“You really need to look at things logically…”
I turned my back to him.
I know that seems disrespectful and rude: after all he is my father. But we have had this argument a million times. He knows we’ve had this argument “a million times.” He knows his concept of “logic” and mine are not the same. But he keeps insisting on arguing; slamming his head against the same old, same old, wall: his son.
But he never seems to learn.
Neither do I, for even though I know what will follow if I turn my back to him, I do anyway. At first I feel a cold chill, then he’s in front of me. He passed right through me. Dad continues to argue.
That’s when I said what I shouldn’t have said, “God damned ghosts.”
He looks at me disapprovingly, even though he curses sometimes too.
How do you avoid a knock down, drag out, argument, if some fatherly ghost can pass right through you and stay in your face? I’d close my eyes, but now he’s in my head. Really “in my head.”
Being possessed sucks.
So, once again, I attempt the hopeless: I shake his essence out of my head, then stomp out of my own goddamn house, out onto the sidewalk. Impossible because I know he will eventually follow… be right back in my face. After all, all he has to do is think about being somewhere, and he’s there.
Am I haunted? No more than anyone else.
As I walk the streets I see grandmothers following grandsons praising them: fussing over them so much they run. They have no where to run as the fussing continues. Dead wives harass their husbands, dead husbands harass their wives, dead ex spouses scream in their ex’s faces and keep them from finding love. Saddest of all the dead children crying, following their parents. Usually it’s just one parent or the other. Marriages don’t last long when some dead 12 year old keeps blaming one parent, or the other, for some unfortunate accident.
On the bright side there’s little murder, rape or robbery. Some loud mouth specter is always blabbing. Adultery is still around, but of course marriage is rare and open marriages common. Pretending one’s being faithful is impossible when ghosts are everywhere: even in your head. They tattle. They LOVE to tattle.
We can’t hide.
I know Dad only let me be because he’s hoping I’d cool down and “be more reasonable.” Never has worked before, but we’re both so hard headed you’d think we’re related.
I’d laugh at that, but it’s not funny when no one goes away, even when they die… and punching them, avoiding them, shooting them: nothing works. Ectoplasm is probably one of the few un-destroyable substances in the universe, though I’m sure scientists have worked on that impossibility since humanity first stood up and put on a lab coat.
The problem is there’s always some fucking ghost there to divert attention from positive results, or annoy you out of that, “Eureka!” moment.
We long for a world where when your dead you’re dead: you’re just gone. Or at least most of us can’t hear you, or see you. You need to move on. We need to move on. With ghosts no one moves on.
If we could move on we could make up stories about you, or focus on the supposed good things you did. Tell jokes and stories you told without you “correcting us” all the time, even though we may be right and you just forgot. Live livess where sons and daughters can once again worship gone parents like they did when they were five: become complete adults… standing on the shoulders of those who have gone before. It would even be nice if only our dead dogs didn’t follow us barking, begging to be petted by a master or mistress who can’t even touch them, or dead cats no longer meowed for fresh cat food they can’t eat.
One can only hope, in some alternate reality, death is final, instead of a daily curse for those never truly “left behind.”
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Most people think, when a relationship breaks up, when someone leaves them, they willingly become sluts, whores. Both men and women. Yes, there are men whores, male sluts. I know it’s not considered proper usage by some, but the fact remains: yes, there are.
People think something inside their heads changes and they go looking for mere masturbation via another. They’re partially right. Tis something “inside:” me. I go looking for the lonely, the heart broken, even the suicidal, though I cross as line when I do the last: for there are demons who have that job. While they too must be lonely, at least they vent their loneliness with pills, a rope, a shotgun blast through the roof of the mouth. They are doing something to try to end the loneliness… for the moment.
I can’t end my loneliness, even if briefly: not with my assignment. Yes, we get “assignments,” and the demon supervisor in Hell is very strict. Piss him, or her, off and you wind up me. “Her” or “him” is a bit pointless, for we really have no sex, though we can HAVE sex through possessing others.
