; Cwyn's Death By Tea: Cwyn2 ;

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Saturday, December 3, 2016

Cwyn2

Hello it’s me, Cwyn. The real one, not that person who writes as me, the one who invented me and the one who is in charge, the genuine Cwyn article and today is my turn to talk. I need to tell you I’m sick of that bitch. For months now, she won’t let me do any tea or tea ware shopping. Normally I’m fine with letting her pick the tea as long as I get to pick the tea ware. But we mostly have a moratorium on shopping for all things tea, and it’s all her fault because she invented me and now I need to take over.

Actually she merely invented a new outfit for me when she started this blog. The only reason her sorry ass is still here is because I’ve been saving it since she was a little kid. I will tell you how. When she turned four years of age, her parents starting hosting drunken parties for political personages, and that’s when I was born. Some congressman came to the house and the Father said “You need to shake his hand.” Let me tell you, that girl shook in her saddle shoes. She is impossibly and annoyingly shy. So when the Father said “shake hands with the congressman” I appeared, smiling and confidently shaking hands with a firm grip. I passed the mustard that day and I make regular appearances to publicly represent the Writer because without me she can’t do anything.

This is where I have more than one objection. First of all, she subscribes to an outdated heuristics that regulates every bit of lifestyle, behavior and belief and by outdated, I mean centuries old like medieval. Heuristics is one of her words, and I’m hurling it at her like a molatov cocktail. If you don’t know what heuristics means, the important part is that it holds her back, and even more importantly holds me back. All of it is well and good when you are comfortable behind a brick fortress with three hearty meals a day cooked by someone else, but in the real world it sucks balls, or should I say that I am sucking balls on a daily basis because of this medieval bullshit. You can talk peace and enlightenment until you turn blue but at the end of the day the one who thrives, the one who prospers, the one who evolves the human race is the self-server with a large mirror. Yes, the ones with the bouffant, the bee hive and the orange hair. We are the ones who are the chosen, the ones who get elected to run the show despite short periods of intermission when briefly the audience thinks the quiet non-productive moments rest the mind, but in truth are all about reapplying lipstick for Act 3. I can tell you that Act 3 is nearly at a close and the fat lady either sings or we fail the Times.

As much as people probably admire the Writer, and I give her that she is smarter than I am, what everyone really wants is a dictator. They want someone large and in charge to fix things. I am mainly relegated to tea ware shopping at the moment and this is because the Writer is failing on every level. I plan to let her fail so that she knows she needs me, but I’m annoyed as hell at the cramp in my lifestyle on a daily basis lately. It’s bad enough that we must live in the Midwest for the stupid reason that she likes the food, which I admit is a perk but in reality we need to get the hell out of here along with anyone else with serious balls and forget this diet of oatmeal and cow’s milk which is for babies and not real women. I plan to leave and I’m taking her tea with me.

Sheng puerh is a cooling beverage, and the more cramped I get the more of it she has to drink to keep me in line, or at least anesthetized enough to forget where we are and how boring life really is. The Writer’s mother had the good sense to at least move to Arizona at age sixty instead of putting up with this harsh winter climate. Personally I can’t see myself sweltering away in the southwest but it’s better than Minnesota or here in Wisconsin and a step up too. Anywhere for god’s sake is better than four feet of snow and decades below zero temperatures and wearing the same sweater for days on end. The worst part is we start drinking shou or even hongcha instead of the blessed sheng puerh which we all know has far more social status but when the weather is too cold I don’t even get my one comfort in this bleak existence.

The only reason I’m complaining is because she invented me, and by rights that means she has to support me. Otherwise, I’m going to LA where I can barhop in West Hollywood as I am meant to do and smoke a bong in front of my outdoor fireplace with a sofa and pillows I don’t have to bring indoors. Did you know that she doesn’t even have a deck for the two months of the year it’s possible to sit outside? She has fancy ideas about a cell and contemplation of existence and observing the self which explains the entirety of her failure at least on my behalf. One of us is thoroughly secular and rational but unfortunately all too rarely in charge which means everyone is simply bored out of our skull.

Fortunately, I was the one who raised the child and this is why he has a career and she doesn’t. In fact, I did such a good job with the boy that the Writer didn’t even reveal herself, not once, until the child was fourteen when she took him out for a snack at the American Table on Sherman and told him about the convent. He said, “Are you crazy? What happened to my mother?” The boy is blessedly rationalist because I carefully made sure he wasn’t saddled with the outdated medieval bullshit, and now because of me the damn heat bills get paid. Or don’t get paid because SHE doesn’t qualify for Energy Assistance, and definitely not because I shop for tea ware.

I will shut up now. I will shutup shutup Shut Up. You’re a bitch and aren’t fooling anyone with all that pacifist crap when you know I will never stop shooting that rapist in your bedroom who I will stab to death to protect your illusions of purity when you know what we’ve done, what I’ve done, and what I would do all over again and more of it too and more is better for the both of us, why don’t you just start, finally start, get up and wash that wig before we are done and can’t move and can’t drink sheng again. Please, you’re not that bad just let me take care of you for five minutes and I can make it all better. Yunnan Sourcing is having a sale, right?




2 comments:

  1. This was a powerful read, Cwyn. Funny and moving at the same time. Thank you for writing, I look forward to every post.

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  2. You are a weird and wonderful human being, and I hope you're OK. I'm going to go make the last of my best tea in your honor.

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