Just Me and Mr. X

"Family" is a loose term where I came from. I wish It wasn't so. 

Wish your way to fluffy clouds in the sky- Hold your breath.... and you'll get there. Keep holding. Fight your natural instincts, always! 

You will get your marshmallow sky. 

Did anyone else notice my mother always has and still to this day, 

in her wise old age:  SAYS DUMB SHIT: 
For Instance-

"YOU'RE MY LE - LE GIRL!" and "VOTE TRUMP!" 

But it's all forgiven because the "DUMB BROAD" means well.

That was Father's pet name for her. 

So Sweet! 

"YA DUMB BROAD!"

Right. She did the best she that she could...

Must forgive, you must.

Now, wait just one second! 
Perhaps it has always been a ploy, 

a manipulative skill she developed as the result of having a 

BIG STRONG DRUNKARD, 

U.S ARMY DADDY.

"Steady as stagger Frank."

My Grandmother said real cool shit. 

She was Sharp. A Sassy Dame. 

She would have been a real gun moll if...

Frank didn't come back from his helicopters! 

Salute! 

 Heil, Mein Führer! 

GOD BLESS AMERICA! 

Ahem. 

Excuse me I seem to have been choking for some time... 

My Grandmother was a real WOMAN. You know what I mean by a real woman? She had Jazz: Like Marlene or Bettie Davis. That jazz. 

She is laughing with me, she laughs at fools & she laughs at the absurd. 

She, however, is polite so you can't hear her... NOT ME!

So- Where were we? Right,

FRANK the "man" man (a father) and one-two-three older brothers, 

then out leaks this weak and sickly little squeak toy, squeaking 

"Don't hurt me! I'm so very small, Help me! I'm Powerless!" 

The Child that is my mother. 

She didn't even earn that title "Mother"

I AM CESARIAN!!! Brother is too 

The Titles.

Upper !! Mother Fucker.

He sawed her open to let me, a full grown fetus, out of that fucking uterus. 

Oogie boogie boogie! Hey, would ya look at that! 

I'm still bloody and pissed the fuck off almost thirty-one years later. 

Phew! (PRO-LIFE. WOOHOO!) 
Thank you Doc!

"God Bless" the U.S ARMY and all our fathers, my father, ghost man, ash man, carbon man, ( Shhh, they say I've got a wicked tongue...) 
My mother told me as much when I was a small child. 
Evil, mean, wicked; some of her favorite terms of endearment for the 1992 space-time version of me
Oh and lest we forget; Trump. yes, yes, we're all forgiven. 
Go Play With The Control Machines... 
Poor Mitchell. He is lost to me. You have kidnapped his personality too. 

For What??!!

All the family you had, the years you lived for free, warm, safe, with tons of spare time, more than one free sitter to choose from, like your brother in law in New York. 

(Who, I think is a good person. I hope I'm right for Mitchell and Devin's sake) 
He offered to help you get into a trade or go back to school... tsk, tsk! 

How do you look my children in the eye? 
I've been Wondering that. 

 I know I could. 
I know what the Fuck I Did and didn't do. 

Some things are impossible to forget, such is the pain...
 

 While you sat smoking pot,crunching  Lay's potato chips, drinking Coca-Cola: 

 A living advertisement for Everything I Hate. 

A putrid infectious growth from the furniture or the woodwork; your sibling's couches and in their basements.
What a shame. What a waste. 

Living as if you were the teenager- but you weren't, were you?
 

WHAT A SHAM you've got going!
SOME FUCKING LIFE THEY HAVE. 

The father provides, the father provides. THE FATHERS DIVIDE! 

You like math, providing much? Certainly not financially, but the real deficit in your provisions; 

You Neglect Them. In every way that there is a name for. 

Wikipedia that you pathetic monster.

 Go see what a great job you're doing. 

There I go again, damn. Silly me, I must get that from my mother. 

These useless thoughts.  But hey now! They say I have a way with words! 

That's real nice. Some say words like Forgiven. I gave up. Forgiven? 

SSSin like a snake... I Sin! Sinning and slithering my way to that ol' river. 

What river? The East River. East River Park, near the Seventh street bridge. 

Up and over- Timbo, watch me fly. 

My brother knows. He knows a great many things, I love him.

 I love my children, but far too much.

 Do You See? Do You Get It? 

GROUND CONTROL TO MAJOR FUCKED! 

I digress, whoops. 

Words are only words, right? 

Tell them that their mother was sane, played the piano, she was in her second year at Smith through the Ada Comstock Scholars Program when she died tragically, 

the exact same way as Isadora Duncan. 

Give em that, will ya?

Then, I can have a little lie,

I really want one too.

There's my fucking Eulogy.

- Mary Catherine.

Decennial of Depravities

Raise your glass

Hoist the flags

In the bygone celebratory fashion.


Onslaught-


let it go girl

endure girl

suffer girl

shatter girl

glue girl

persevere girl 

treacheries girl

sidewalks girl

down in your place girl

crawl beg lie steal girl

mother fucking fiend girl

you get the fuck up and march girl

Debased-

a decade's depravity

arrogant willful 

no god damn idea

child.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice  Queen

This Wretched One; We Chosen... - S. Of C.

