He is everywhere.
In towns, cities, provinces, settlements, families and countries.
This man knows no boundaries.
He is there in every village.
Everywhere mankind lives, he is there.
As long as a male human exists that is strange to his fellow man, woman and child; he will be.
He will exist.
Children sense his power the most. It seems it is an irony of humanity that the youngest should revere the eldest.
His presence is often brash, loud, misplaced and unwanted; and often called for in commonly overlooked ways.
He is a wizard.
A warlock, a sage of his times and of those before him.
This geriatric abomination is the savior of mankind, no one living would be able to thrive without him. The fact that he has lived this long is proof of his wisdom. With the culmination of his experiences and the cold, harsh reality that his life is long cast aside from the views of the youth; our unsung hero persists to live in this abhorrent manner for the benefit of humanity.
He is feared, shunned and often the brunt of jokes or confused, judgmental stares.
He is not well liked, he despises his own existence in ways his onlookers cannot fathom or comprehend if able.
His own life is a curse upon himself, greater than what bystanders would accuse him in their agony of exposure to him.
He’s often drunk, inebriated, jacked sky high on foreign unidentifiable substances.
He is also sober and doing far less drugs for longer periods of time than most would convict, from their groomed curbside views; as the general public flee his presence, their veins pumping vigorously with caffeine and painkillers. Not to leave out the hordes of sneering, “mindful”, elderly who brand him with their insults and remarks as they shovel their pills down the hatch hourly, in assortments that even candy doesn’t come in.
He looks like a beggar and acts like the only one who isn’t.
He yells at street signs and curses at people under his breath and comes out swinging when approached.
He has never tasted fast food.
If you give him a sandwich at an intersection, he will throw it at your car. If you hand him money he will wipe his ass with it and give it to passing children for ice cream truck money.
If you are under the age of seventy, and he calls you a “little shit”; he was trying to be nice, as you could have become much worse.
The changes in societies make him rant and the consistencies with the past make him sick.
If he is not bickering, he is about to strike.
He is the force that breaks any boundary of human influence or creation; he knows no fear that would stop his mighty charge into any debate. His will to intervene is unstoppable.
Where there is a youth in conflict with the “world” or troubled by the overwhelming weight of societal life, where there is a confused soul who is questioning all; he will be there, against your knowing or not.
When the temptations are baited, the thirsts are created for destruction and dismay; this elder will never back down, for there is not a trial he in his wisdom has not overcome. No hand of man exists that could strike his face, that would not yield his cunning wrath or morale crushing circumstantial wake. He knows the secrets of a human heart, which supersede anatomy. He will gladly perish to cast a spell of avalanching emotion or consequences from his actions or words.
He is in full control where all others spend entire lifecycles trying to learn or seize for themselves that which he possesses; the power to withstand human veils of deception, to “see” clearly while blind and reveal the exacting, balanced and unforgiving nature of reality.
In his time on Earth, there will be many times and many men; he will choose who he deems necessary to receive his wisdom. So if it shall be old ma’am, then it shall be!
A successor will be chosen.
Unbeknownst to these chosen few, they will become him.
He will bestow upon them magical powers; ones that are unique, ones that require a responsibility to use and exercise for the defense of the human species and more importantly life for its own sake.
These powers are real. They are not fireballs or lightning bolts or fantastic fantasies of fictional grandeur; they are the abilities to adapt and imagine, they are the power to be resolute and dedicated enough to build for yourself a “fireball”, a “cracked spear of lightning” or imaginative manifestation of your own “spells”.
He will teach that magic is very real and tangible. That mankind’s minds are a book of stories that exaggerate reality to compose a favorable scenario of divinity or mystic prowess.
The old man will show that the weak minded are the muses who fabricate illusions into real live threats and the strong minded are the ones who would use an illusion for such a purpose of control. The one who is balanced must protect them both, from each other, themselves and itself alike.
He will inadvertently teach that every living being is the same machine with different brand parts that all do the same things but won’t always be interchangeable. The colors of hair and skin are all the same to him.
The clothes or rags he wears do not represent him and he never becomes ashamed of the teeth he is missing. He will whistle and spit as he talks, he will eat like a goat, and he would touch and greet you generously with his grimy unkempt paws if you’d ever met him.
This frail disgusting creature of a man is the backbone and concrete foundation of the species, that most would refuse or pass unassumingly or in fear.
He is the one you look down upon that is better at life than you.
He was born before you and will be littering orange peels on your burial ground, long after it was graded over and converted into a community center.
He will have to smell your shit as a baby and then tell you what it what it smelled like as an adult, while laughing and making fun; then watch you fumble around in your life, acting like it is all figured out, after finally giggling about how it smelled when you shit yourself on your deathbed.
This is the man we all want to hate.
He is the only good man I have ever met.
I have learned so very much from him over the years.
Our lives, as long or short as we may or may not think they are; they are a drop of rain, a grain of rice, a single granule of salt to this wise old cocky sorcerer of tarnished light.
Don’t ever hand him anything or ever turn your back on him.
Don’t ever look at him unless you can handle a conversation with him.
Always love him; always be there for yourself and not him, when you are with him. He wants you to be strong, he wants you to survive, he wants you to eat shit and die.
He wants you to always know what you are doing when you cry.
Always talk to him, every single chance you get.
Always talk to Ol’ Man Jenkins.