Humiliation

Although it’s been a mere three weeks since last I posted, this is long enough for a man my age, 118. The chances of my dying suddenly are, after all, much greater than if I were a young whippersnapper of, say, seventy. So I can understand if you and others of my readers become worried if too much time passes before you see a new posting on this site.

If you do in fact become worried I find this touching because you’re the only ones who would worry. No-one else would, because I have no longer Friends nor Family – well, as far as I know. The last friends I had were my men, Mikey Squeaky and Freddy, who I left behind in Mexico because I could no longer abide them. They could now be in jail or even dead. Even should they not be dead and they heard that I was, I doubt if they’d shed a tear, for I think they could no more abide me than I them.

The thing was, they felt it humiliating have as a leader a man (me) who was so much older than them, a man seventy years older – a man they couldn’t defeat in a bout of fisticuffs, although they tried many times in order to displace me.

Looking at it now from their point of view, I can see how humiliated they must have felt. Perhaps you may see this too. If not, and if you’re a fifty year old man, and you have as a next door neighbour a man of over 100 whose dog keeps digging up your flower beds, and you go over to complain to him, and he takes umbrage and beats you up, would you not feel humiliated, especially if your wife were watching? You would ever after be sleeping alone at nights on your living-room couch, I’ll bet.

As for Family, most men, if they’re over 100 as I am, have lots of descendents to mourn them by the time they Cross Over. I, on the other hand, had only one child – a son, Albert – who was attracted not to young women but to young men, so he left behind no progeny. And I had a wife, Gladys, who was attracted more to other women than to me. So my opportunities to father more than one child with her were almost miniscule.

Seeing as I’ve slept with many women over my very long life, it’s entirely possible I do have progeny somewhere. However, it’s as though I don’t because I don’t know who they are and they, if they exist, don’t know who I am. So they won’t be weeping when my time comes to Cross Over. And Gladys and Albert won’t be weeping either because they Crossed Over long ago.

As long as I’m alive it’s always possible I could make new friends here on the Pacific Rain Coast where I’ve found refuge from policemen who may still be looking for me. However, I must always be wary of making new friends because they could be undercover policemen or policewomen. This aside, the older I get the less I seem to have in common with anyone. The “Generation Gap” may be why.

It seems, then, I’m destined to have no-one weeping for me when I Cross Over. However, I’ve not entirely lost hope it’ll be otherwise.

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2 comments on “Humiliation

  1. Man of Roma says:

    As for the Cross Over, as you call it, i.e. the ultimate fate awaiting us all: it may be seen as an adventure, the last and the greatest, whether we disappear or we become something else. Compared to this Great Mystery, the number of people weeping on us is irrelevant.

  2. Christopher says:

    Tu as raison.

    The inevitable Crossing Over is the great leveller, just as going to the bathroom is!!

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