Newspapers / St. Andrews University Student … / Nov. 3, 1988, edition 1 / Page 12
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/ page 12 the lance November 3, 1988 Qiiill & Ink Best of 1986-88 UNTITLED You are a Goddess and i am stone i scribble these few lines for Your Eyes alone it would have been sooner but they just wou' ’n t come for You arc a Goddess and i am stone JON PARGAS \ NO DESSERT | No sugar tonight in my coffee No sugar tonight in my tea No sugar to stand beside me No sugar to run with me -THE GUESSiWHO She only asked me one question, but that one question was enough to blow my quiet litde world into smithereens. My first urge when she asked me this alleged question was to puke. Yes indeed, just to puke my rotten, putrid guts out. “Why”, she asked me,her eyes burning with the tell-tale curiosity of a young girl about to lose her virginity,’’Why do they call you The Alien?” I immediately began to sweat. For this was the question that I myself had managed to avoid for the first 23 years of my life. I knew now that I could avoid it no longer. However, I managed to appear calm, cool, and collected. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned in life it’s this; There’s nothing wrong with sugar, it’s the people who eat it. Keeping this smug knowledge to myself, I laughed ,”Where on earth did you hear that?”. But it was a short, quick, awkward laugh and my lover didn’t miss a U'ick. Suddenly I began to burst with convul sive, hysterical, crazed laughter. The laughter of a mad-man. “Alfred?” “Alfred?” “Alfred? Alfred? Alfred?” Finally I could stand it no longer. “What?!!” I shouted, the onions from my lunch still fresh on my breath. I saw how frightened my lover looked. I immediately calmed down. Besides, I knew if I didn’t treat her kindly I wouldn’t get any dessert. No dessert. No dessert. No dessert. No dessert. No dessert. No dessert. Ever again. And I’m sorry folks but I just couldn’t handle that. No indeedy. Heather. Jean the acid queen tripped Crystalline caverns mirrored images and plumes of purple haze adorned the walls and ceiling flashing color and sound with intricate rhythm but as she approached The Door (large, oaken] exquisitely carved] scenes of Paradise] one last mirror caught he eyes and she touched it liquid crystal rippling cool silver flash as she dove into Eternity PpalRr Sleazy bap, life on the run, too much alcohol nOt enough luck, ihe Rce of SpadeS. J)ovBzvx^n ^ 4 l^apaltba an incubus untrut, M^vis m«n^raciti«0 JrigpcII conflict, ®eat^) Jyi0al)otD0 Us rftapso^y. Prejudice Cities burn in righteous moral feruor. H beautiful color causes a death, Dogs are color-blind. MY SON I never thought he would do it Suong facial features and a proud smile My friend was a rational individual. A bit of a logician. Here before me, on this day a year ago, sat a broken man. Behind his strong sad face lay a limp mind Exhausted by his internal struggle to fintj What he could have done to make his fathcf Feel this way about him. “Friend,” he said to me in a calm voice, i “I have loved you all my life. I My achievements have made you a proud man. Last night, on the eve of my seventeenth birthday, j I became your lover, j My Friend, My Father, My Lover. Why do I feel guilty about who I am and what I’ve done?” I could say nothing. I saw my son crushed by my action. My once proud friend had become a vege table, The result of my morbid revolt against his manhood. A su-eam of useless tears fall from my eyes The flow is broken by a struggling voice. “Cry not my father. This is who I am. Death calls me to pay my debt for my guilt.” A year has passed since I’ve wiuiessed, through a wall of Tears, My friend put a knife through his heart. Pride is but a mere word to me now. I struggle with the reality that incest Is my reward and mental tattoo for loving my son. I long to touch my young friend. But I feel my heart pinch when I imagine My son crying at every touch of my hand. My tears My son My friend My lo... My loss. ALMOST HEAVEN ...hand of babies Ancestors summer Breath of blacklung Hands of steel Night echo of banjo and slide Rivers motion marks the year Courthouse whitders up DeAngelo Roads ribbon to memories untold Slag bums . Mail pouch bams Hard is good Shine helps Right... RUTHECKLES Right CHAD HADDIX A
St. Andrews University Student Newspaper
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Nov. 3, 1988, edition 1
12
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