Over Pizza

Initial thought: "Interesting," in a perverse sort of way. Immediately took me into Lessing's prescience in the creation of her menacing, predatory children, and my inability to reread Memoirs during 9/11. I still have my copy, yellowed paperback, Jerry required for his course. For me Tribal Imagery, Jerry's ambitious synopsis, was nothing more than an orgasm generator, and look at me now, unable to be shocked by underdeveloped amoral curiosity.

I still have limits. Killing prairie dogs with strychnine ignites the furious woman that most men fear, even the ranchers using the poison. The worst torture left, imaginable to me, is to torture my cats to death in front of me. Couldn't bear it, but home invaders do that to aging women. I've read about it, recalled it as kimmy barreled into the reading lamp. The Apple ring tone upset her. Wrong number. Spic banger, looking for his dealer, or a bang, and I laughed at my vulnerable carnivores, scolding the female. Little Vincento trotted under my hand. I'm in charge mom. He is ten years, slowing down, going to be dead soon.

So am I, my compassion eroded so significantly that it doesn't matter. I was going to assert certain prospective intentions, but that is also irrelevant-- not so much about idiotic, or diabolical scheming-- as much as damage is damage, like an occlusion. Killing the enemy only resonates the possibility of better future outcomes; it would not mitigate the proportional suffering of my life. I am angry at Jerry, a man whose abilities once elicited reverence, shock and awe. Angry because intelligence was never enough. Murdering instructors only has so many subversive implications.

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And anytime I insinuate rather than write it straight out, little fuckers do gaping views. Jerry is fine. He might have prepared me for the stigma I would face, but that was asking a lot of the dear best bastard I ever knew. My mind was on the dish best served cold for the knives in my back, but it isn't even Google as gate keeper which concerns me anymore. Best laid plans, kids, delay the inevitable for empty people.