WHY? WHAT? TELL ME AGAIN.

To every end, a beginning. And to every beginning, an end. Why is it that we can always recognise an end? Why are they so much more sharp, more clearly delineated? Maybe it’s because they come upon us so quickly, so without warning, so bloody relentlessly. Something is no more, the strings which held it together are now asunder and we are adrift…floating, bereft of fixed point…no frame of reference.

Does it have to be this way? Must I always submit…bend like a reed? Prostrate myself before the winds of fate? Just accept, helplessly, the inevitability of it all? Or can I recognise that tide in the affairs of man and by grasping it at full flood, direct it to my will?

Such a tide is upon me now, dear friends. Alcohol induced it may be but ’tis no less real for that. And I let the ropes fall aside, not knowing whether or not they are attached to anchors any more substantial than my hopes. There goes my daughter, overboard. There goes my love. There goes another and another. Each to its own box and yet, I see they are connected, some by strong bindings and others by tendrils almost invisible, yet these webs, I have woven. I am at the centre, my feelers on each thread…measuring, judging, evaluating. Holding the lives and fears and trust and beliefs of others nervously in the palm of my hands.

And still the question, who am I? The father…for years to come omnipotent? The lover? And to whom should I address that question for fuck’s sake? Does anyone have a monopoly on my love? The teacher? God forbid. What the fuck do I know anyway, that I should pass on with any degree of confidence or certainty? The man? That would do nicely, thank you but I have a suspicion I would not qualify on numerous counts. No, not the man tits, you pretzel. It’s just I have an idea, an ideal…a man, who man himself would be…take it away Percy.

… must rule the Empire of himself,
in it, must be supreme,
establishing his throne on vanquished will,
quelling the anarchy of hopes and fears,
being himself, alone.

Bollocks. Dingly dangly, fuzzy bollocks.