By
Stanley Collymore
You obviously came into my life when I was down on my
luck and at a time when I couldn’t have given a – no I’m not going to use that
jokey expletive which rhymes with luck and will instead civilly employ the more
socially acceptable phrase of saying, as I’ve done previously, that I was literally
down on my luck. But anyway, things were going especially badly for me, and
understandably my getting involved with another person let alone falling in
love again so soon with anyone, regardless of who that individual woman was,
was obviously the last thing on my mind; or, for that matter the kind of responsive
action that realistically, level-headedly, pragmatically and much less so
judiciously, I would consciously or most appropriately have seriously considered
getting involved in.
No bullshit that, nor any gratuitous, cynically
contrived, or all-out determined, self-serving spin according to my definitive reasoning
in order to specifically circumvent the personal and deeply troubling
consequences known to be intimately associated with the absolute inability to
resolutely and permanently put an evidently embarrassing past behind me, and through
that conscious process negate the likely possibility, due responsibility and
even the clear necessity of entertaining a completely new relationship by me,
and effectively out of the previous mess that I’d made of my life, get romantically
started all over again.
Well that’s a pretty glib assumption to make as well
as an easy thing for anyone to say, and especially so for those who haven’t the
vaguest inkling of who or what I am, and therefore effectively neither know nor
could possibly comprehend the complicated imponderables, in terms of
expectations and passionate emotions, which when immutably choreographed and then
authoritatively played out, their collaborative and persuasive ballet de dance becomes
the unwavering accompaniment on my part of my natural chariness and due
caution.
Accordingly then, do forgive me for outlining my views
so uncompromisingly, and more to the point particularly so if I’ve offensively
misjudged you as being among those who’ve not only collectively but also
conclusively jumped to the conclusion, which they unwaveringly expect should be
the only outcome of how, with no alternative prospect in their prejudiced deliberations,
I should unquestionably be the man who they unilaterally decide that I must
become. To which my unambiguous response is: Think what you want but take it
from me, don’t ever hold your breath on that one!
I don’t need to acquaint anyone who’s even vaguely
compos mentis, but I’ll remind you here all the same for obvious reasons, that
life and its associated factors constitute an ongoing, and invariably a complex
game that everyone in varying degrees and often in the case of some of you for
substantial periods of time, as you either blissfully, idiotically,
manipulatively or even sensibly embark on playing them.
Sometimes the motivation for doing so is deliberate
and clear-cut, on other occasions not even the participants themselves can say
with any certainty or even honesty precisely what it is that they’re doing or
why; for in truth they haven’t the foggiest notion.
The game of love is no different and as a pastime has been
going on from the beginning of time and specifically that crucial moment when
Eve first got a deeply enamoured Adam to nibble her apple, which he apparently liked
and consecutively after that occasion continued to have numerous bites from it.
It was a regeneration apple you see. The clever ones out there will get the
joke; the others, truth to tell, it’s not worth you bothering.
So long after we’re all of us no longer here, future
generations of human beings - should earth and Homo Sapiens manage to survive
the impending nuclear holocaust that the morons in Rogue State USA, toadying
Britain and the rest of the west’s Useful Idiots that serve the vested
interests of the sickos that currently run this world we live in – will maintain
the custom of playing their own love games.
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