Step back in time.....

A little explanation...

...A year or so ago, most of my accumulated writings (novels, poems, musings, etc) were lost in the ether of the internet, thanks to my own stupidity of not having hard copies...recently, whils't rummaging through an old box full of papers 'n stuff, I stumbled across some early stuff...this soliloquy was written when I was thirty-two years old so if it seems young 'n stupid, well, quoting Mr. Red Skelton, "I dood it!"

Sunday Morning Soliloquy

  (45 years ago) 

Sunday morning at a crowded breakfast table with newspapers, the funnies and stories of the beautiful people and places, the living room all junky after sitting up ’til 1:30  in the morning watching the stupid television(?)...

Sunday morning with the radio tuned to an FM station and the kids s till in their nightgowns, me in pajamas that I began wearing when I was thirty, my wife dressed but uncombed.  Ashtrays full, empty pop bottles, I quit drinking almost two months ago, tripped over the goddam vacuum cleaner on my way to shave and shower.

Reverse image, mirror, mirror, on the wall, you look like a hippy, an almost thirty-two year old hippy, that ain’t so bad, you don’t look that old, why shave?  What age do you have to be before you look in the mirror and say goddam you’re getting old.  Don’t feel old though, feel just like it was yesterday coming home for the air force, twenty-one years old and hungover, ten goddam years ago and all you wanted to do was drink and fuck and be cool, drive around all day in an old car with a bottle of beer and look at the world.  That’s about all the hippies want.  Must have been before your time, you and your buddies, always too late or too early, don’t shave, man, fuck it, in a beard, you’d look like Jesus and that’s why hippies and beatniks, etcetera, don’t bathe too often, if you get clean, you feel like shaving off your scruffy beard…..need to get out of this bathroom, house too.  Run away before too late, run you sonofabtich you, where to run, to go, because happiness is narcotic stopping time photograph, suspended in happiness is sort of death, I suppose and who in hell wants to die just to be happy, life is more than happy, happy will come and go, all experience and come again, a little different but almost recognizable, you idiot, on a Sunday morning before you shower and shave and converse with a goddam mirror the meaning of life…..