Slouching into Oblivion

“Maybe the most difficult, most important thing anyone could do for anyone else was to leave him alone; it was perhaps the only gratuitous act, the act of love.” - Joan Didion I loved Lorena not because of what she did or didn’t do, but because of who she was. The fact is we didn’t do much of anything. We could sit across from each other for hours and not feel the need to fill the air with sound. Just an occasional smile and gently whispered, “I love you.” She crocheted and knitted and I read and wrote. We enjoyed cooking together, dining out occasionally, weekend trips, walking the dogs, holding each other tight, and I anticipated her kiss on my neck as she snuggled up behind me each night as we fell to sleep. I don’t like to use the word “comfortable” to describe a relationship, but I will because we were. Comfortable. Before meeting my one true love, I spent 40 years traveling, chasing planes, working hard to keep rich people rich, and keeping my ex accustomed to the

My dogs don’t think about Heaven or Hell. I didn’t either, until recently. I have long been an atheist. Not someone who knows there is no God. I don’t know. I am an atheist who finds insufficient evidence to believe there is a God. In the same way I don’t find evidence that My Little Pony is real. Many a non-believer, including me, would like to be wrong on this issue. Fade to black after struggling a lifetime without success to find meaning in this experience Is, well, unfulfilling. But, if I was certain there was a God and a heaven Yesterday And the recently deceased love of my life was there Waiting And that a short pull of a trigger would put us together again BLAM! So I guess I have atheism to thank for living a little longer For this madhouse Not knowing what comes next In this fog of eventuality. Or maybe a Jehovah Witness will stop by when I’m naked and drunk And talk me into believing. BLAM! A more likely result is I will keep plodding When all seems

I have never written an obituary. I have never wanted to. Especially not for my lover, my partner, and the only woman I ever really loved. I met Lorena about two years ago. She told me on our first date that she was a “house woman,” meaning she liked to spend time at home, knit, crochet, and wasn’t much of a traveler except to the beach now and then. She was refreshingly honest saying she was not looking to date or party but to find “my life partner.” She had been divorced 10 years after what sounded to be a tough 27 year marriage. . We continued dating and over a year or so I felt something for her like no other woman I had ever met. She filled a hole in my heart I didn’t even know existed. We didn’t have a lot to talk about or many common interests, but we became inseparable. A few months ago we decided to move in together and began looking at homes. None were quite right until we walked Into a French contemporary in the countryside outside San Miguel de Allende and

There are not many people I converse with comfortably. Most want to talk about the past. Glory days. When they were an astronaut or got screwed in a real estate deal or made a lot of money because they were so shrewd. I don’t care about the past, Even my own. I used to talk politics and government until I concluded that we are irreversibly doomed. Which makes any discussion pointless. And stuff? Same problem. The jig’s up. More are learning the hard way that more and enough are different. We are pigs with the world’s resources are running low. The poor are petrified and the rich are ready to haggle over the ruins. The End. I also find it less than satisfying to talk about a future that most likely will never become the present. Wishful thinking. Which leaves the present. Here. Now. “You like your food?” “Want another drink?” “Are you still fucking Cindy?” Not “Did you fuck Cindy last month or do you intend to fuck Cindy next week, but ARE you fucking

First, an insincere apology: I have neglected writing, Some two weeks now. The only excuse I have Is my girlfriend was diagnosed with leukemia. Not just any leukemia But acute myelomonoxytic leukemia. Whatever the fuck that means And what the fuck that means is She is in the hospital now Hooked into chemistry And will be there for the next two months. I predict she will beat the rap Modern medicine may not cure shit But they have figured out ways To let you live with what you have. And at this point, That is enough. Besides I’ve negotiated a side deal with a God I don’t believe in We have an understanding. When she walks out that hospital door It will be the most elevated and lucky moments Of her life And mine, too. The last five years has brought me Agony. Fraud, divorce, and now having to watch a decent and kind person Suffer. Pain changes forms But never stops For anyone. Except those too numb or stupid to notice. I want her to exit this experience