     outside someone's home
ripe for the taking...
   took the sticks and ***** off of it...
attached a belt to it,
a backpack,
   a hammer and a chisel...

and i went into a world war I
cemetery...
     started hacking at one of
the graves...
left it intact,
having managed to find
an already hacked off piece
of a tomb...

              wrapped it up in
a black bin bag...
             put it on the croquet
trolly...
wheeled it home,
   took the cremated remains
of the cat...
    took to a shovel...
   dug a hole, placed the remains
in the ground...
and then put that slab of tomb
above it...

            all... in the blissful
serenity of the night...

when you grow up,
without any attachment to siblings,
but are exposed
  to dogs, or cats...
        you... tend to do things like
this...
     sure... it doesn't speak
your language,
    but you just judge them
by the language of their eyes...

pepsi: it has caffeine in it,
doesn't it?
           i was offered coffee in
the evening,
with the cookies i helped
to bake...
   n'ah... glass of milk,
the cookie (apple and walnut...
oat based... yummy as ****)...

when a genetic heritage catches
up with you...
    ah.... nearing 33 years...
it was a fun run...
           all those nights spent
drinking whiskey & pepsi -
no, i don't think whiskey
is exactly akin from the holy grail
cup, straight, no ice...
ooosh...
                        feels great saying
that...
         n'ah... mash it up with
some ginger ale and ice,
you're good to go...

                      and the next morning,
unsure whether constipated...
i'd sit, and this is what sly
high-blood pressure does...
your teeth numb,
as does your jaw...
           you get a sense of fear
from biting down on your teeth...
and you sit, stunned from time
to time by a sensation of
swallowing your tongue!

        after all: it is ms. amber...
she ***** readied at the gulp
    like a 40 year old *******
turned ******...
            cream on the hapless died out,
puts on a ******
using her mouth...
               and i'm done "worrying"
about *** and the incel culture
for... give or take:
                a year, 2 years...
                 3?
    thing is... why would i be bothered...
if i passed the test of:
reading a book "with one hand"?
marquis de sade...
   uninhibited language...
rambling, but fathomable...

          a somewhat "over-flowing"
*******, a slightly "over-flowing"
me... but at least not done
under the covers, with the lights
turned off...
     it was always funny to me...
how she would take my money,
go off to the madam,
   i'd get undressed,
take a shower,
she'd come back,
   and then i'd watch her undress...

shame?
   n'ah...
             cheating?
what, the current political narrative?
hell yeah, who wouldn't?
     but i hardly think
that a strip-club would do that much,
at least the one i went to
in athens,
   the strippers wanted to be
touched...
                   or maybe...
i'm just that sort of a satyr...
                   ugly like a socrates...
   but eager as a n00b or a hilly-billy.