Relativity

SOME of you may have had a normal Christmas...but then you cannot be acquainted with PSYCHOPATHS, as I am, darling...

Pity then, poor Faisal, who has been obliged to endure the most histrionic of inter-relationships, right here in front of his face, as if he had no - what do you call it - no sense of self-preservation or dignity? Yes I, who barely nudged his way out of a lunatic asylum loft apartment re-converted factory space, hands fulls of bulging designer bags and bits of lunch left over from a way-too excessive menu, thanks to the assistance of a map-less geriatric taxi-driver, to a home, here in the outer suburbs where simply NOBODY lives. And I it was who crawled home without reindeer, away from a situation unspeakably discomforting...
Santa is a woman, or my niece is growing snow here in summer, from out of her upper lip, can you believe it?

Or would it be preferable to believe this, a supposed nephew, so struck by Christmas spirit, he has lost all sense of hairstyling and has become a simple parody of his photographer's imagination, or mine?
You may very well be caroling tonight,you n your snowy and lofty alpine villages, but SOME of us must sit at our computer-screens, wan with anxiety, desperate to know if we will make it through to a day without such - forgive me darling - WEIRD - relatives?  Spooky? I just call it fate, or Christmas.

It was all going to be so simple, wasn't it, Zara?

There were going to be some pixies and some fluffy stuff, but nothing WRONG was going to go on, was it? I sat there, and I waited, out in the sunshine, for hours on end, for lunch to appear, attempting to photograph the nearby rooftops and the struggling pot-plants at my feet.

How very fortunate I was, then, to meet up with my little Christmas brother, this moose, who said to me, on behalf of various psychopaths and bad-hair survivors including the balding ones who may look like me, I am supposed to have been relating to: "mate, you gotta believe or you'd go mental".