An Expatriation

“An Expatriation”
By
Brian Paul Dunlop



I cast myself amongst a new dawn. Betrayed by those hollow figures that walk amongst my home land.

Night was to its self like a string of threaded fiber - hanging low, blowing in the window.

Monday’s were new days about freedom of expression. Freedom of character.

Being alone. Individuality. A causality to the public. A blind eye and a sunken ear. This fear. This tyranny.

I have no fear. Nothing bothers me. Mother. She was a nice woman. Very demanding, yet very loving. Fire and ice, all at the same.

But who was father? Oh no, screw father. Who was father? No one was father, that’s who.

He was a shy, shell, mouse of a man. That who father was. So I killed him as mother laughed and all was right, again.

I know what mother wants and what mother likes. And that is a real man. And a real man takes what he wants and oh, the sex we had that night - the angels of Heaven and Hell were looking on in awe as we fornicated a labyrinth of peace and wonder.

And oh how I love her. Mother, if you only knew the thoughts I had as you drift off, deep into a dark slumber.

A slumber of beauty. A slumber of peace. One that drags on a peasant and looks to the east.

We are good people; mother and I. People in a new age generation that’s not stuck in a cage.

We were once blinded non-believers, now we can see thoughts and dreams that none could ever see.

I beat my chest, now, to a new rhythm. A new dawn. A new rise to an animalistic distinction that has flooded amass on a ship called, “Progression.”

And in Spalwin’s theories of economy; “New Age Progression” usually tends to lean to the east. Japan. China. They know what they’re doing.

And what a man that Spalwin is; so modern, so individualistic, so in-sync with an always changing world.

Like my father had to see; it either kill or be killed in this world - it’s always been that way and until we can all hold onto one solid grip of logic than it will always be like that.

But now, I have fled my state to a small apartment with my mother in France. A place where no one knows me. Something very different, yet very the same as my former home. But who cares? There’s still no love. Just a cold street. Just an empty alleyway. Devoid of reason. Devoid of peace.

There will be no end until the end has come to be. All hail the New Age Revolution. A time that’s right for me.

END.