The Narcissist

November 23, 2014

After he came home from the war,  I did not call my father,  Ted Sikora,  ‘daddy’ .  I called him ‘Ted’ , like everyone else.  This really pissed him off , to the point where he and my mother cornered me in the hall one night and he started to take out his penis in my presence.   My mother intervened.

There was never a time in my life when I could call him daddy.  He wanted me to , but I  just couldn’t.   I didn’t call him Ted either.  I figured out a way to not call him anything.

He had one major fault , or gap,  or coma in his personality.   He was a narcissist and was incapable of love for anyone but himself.    Like a bald guy  doing a comb over ,  he hid this.  In fact he was a master at it.    He used religion and money.  He always said he left his family “for the highest reasons” namely his adherence to the dogma of the Roman Catholic Church.  He toed the line, believing he was living a perfect life.  He had been excommunicated for “living in sin” so he moved out of the house.  He did it for God.

Unlike most veterans, he would not talk about the War.   This added an aura of mysterious virtue to him.   He had lived through something so horrible that he was sparing us the knowledge of this unspeakable unknown.  My nephew Chris suggested that he might have committed some atrocity in the war he was ashamed and guilty of.   I never thought of that.   My father was,  after all ,   supremely virtuous.

When I was six, about to start first grade, he left home for good.  He did something extraordinarily generous.  He gave me a dollar bill for ice cream.  I thought “What’s this ?  I’m trading my father for ice-cream ?”  I never got another nickel from him until he got rich.

At the same time I got married, my father got rich.  A Jewish golf friend had tipped him off about Mexican Telephone,  selling for eleven cents a share.  He bought a ton of it and it eventually went to $75 a share.   All of sudden , he had thousands of dollars to throw around,  though he spent nothing on himself.  He thought this was a magnificent virtue.  A self denying rich guy.

He used his money to buy the favor of Lynne’s kids.   And to punish any perceived insults.  He bought Lynne’s six kids cars and houses,  except for Carrey,  the retarded one.  He did not court her affection.

Eventually the sugar daddy took over and eliminated all of Lynne’s authority and respect as a mother.  She fell into alcoholism and four packs a day of Marlboros.  By 1990 she looked like she was dying.  I suppose she got a reprieve when my father moved to Florida in 1995 ,  but by then she was a broken person.  Her cocaine addled,  womanizing husband , whom my father admired as a hard working family man,  died in 1998, and some of the children were leaving home.

But there was still violence there.  The horrible Christmas of 2000 I was there when Susan , the second youngest , broke Carrey’s collar bone.  By this time Carrey had two boys of her own living there.  She would go out drinking and partying,   leaving Lynne with the kids and contributing nothing to the household.  The situation got tense and Carrey started regularly beating up her mother.

I kept encouraging Lynne to get them all out of her house, over the objections of my father and Amy.  They wanted to have Lynne committed to a mental hospital and wanted my cooperation.  I told them I would fight it to the end and they backed off.   Soon, the boys became teenagers and they too started beating up my sister.

Somehow, by 2009, Lynne performed the daunting feat of getting them all out of there.   She had about a year and a half of wonderful peace and quiet in which she regained her original personality as a sweet and life loving person.  Then in 2011, she was stricken , literally knocked down, by lung cancer.  She lived another suffering two years, then died the most courageous death I have ever seen,  with not a single complaint.

to be continued . . .

Terri : Thanks for wandering by here today , Seraphim !

Seraphim : My pleasure , lovely lady . . .

Terri : Seraphim , you are are not exactly a singer songwriter , or balladeer ,

just how would you describe yourself ?

Seraphim : I am a wandering minstrel , period .

Terri : Oooooh , gross !

Seraphim : A thousand pardons lovely lass , I am what I am .

Terri : Your ballads cover a wide range of subject matter . . .

Seraphim : Yes Terri ,

I treat of many things .

Of things seen and Unseen ,

known and Unknown

from Kuubla Khans pleasure dome ,

to the decay of Rome ,

to the Ganges where the dead do float

And King Arthor ‘s castle moat

You stare into my timeless gaze

into eternity ablaze

with the light of fires

and daunting desires

that nere burn on history ‘s page.

For , you had better know it ,

I am an oral poet . . .

Terri : Oh , Seraphim that was lovely ! What is that instrument you were playing ?

Seraphim :

It twas a Chinese lute

from a Shanghiah house

of ill repute, where there was :

A man named MacGruder

who met a lewd nude from Bermuda .

This lewd nude was crude

and exceedingly rude

but MacGruder was ruder

He screwed ‘er . . .

Terri : I ‘m going to pretend I did n’t hear that Seraphim . Remember , my audience is liberal , but quite prim . Do you always sing instead of speak ? You are kind of a walking opera !

Seraphim :

Yes , lovely girl :

It is my nature to tweet

and sing like Bluebirds sweet

or the thrush on Autumn’s way

Dost sway with the indolent hay

and grass ,

where I fain

would roll your ass

Sweet , nubile lass

of radio land . . .

Terri :

Thou hast deigned to make a pass ,

you are beyond the bounds of crass

Depart from me , thou cur

to thy hellish home sir !

The Pragmatic Bank

June 25, 2014

Pragmatic Bank


The Pragmatic Elite

never eat and never sleep ,


Hiring others

to tend their sheep ,


And hold tight the chair

that Dewey and James once shared ,


Where neither truth nor proof

shall come to light .


And the sheep shall be taught

to worship the quark ,


And deposit their money

in a pragmatic bank .

Untouchable Child

June 24, 2014


Conceived of gold

& water

and blasted

in the shards

of the alter

a cypher and reminder

of the terrible disaster

that plundered their lives

of joy

And left a boy free

to roam & smell

the loam

And taste the clover

& smoke tobacca

& cigars that

hung from


While bumble bees

tasted cherry


Too terrified to ride

that bull with the

ring in his nose

As the horse bent its neck to drink

out of what I thought was an ocean

and I would slide in anon ,

never to be seen again

I wish I ‘d never come ! “

I cried . . .

To my Uncle Carl

who liked to poke my side ,

but held me tight

And that night there was a sign

in the sky

in stars , in a black sky ,

a bow & arrow flew by

And Mawmaw took afright

and Uncle Carl said “ it’s all right “

Jackhammer Blues

June 24, 2014

Living in New York

aint soo bad

the people are friendly

and dont seem sad

But when you try

to sleep at night

you ‘ wake up

with a headache

from the jackhammer bite


I got the blues

I got the New York City

Mutherfuckin ‘



Jackhamma jackhamma hamma all night long

The cops is eat in’ pizza down at Bravos

Park Avenue is nice

But you will pay the price

When you come down with

them New york City

mutherfuckin ‘



Solitary Refinement

June 24, 2014

These last days of solitude

I had abhored

Five years of wars

& hard labors

have their reward

These last days of solitude

spent in confinement

result in refinement

These last days of solitude

I will remember

where I started

and the path

that led me to

the garden  . . .

Comedy Tickets

June 24, 2014


Where theres a way

theres a will

& where theres a will

theres a way

I heard the man in Dallas



we won the war

now we ‘re the whore

In the Fith Dimension

this is trite

soo we need to

get it right

That girl

had her derby screwed

on tight

The cost of comedy tickets

is outta sight !


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