Happy 28 year anniversary. My Jezebel.

Today would have been my 28 year wedding anniversary. But my ex-whore, I mean ex-wife, chose a 40 something year old who was cheating on his wife with a married  17-year-old over our family. And she even had the nerve to be a bridesmaid and hump the guy the day after their wedding. She told me that she was Catholic and could do that as long as she went to confession and said her "Hail Marys"and "Our Fathers." She said I should try it. That it was invigorating. Anyway...

I found out later that she had 16 lovers in our 11 year marriage (including her ex-boyfriend, a student she was supervising, and some of my colleagues that I thought were friends). She admitted it to me. She said I was always working. Really? We had a house. We had two cars. We had insurance. But she said that was not enough. She needed mystery and excitement. She said that some people do not steal for monetary value but for the excitement and thrill of getting away with it. She claimed that was why she was cheating on me. The thrill of wondering what I would do if I caught her in bed with another man. Fucking twisted. 

She said only men could be narcissists. Women were just victims. Whatever.

It was fun until it wasn't. I don't miss the psychological or physical abuse. I wonder if she became an alcoholic because of her parents. Or if her parents became alcoholics because of her. She would write herself a script for Xanax and drink 500 ml of Crown Royal a night. Talk about madness. I survived the storm with most of my sanity.

This day is now a celebration of my independence. I now understand Charles Bukowski. Women will always lie and leave you in the cold. Alcohol will always tell the truth and keep you warm.

Happy would-be Anniversary to my dumb ass.

Written for Alison Elizabeth Yaklin Porteau

She was wrong about almost everything. She said Courtney would never find out about the ongoing affair with her husband. Apparently she did. She said her license would never be in jeopardy. She should have never given me that hard-drive. I have every email and love letter between her and Chris the priss. I've given it over to the state ethics board. Happy Anniversary.

She was right about never giving up her relationship with her fukboi. And she was right about turning Byron against me. For this, I detest her pathetic existence. She may have Scotty's House fooled, but she WILL stand before God.

Her

I was a fan of  The Cure for a few years until I realized they were like a drug. They were taking me deeper and deeper into the miasmic haze of depression and self-destruction. 

I woke up one morning drugged up and cuffed. I had no idea who she was. Numb. Snippets of unimaginable fantasies echoed in and out of my mind. Each one tied to a dark harmonic strand of The Cures "Pictures of You." We were going to OD together. 

We had danced in the red pulse through the night. A kiss. Darkness...

I am glad we failed. Or am I?

I don't know where she is. Bavaria somewhere? Was she real? 

I can't believe with all the crazy things I did that I'm still here.

Leave Me Be

I don't want your pity. I don't want your understanding. I want you to leave me the fuck alone.

I gave humanity many chances. I am tired.

The lies. Betrayal. Use. Abuse. Abandonment. They left me cold and empty inside. The only fire that kept me warm was that of rage. It consumed me.

There is no hate. There is no love. There is only indifference. Pain has become by immortal lover.

I have made peace with the madness. Solitude is my kingdom.

I want to be left alone. Otherwise that cold steel blade will draw forth a warm, red, unstoppable river. I will be damned for eternity. Self-destruction in inevitable.

I am always watching. I am always aware. Stay away. I am no longer man. I am a monster. You have been warned.