Which brings forth the question: what did I do to piss off my super? OK, I had a hot time flirting with his significant other-demon. Keep Lucifer happy by tossing a few newcomers into one of the many brimstone swimming pools, by corrupting some nun or encouraging the next Jeff Dahmer and that’s how you might become a supervisor, get a nice cushy office and you get to cum with some unwilling, but unable to do anything about it, newcomer from one of the many Earth-ly planes of existence.
Yeah, Satan had a good laugh, but even though it was just “flirting,” pissing off a demon supervisor in Hell has consequences. She was a HOT little number.
So here I am: double damned. Floating from body to body looking for love, but only finding lust and self loathing in search of self love.
Now don’t get all: “I knew it was NOT my fault,” self righteous. We demons simply help you do hat you wanted to do anyway.
My assignment might seem enviable. After all, I get to have sex with some of the most beautiful, most horny, most willing men and women in the universe. I even get to possess dogs, cats: all kinds of animals, and experience how much they enjoy each other.
But, after a while, it’s all very much the same. And while humans think having sex makes him, or her, “mine,” it really doesn’t. One penis feels about the same, as one vagina, as one asshole. Possessing a boy seeking priest is very much like helping a nun find her moment of carnal release, a moment that screws her vow royal. And the passion is almost always inward, because the desirable person they think they see is mostly illusion in their heads, and self deception.
Once I thought I found love, I found my niche’. She was so much like me I thought we were more than one. And, when “she” left, I found out she was possessed by another demon, and ironically it was my supervisor cheating on his significant. As “she” broke up with me and I saw my supervisor-demon un-possess her, since only we can see each other most of the time, once we’re out of the body, my super laughed and fled to a nearby rabbit: always easy prey.
So now I’m even more lonely, but the good news is I probably won’t be the loneliest demon for long. Leaving the office to have an affair isn’t all that much of a sin in Hell, but seducing another demon is considered by Lucifer as being lazy, being a slacker, and word is I may get the supervisor’s job soon in retribution for not just my supervisor’s violations by violation another demon, but because of all the sex worker demons who are being lackadaisical. If anyone believes in an eye for an eye, it’s his unholy wretchedness. And since Satan is tired of the low stats of actual seduction, he wants those responsible to pay, and someone to be his go to demon and be tough on the bitches.
I’m your Demon for that job, for sure. I welcome the opportunity, for Hell hath no fury like a supervisor demon scorned.
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I have a forest of men in my life
That have turned into that noisy form of silence
Like trees in a forest
I have tried to cut them down
But they grow back
Intruding in my memory
Disturbing my day
Sometimes getting in my way
You would think
I could just look over the forest
And be happy
But I know
I find comfort
In previous sadness
And will happily pass on
Living in a forest of men
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She walked through her past life, a ghost trying to correct what had been, correct all she had hoped never to become. She tried to talk to her past self, but her past self would not listen. Not unexpected, listening had never been her forte’. Tried to change her former self, but change came too hard for someone who had always felt they knew the way. Besides, what was already done, could not be changed.
At the end of her life pain, the loneliness, was the only carcass left, then that was gone, except her body, on the floor, and her spirit wandering through the rooms of her former life. Each room represented a hopeful beginning turned dead end. Each flight of stairs an exhausting climb leading to that dead end, or a rapid fall to another broken heart, shattered dream.
She thought she knew just the way to go. Hard headedness had taken her down the hardest path of all, something she’d never admit to herself. That is why she haunted herself, still trying to pull roses out of a broken life.
So much love thrown away for momentary convenience. So much useless cynicism in response to honest attempts to help. Sex that, no matter how pleasurable at the time, was in the long run just a reminder of momentary, meaningless gain for long time loss, and, loneliness again.
No wonder she haunted the living.
Her life had been such a waste: she had never actually live.
And now, never will.
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