The End of a Friendship


I had to say goodbye to another friend today. They’re dropping away like flies and the grief is exquisite. It’s still very new so I’m sure the gravity of it has not sunk in. I would not have wished for it. But it had to happen.

Over the past two days I screamed out what I felt he desperately needed to hear. But Menace troubled my tongue and all I could say was what did not mean. Menace was operating at the behest of Providence, this I understand. Yet I am still heartbroken. The timing could not be more inconvenient. But it was doomed to end from the beginning. There’s no more room in the royal bed if there’s already a head on the other pillow.

Although I never wanted him for a mate, I was jealous of his attention. Although he did all the things I hate to see myself do, I craved his company. Although all the mistakes I made when I was his age, that every narcissistic young man in love with his own reflection makes, are painful lessons I desperately wanted to spare him, that is not my job. I am powerless. I have to move away. And that makes me sad. Very, very sad.

I behaved badly and he could not hear what I was not saying. This is a must if one seeks to be friends with an insane person like me. Then I tried manipulation– and he would not be manipulated. This is a sin unforgiveable among my friends. Ask any of the ones that have been around for more than a minute. He would not let me have my way one hundred percent of the time and therefore he is banished.

I have to be god of everything and in control of everything in life and in my friendships and like Jehovah, I am a jealous god and I will have no other gods before me. I am that I am.

The Queen Mother will be so delighted. She hates anyone that threatens to steal any of my love and attention.

When our souls showed up in the Ceremony Hall for the Ritual of Separation, all that needed to be done had already been accomplished. The rest was just ritual. When the helpers took our stoles bearing our secret, sacred names and cast them into the altar fire, a tear caught in my through although crying there is not allowed. My former son forgot himself one last time and tried to call me by his name for me– but the System wouldn’t allow it. It was devastating to have him have to call me as regular people call me. The knife was brought in and the ritual cutting occurred. My physical body is still throbbing from the pain. I doubt there will be sleep for the old king tonight.

The Dionysians came in to lift my boy above their heads, carry him off to meet the inevitable, his descent into the Underworld so that he may witness what the rest of us had to. Rama, Rama, I wish I could spare him that. One last time I tried to yell out to him, but the poison fig had stilled my tongue and shut my throat. I was horrified that I could not save him. I was horrified that he couldn’t save me.

The Scribe will come, I’m sure, and murder his name in future epistles, tell history as I dictate it to be, but for now all I can do is cry alone and love and miss him when he’s yet just barely gone.

See y’all tomorrow.

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