 Oh heavens, oh sweet nirvana, oh lush forest untouched by man's lust and greed. 
Please hear me!

 Oh please, I crawl, I beg, all that is kind and gentle, let me simply lay, humble in your warmth for a small while... 

Lest we forget... 
 This half dead valentine for Asmodeus again? 

Never!

 I was his new Lillith, laid upon the ground just waiting to be taken, bathed in layers of bile.

Thirteen months pregnant, his poison full blossomed child. 

I had spread my lusting, eternally thirsty lips to him, not knowing the extent of his endowment. 

I feel his wet slithering up the my thigh, down my throat, choking, I choke.  

He has come to me before, what will become of me... if I returned to him? 

If I die tonight, who will greet me?
I will eschew him, at all costs, I must. 

He will not have me. 
Through and through there is no end to the penetration. 

It is an eternal brutal fuck by a beast like no other.

 I swear I will be in recondite academia, living in all that is truth... 

I will be kind, I will love without want of love! 
I can surely try.

I swear that I shall! 

I will have a daughter born of my goodness and name her Justine. 

She is within me, beautiful wild and blazing fire!  She will stay inside. No mortal man put her there. 

Only in dreams, in dreams I am able to recall that I was once a child.
 All glimmering innocence for the iris. Whatever became of her? 
No more. 
Oh the screams, no more I beg. 

Out of whose mouth, what orifice shall be one's sacrifice!? 

These wretched sounds.  
I pray to many gods and goddesses, I pray and yank on the golden thread that pulled me back from his claws the last time we met. The antithesis of thee, is what exactly? 

You vile creature, you who knew my lust for oblivion and had bested me tenfold. 

I shall try and be love incarnate. 
Oh! I am mortal and he knows my weakness well. 

He seeks to torment me, he gains pleasure and power whenever it occurs.

 I had come abhor the former very early on.
A contemptuous ignorance inside left me particularly susceptible to him.  
Very easy prey, once again. 

Yes,  Uriel, I see you. I saw you. 
Even through the pitch black. 
I saw.

I wish to be soldiers together, you and I.

 We will destroy this putrid curse wherever we sense it. 

We will rip him from the throat, the vein, the pipe of my fellows, the chosen.

 I can not see him take another that I love.
 Not again my golden thread, please, not again.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen

Peak

'Have you ever seen a cherry blossom come to it's peak?

If the weather is fair and conditions pleasant, the perceptively brief moment of it's becoming is forgiven and forgotten immediately upon the peaks glorious arrival.

Mozart whispers melodies in my ear that whisper that tell me it is near.

Do you know the ancient meaning of the word "Virtue"?

Ask Socrates or Aristotle .

If so then you no there is no sarcasm in me stating that I am a woman of virtue.

When do words lose their power?

Why do we alter their history?

The 'when' is what happens where the 'why' begins.

Two words that have been inscribed like vines underneath my skin that grew as my physical body did but in depth and intricacy.

Archaic veins I have worn heavily like armor.

Do you know the Historical meaning of "Cunt" ?

Ask Germaine Greer.

I am a Virtuous Cunt.

Follow the trail that has been left behind;

Partially slaughtered and intended to be forgotten.

Tis' true, It is there, I have walked it.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen

Becoming Weary

Originally handwritten August 26th, 2015 

I have become weary of my own intent.
More so than the intent of these intrusive spectators. 

These ludicrous attempts of mine to convince. 

Spoons in gaping mouths, ravenous for more then I have to provide.

I know this now, I know it keenly. 
Yet they seem oblivious to my insight which gives me a slight advantage.

So, while exercizing my toungue in humbled lingual trivialities,
I decided to stop and listen to the sounds of the song that remained unsung.

Just who's mouth exactly are my spoons entering and why?

 I certainly have no need of pseudo companionship. 

I am full to the point of nausea with that sort of futility, a while now.

It is obvious they are not. 

Why must there be incessant chatter of ancient atrocities followed by the bestial orifice anticipating a rebuttal?

I admit I do believe what they truly crave is some kind of nakedness. 

What they ignore is it's present remoteness; It only comes now in stringing my words together in written form, ambiguous at best. 

Their insulting attempts a double edged sword are almost laughable, but not entirely; I'd foreseen this and dodged it, somewhat gracefully.

No, this cordial questioning is contrived and unwelcome. 
This is not a friendly concern but something else entirely. 

This is vulgar and it is stark. 

It reeks of putrid ooze leaking from beneath dumpster,

Feels of grime that's been accumulating beneath fingernails;

Bedding deeper.

Those angry hands. 

Noxious intent.
Malice.
 Jealousy.
It is the scent of fear.

I want nothing to do with their famine.

What they seek no longer grows here in my mind. 

Now then, where were we my dear acquaintance? 
To feed you what you really desire?
Oh, is that so?  
Apologies. I seem to be fresh outta that.

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen