Deconstructing a Soap Opera

A man and woman end up in bed. Their conversation is tender and docile but there is a definite undercurrent of evil. Some woman starts crying. Another woman joins her. A display of unharnessed, poorly acted female emoting ensues. A man walks in, witnessing the commotion. He leaves immediately. Distinguished old guy tries to run his daughter's life. She gets all feisty and bothered. A few choice words by him lets her know that she won't be choking any money out of him anytime soon. She pouts. He works her over like a puppet. She's reduced to a sobbing wreck. His work is done as evident in his cold, detached demeanour, like he's done it a thousand times before and it keeps getting easier. He pours a drink and contemplates. Man and woman try to work it out with steady eyes and solid hearts. Everybody gets all hot and bothered for a moment. OK. For an ETERNITY. Completely inappropriate romantic music interlude. Man tells woman that he "understands". Woman gets all corporate and businesslike. More relationship talk. Even more relationship talk. Woman looks all pouty with dull, deceiving eyes. Man looks all pouty and stupid eyed. Commercials feature a lot of unnecessary commotion and lots of expensive shit. Back to the show. So and so talks about so and so's relationship. Men look all serious and corporate in their finely tailored suits and diamond hard smiles. Woman tries to talk some sense to her daughter who it should be said has a downright sexy bad attitude. Two women talking. Close up of brilliant acting moment as woman covers her face with her hand in a state of shock and disbelief at the news that her love life is completely fucked. Good looking smooth as shit type gets his fuck on. This guy is so on point he makes them BEG and they love it. Very respectable wardrobes I suppose. Not a microscopic hair out of place. Everybody functions like well oiled machinery. More dancing around the issues relationship talk. Woman tells man that she "understands". More emotional pornography ensues. A silent, perfect tear erupts from a tear duct. A quiet moment of contemplation ensues allowing the viewer to brace themselves for the predictable excitement to come. Some suit and tie guy gets all hot and bothered as his expensive haircut is the focus of the perfectly angled lighting. How very brave of him to look so handsome. Sexy young woman walks in. They exchange an ocean of passion. So far no skin problems. There are no cattle mutilations. A mannequin walks in. Oh...wait. That's not a mannequin. More relationship talk. A man and woman end up in bed together exchanging mellow love vibes and the credits role. Those script writers are really earning their money (uhhhh....sarcasm?) Now turn your TV off. It's over and you've got dishes piling up.

Call it Happiness

I have found the perfect headspace
to molest the keyboard
and make love to old demons
to be labelled and filed away
for another day
the words are still with me
despite feeble attempts
to pacify them
from outside influence
by learning to be comfortable
with the strange paths of desire
by growing further away from
the fragile identity of old
and into a new skin
I can move around in
there is no longer
an obligation to the dead
no impossible virtues
that need to be fed.