If You're Gonna Be Melodramatic, Do it Well: Possum Bones

The cover of Marshall Rosenberg's " We Can Work it Out " booklet taunts me. It makes me deeply sad. I never read this, and I never DID work it out. Some impasses are just too great, some people just too unwilling, even if we love them. It's a reminder of that little death. But though I am not without compassion , neither am I ashamed of the rancor I feel. I would spit in the eye of the one who scorned me, I would like to say as readily as I would embrace him. And yet ... I could not do that. It seems to me I would do myself an injustice to forgive one who has wounded me so cruelly and so without cause. There is where to be true to myself I must part with the Buddha. Maybe it is juvenile, or evil ... But ... While it may be right to forgive, it's also a denial of my humanity. My base nature is that of a beast who is alternately sanguine, maudlin, cowardly, or wrathful. I could aspire to virtues that are beyond the nature of man, but I choose not to. I choose to slaver and bay, to cower and to snarl as I was bred to. That's my furlosophy. So may you writhe, my fickle friend.