http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/homepage
http://stanley.pacion.googlepages.com/sexandhistory
http://www.youtube.com/StanleyPacion
SPLEEN
Ha! Well aren’t you something!
You’re asking me to be your friend.
Forgive my lapse into the colloquial,
But I lack another way of putting it.
Where? Oh! Where do you get the nerve?
What unmitigated gall propels you,
When you have so far fallen from mark,
The common decency to comport yourself
Within any norm of self respect,
Concern for the well being of any other,
Wanting any notion, regard for truth?
Yeow! You’re on Mars, babe, total space out!
Remember that May Day,
Our first real Holiday together,
Our first full day together
After your return from the homeland,
After we not having seen each other for seven months,
Not having seen each other for seven months
You treated me like…, well I must
Here I must resort to vulgarity, the vulgar,
Alone, the adjective modifies your behaviors.
You treated me like shit,
You were skilled in your ways,
You started on the offensive. Picky, picky, picky,
It must be a symptom, for it certainly
Points to the way you eat your food.
And you played your hand skillfully,
Practiced as you were in the art, prevarication,
Playing me on for months on end,
Lie after lie and I never caught on, then
Hustle me for vittles, a tramp,
And when I objected to having had to pick up every tab,
Even the extra super-market food
You were buying for your room,
You told me some bullshit about
How fair your father treats women,
His generosity and free spending
Until I reminded you -- you had already told me --
How a court order was necessary,
Him to support his ex-wife, and kids
Overwhelmed by his strength of character, alienated,
One son and three daughters,
Never mind the grand children, no mention of them,
His other family never speaks to him at all.
It's a nice story, huh?
You, you had me pay for food, food
You ate alone in your hostel.
You offered me nothing in return,
Except another sad story, a sordid tale,
And like so much else you revealed to me,
Less than candid, not yet the real truth,
That you would drop later, the other, proverbial shoe,
The evil of your partaking, of a long-time affair
With a man who proved your alter ego,
Who proved it over the years,
His love was equal to yours.
Both of you liars, what a lovely affair,
Match made in heaven, I am surprised,
Struck by the short duration, only five years,
When you two lovers seemed so well suited,
Sweetie, how do you do it? Remain absent
From his arms! You, poor child, I know you
Still love him, hanker for the mutual abuse,
Listen, Misses, where talk exists there’s desire,
Oh when Stanley’s standing by, my, my,
The dreadful things you say about him,
That awful man and all his lying,
His constant running in debt to you,
And the way he supposedly with his sex abused you,
But who knows, who knows what’s really happening,
Dealing with you one never hears the truth.
The stories, oh the stories!
Remember that date with Mora?
Out of the clear blue, you had to spend the night,
She was a long-time girlfriend, you said.
But I had never heard of her before,
I had to be reminded of the story of your meeting,
I don’t believe I ever heard of her again.
Mora who? I questioned. Let me meet her
Or tell me her last name. Ha!
You, you would never deign to answer,
Your response was silence, you’re haughty that way.
Learned at home when native in your native land,
The terror, the fundamental disquiet,
I guess few may imagine, how desperate your life,
How ill at ease, how you must bury it,
“Let’s spend the day shopping,” you say,
“Go searching from store to store
“There you see, you know me,”
“It’s what I am like anyway.”
A running dialogue you repeat
And convince no one, not even yourself.
Your home here in the states, your lessons,
You studied hard, gained Advanced Placement,
But what you learned best was deception,
The past arises each time the telephone announces
Your mother, you lie to your mother,
You, a woman approaching the age of Jesus, Crucified,
Still you are unable to reveal truth to your mother.
It’s all laughable, were it so awful, terribly sad.
You could not tell your mother
You were living with me, home with me and in my bed,
That I had touched you in so many intimate ways,
That you had professed your love for me,
And solemnly promised to cherish, honor and behave,
You told me you would make me proud,
And you would become a woman of parts,
You claimed soul of piety and beauty.
You said honest, not to worry,
You had me believe you loved me.
Yet you misrepresented your intentions.
You continually lied to your mother,
Chasing back and forth, duplicity,
When the telephone rang you lived at the hostel,
Not with me at this address what was to be our home.
All under some guise, you were very tricky.
But the biggest lie, the lie tell yourself,
About the past being the past,
About your ability to forget it,
That there exists no such thing as sexual trauma,
Your claim, everything that had happened,
As if you were saying, I need no help,
My involvement with that man, the horror,
Has no impact, it neither affects me or my character.
You want to be my friend,
You say it over and again,
You say it’s what you always wanted,
But you make no effort to prove it,
No recovery or willingness to accept
The central fact you must face the sickness,
It rules you and your biggest lie, your failure
To recognize all your wrongs,
Your living a lie, a symptom of the thing,
The monster within who plots your death,
Here is the real truth, your disease it kills you.
You saw my conduct, how I lead with my heart,
Suspended the critical faculty to woo you with love,
You commented praise worthily
About the propriety of my ways,
And you saw how I raised my child.
Princess, and that’s a title your heart’s fancy,
Princesses, they bellow and world,
Whole world does see, my marvelous girl,
Your life now public and up for rebuke,
Your lousy demeanor and ultimate want,
The lowness of your family life soon immortal,
Your treachery to live forever in this published verse.
You say you want to be my friend,
Yet do not recognize bosom requires
Both honesty and accommodation, and you,
My love, have not inclination for either.
