Double Angels

Narrated portrait of domestic-complexity yielding self-illuminations of all that's American...and perhaps rich.

A domestic-values vignette, loosely inspired by Flesh and Bone (Dennis Quaid). 

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My father was an alcoholic. There's nothing special or extra credit of such a claim-tale. Well, it ingrained me a special Earthling-angst, and drew me to science-fiction (arts), perhaps for an 'escapist-feel' for (American) readings of lifestyle-cutting/pasting (haha). However, this tale's not about my troubled-dad but two ladies I met while visiting Dartmouth, at a frat-reunion gathering I'd been invited to, but I didn't want to disclose such a 'truth' for social-media culture commentary/chat, which is why I opted to write it down, for a photo-synthesis.

DENISE: Bleu-cheese on pizza, good-boy?

SHELLEY: Ranch is traditional more, no?
ME: You two are gorgeous (haha).

DENISE: Why bleu-cheese, hon?

SHELLEY: Exotic-pizza taste(s), eh?
ME: I'm taking you home with me (from Dartmouth!).

DENISE: No explanation for the bleu-cheese 'claim' tonight.

SHELLEY: We'd love to spend extra credit time with ya, Romanticism.
ME: It's something from childhood; dad drank and threw cheese at TV.

DENISE: Very hard; thanx for the disclosure, good-boy.

SHELLEY: We're magazine-models, did you know?
ME: Nice country for that...I don't bring girls home (only to hotels).

DENISE: Waiting for marriage, transcending a dark-past, good-boy?

SHELLEY: We'd be your double-angels for this life-path of yours, hon.
ME: Cool...it's not that bad, but non-drinking dad is at home I'd take you two.

DENISE: Don't want that...bad for fashion-culture threat(s), eh?

SHELLEY: Cool (bureaucracy).

Sure, Denise/Shelley became my double angels for that 'reunion-examination' weekend in the Homeland, and I gifted them a parting robot-toy when we connected for Valentine's, and I promised I'd seek a home-life (of my own) to transcend the dark past of alcohol's flares and axes-hands of dark-domestic life in America (sure). I didn't tell them all the details of pizza-chess/emotions, but I did share with them my extra credit 'love' of science-fiction bureaucracy (arts).

DAD: Why not bring your friend here, sonny?
ME: No chance, father; this is your cave, and I'm an American trekker (surely).

DAD: Don't change your mind...I don't like shape-shift.

ME: Of course you do not; no one does; not even angels.

DAD: Share our house-photo on Facebook, sonny?

ME: Maybe; for a sci-fi UFO tale (or something 'cool' like that), father.

DAD: Good luck (real estate knowledge).

Did I tell you my dad invested in a petrol-company using some of his life-earnings and fashioned himself to be something of a 'prototype-American' (cowboy?) for capitalist-race 'chess' imagination? He'd always been an eccentric, but I didn't want the emotion-brain of life-education to cloud my distances to self-made American daydreams, which is why I always saw myself as a 'searcher' of direction image (for bureaucracy!).

We (Denise/Shelley) had great bleu-cheese pizza that Romanticism-weekend during which I made (myself!) a promise to find true-love and my (own) home-life, transcendence of real darkness/concern of childhood-mentalism (hmmm). Perhaps it was pizza that would save my senses of light-and-hues (for consumerism-sanities and American living).

Did the double angels save me, and did I not think too hard (more) about keeping them 'safe' from troubled-daddy in the Homeland (America)? After moving to the States from Algiers, I decided my social-media culture 'growth' would concern a self-image of all that's (simply) bound (for the Ego).

DAD: An expensive football-trophy (for us?).

ME: For you, father; a man who never won the Super Bowl (sunny-Florida!).

DAD: You're thinking of the ambition-senses in your old-daddy.

ME: Cool...we'll blend into America in a direction-path (for bureaucracy).

DAD: Some things better left...down.

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). 

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)