SHALLOW AND DEEP
Shallow and Deep
So what seems the measure of shallow? Does it occur as a disregard or ignorance for integrity? Does it come as a result of constant attention seeking? Does it come from lack of a real identity? Did this liability get learned or does it happen inherently? Mondo doesn’t wonder at this, he just dislikes it.
You can’t live in shallow and act like a friend. You won’t show loyalty. You won’t and can’t love. The superficiality gets so very apparent that the shallow go through acquaintances quickly and their friendships appear a sham. Even the emotional short dicks bottom out here and can’t feel it if they came.
They seem like zombies on bad speed. Wait! All speed winds up bad. Meth works as a drug for the shallow. It’s industrial with the mettle of drain cleaners.
Shallow, like the tittie dancers working the clubs’ rooms. Doing the lap dance rub. Eating pussy in the back rooms and coquetting naked with rouge on their nipples, cranking the occasional fuck boy and VERY occasionally the Fuck Man.
Ohhh, the last time some real feelings came…can’t remember it’s buried in the weak compensation of creating lust in men and eventually in the shower rooms where it gets hush-hush about the whereabouts of semen squirted ground ward. There’s little life in this form of slow death. Mondo sucked the desire out of them once upon a time so that Sierra, his magical partner could feed her family. She dissed him because of Karen the Vosswoman and her perfect ass and love for pussy. She slept at the foot of his bed and waited…
Then came Cherry Bomb, retired from that shallow game of no dance and pole climbing. She had depth in her insanity and passions that passed for love. Mondo loved her and wrote songs for her about the other broken women, but she remained a dancer and worked his room and worshipped his magical rood. She loved in her broken way and sent the shallow out to pasture and prison for forgeries.
So now, there is the depth; the ardor, when the petit` demoness let down her hair for a moment and waited for me to hug her.
She had rebuffed my affection so many times that I could only stand there paralyzed by my love for her and I felt shallow and she seems so deep she can’t feel rejected, only walking away to laugh with affection when I called her next. She knows what I want. I want her, her depth, her love which seems to deep that it supercedes all. She looks and thinks to reject, thinks to negate, but it gets too apparent how she deeply feels and how I feel.
It’s not dramatic or climactic or catastrophic. It so silent, so deep, so everything, and it can last the rest of these lifetimes. Reaching down with the depths of her integrity, her passions, she sees my strengths and consistencies.
She sees my depth.
So does depth seem like an elegant integrity? Does it seem like passion with forthrightness? Does it seem like natural fidelity and devotion to the ideal of love in practice?
I delighted to the point of tears when she saw the oracle and it told of her love. Sweet oblivion in my arms and the end of all that old pain…
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