Let me tell you what I know about life.
Possession and possessiveness and luck.
This is what I understand.
When I claim something as mine, be it intangible, or solid. I expect it to be mine. I want it, and everyone else, to know I have conquered and claimed.
I do not believe in sharing, equalization, or equality. None of us started out the same, how can we possible claim the illusion of equal footing? That is just what government feeds those who are down on their luck and need a little kick to feel like they can be somebody. Bullshit. The luck of the draw I say, the luck of the draw.
I was born in a private catholic hospital. The care was high, the admission higher. But the hospital was a tribute to God, and of course to those who could afford it. There were many babies born on the same day. We were all placed in lacey bassinets, lined up in a glass room. A petting zoo for people. The baby next to me, Samuel R. Houffintin, went home to a well off family, a large house, and two small dogs.
My parents were acquaintances of Mr. and Mrs. Houffintin and would allow us to play together 2 times a week.
4 years later, when the stock market crashed, Sammy’s parents lost it all. The family dropped out of social status, and sightings. Who knows what happened to little Samuel? Rotton luck, really. As luck would have it, I was born into a wealthy family. That stayed wealthy. My parents were well to do sort of people. Never a shortage of anything. Me, born gifted, talented, handsome, and intelligent, to a family of high social standings and wealth. That my friend is luck. Does that make me better than you?
Or even better than Samuel?
Well that depends where your value judgments lay. But I would say, at the very least, that I was better off.
So now that my marriage is failing, now what?
Poor me?
No, I have never been poor in my life.
Miserable, yes. Anxious, yes. Hollow, yes. Dead, definitely yes. These things I have been. But never poor.
My father use to say that the measure of a man is his means.
That makes me very rich, in everyway. It is my possessions that I own. It is my possessions that make me who I am. It is that moment when you are handed over the papers, the bag, the receipt, the keys. It is that moment, that moment of MINE. That is life. The possessiveness that follows, that’s love to varying degrees.
My father use to say, all he ever needed was a fine scotch on the rocks. I don’t think he ever really understood the nature of need.
Regardless, he was always a lot easier to please.
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