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I Used To Be Human

Well, I’m half the man I used to be
(This I feel as the dawn)
(It fades to gray)
Well, I’m half the man I used to be
Half the man I used to be


Today, 17 May 2020, would have been the rare convergence of my Mother’s birthday with Mother’s Day. It would have been a day of dual celebration with all her children, her grandchildren, her great-grandchildren, many of her friends…had she not recently died. As it is, I am sitting alone on the deck of her home having just finished laying the first coat of ceiling white on her ceilings as we ready her home, the home she occupied for 56 years, for sale. The rain is incessant casting an appropriate gloomy pall on the day, on my mood. I hate rain. I want the hate to permeate this day but my emotions lack power, lack substance. My emotions lack…

Feelin’ uninspired
Think I’ll start a fire


I light three incense sticks, India temple scents of varying vintages with subtly different aromas released by the orange flame, dispersed in the blue-gray smoke. Incense equals temples equals holiness begets prayers. The smoke strands exist discordant, each dancing to its own wind song ignoring the others oblivious to me. I let the smoke wash over me, breathe it in deeply, hope it will cleanse what ails me, release the veils constricting me, transport my thoughts to wherever her soul resides beyond the layer separating life from afterlife and give her comfort, give me comfort. I have always been a selfish bastard.

As I reminisce on the woman who loved my undeserving self from before I slipped through the womb to her last days hopefully easing her final cancer-ridden moments, the smoke strands interweave, braiding three strong, becoming almost solid. Prayer carrier. Their triple bond floats upwards, snakes through the rain onslaught without diminishing in substance, climbs into the sky, pierces the grey clouds, an entry wound wider than their unity. I know now she will hear the anguish I, myself, cannot express. And in her loving way, comfort me. The grave is no barrier to love.

Livin’ under house
Guess I’m livin’, I’m a mouse
All’s I got is time
Got no meanin’, just a rhyme


I have barely cried since she passed. A tear here and there but never the body quaking bawling that her exit should entail. Not being able to cry should make me sad enough to cry…yet nothing. I hoped being here alone would trigger cathartic grieving…nothing. Each person grieves in their own way. I don’t feel I have grieved, can grieve, will ever experience cleansing grief.

I’ve felt wellings, hopeful wellings but they quickly subside signaling, to me, I’m no longer a fully functioning human. If I ever was functioning. I’m the shell left behind when Cicada molts, the translucent near substanceless skin sloughed by Snake people. Something that must be discarded for growth. The physical shape exists in hollowed out form. Easily crushable. I am the ash discarded by the incense stick, ash crashing and blowing into oblivion as if it never existed. Useless. Purposeless.

What have I become? What is wrong with my heart soul? I seem to really care about…nothing. All I feel is drawn…drawn to emptiness, drawn to the desert, the physical desert mirroring my heart soul desert. I am desert without life above or below ground. I am isolation.

Well, I’m half the man I used to be
Half the man I used to be


Goodbye, Mom. Hope you and Dad, in your reunion, enjoy the time of your afterlives. No longer having a functioning heart-soul, I don’t expect to ever be with you again in any form. I will love you always.

17 May 2020

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