The trouble with quads Friday, September 20, 2013

  

I went jogging this morning along Newark Bay – my second attempt at returning to routine after a fluke accident in June 2012 destroyed two of my quads.

The accident a reminder of other painful things that won’t fade regardless of how much time passes.

I was taking pictures of a memory in Union City when I hurt my leg, and both the accident and the memory became a painful reminder of how good things can turn bad, and how honest feelings can be exploited to hurt you.

Lies never last, and yet even as I jogged along the water, I realize that this lie, used to undermine that memory has lasted far too long, and won’t fade either.

I stumbled into someone’s criminal scheme, and because the criminal felt threatened, did what all criminals do, they twist the truth to keep their scheme from being revealed.

The best way to destroy a witness to a crime is to destroy his credibility, and this was such a routine with this person that I was supposed to fit into a mold and go along with it.

I never do that – nor do I ever let evil get the last word in an argument, even I can’t win.

All of this is moot, of course, since all criminals end up in the same place, especially when they’re not competent criminals to start with, but feed off the backs of more successful people.

All powerful people get their collection of parasites, people who cling to their heels and pretend to have importance of their own when they never do.

Mostly they are a joke, used up like tissue, and then tossed away.

Most of these incompetent criminal types try to find some way to justify their existence, bring something important to their criminal masters so as to not get used up quite so soon as they might.

But in the end, they all wind up at the bottom of some wastebasket.

Most conclaves of evil don’t last either. They usually feed off one person until they suck the blood dry, and then are forced to seek some new victim.

My criminal friend found a gold mine with a fault line running through it, and has been forced to live with a slow motion earthquake that is undermining the scheme.

As I jogged, I wondered how people live with themselves, doing their best to suck off other people’s existence while having nothing to contribute to anything, not even themselves.

I didn’t jog far, but far enough to let the wind and air get some of the filth out of my lungs, and for the old pain, the tender pain of caring too much for someone who doesn’t care enough out of my lungs, if not out of my mind – this desperate attempt to make myself whole again, and to preserve that memory crime tried to ruin inside of me.

In the end, of course, the quad won’t recover fully, nor will the memory, since the landscape I took for granted and the people I trusted have been spoiled by the scheme. I can’t look some of them in the eyes and not feel their guilt, and my own, and how a bad seed planted in a good patch has a way of spoiling everything planted there, and that it is only by my will to keep this one special and fragile plant pure that anything good came out of any of it, and even though the shadow of evil has been cast over it, and me, and no matter how far I jog, I won’t be able to be rid of it wholly or find the purity that I once thought it had.


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