Ed note: Someone made her gravestone before she was even dead.
Who does that?
Who the fuck does that?
As a fucking job??
How fucked up is that?
I will never have a gravestone.
When I die, I will just be worm’s meat.
And this is how I want it.
This is how it will be.
How it should be.
I don’t want no idiot standing over my grave pontificating, telling lies about ‘What a great man he was.’ Blah! Blah! Blah!
Bullshit! He was an asshole, just like all the other assholes of the world.
Simple. He lived. He lied. He died.
Wipe your ass and your eyes and walk the fuck away.
Do not mistake me. I have long lost dead friends. I think of them often. I remember them. I cherish my memories of them. My most cherished memories are of Peanut and a few others. Do I visit their graves? Do I bring teddy bears, beers or flowers? Fuck no!
I hold them in my memory.
Fuck that grave-side shit!
That, to me is just theatre.
Fuck all that.
“Don’t sugar-coat it Lance; tell us how you really feel.”
“Go fuck yourself and leave me alone! How’s that?”
“I think we got the message.”
I had two grandmothers.
Most of us do/did
One was pure Saint.
One was pure Satan
I loved them both
Let us begin with the ‘Saintly One’
She was my Daddy’s mother.
Her name was ‘Pauline’ (Born in Levelland, Texas—NATIVE TEXAN—this is important—to me–Obviously)
She was beautiful.
And pondering back on her over the years, best contemporary help I can provide:
She was exactly like Emmylou Harris,
And believe it or don’t,
If that is even possible.
She had so much class.
Fun trivial fact:
Pauline (Grandmother… duh… who I am writing of…)
Once confided to me during a road trip:
“I had a streak of gray hair running in my hair, ever’ since I was fourteen. (Emmylou did too, btw) Did not prevent your grandfather from marrying me… go figure.”
My Paternal Granddaddy
He scared me
The other one…
The ‘Maternal One’
Name of ‘Mamie’
(From Tennessee—go figger)
She weren’t no Emmylou.
Let me tell you.
Mamie was uglier than a homemade mud fence.
She was ‘Satan-on-Steroids’
I loved her.
This is just a preamble
I’m too drunk and lazy to do this justice right now.
I swar’ on both of their graves, I will write no other shit until I return to this one.
It is important to me.
Probably not to you.
But, then agin, it ain’t never ‘bout you, is it?
It is ‘always’ ‘bout me.
And my self-empathy.
Thanks for watching/reading.
(And for tolerating a drunken fool–me)
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