Saturday, April 29, 2017

All The Wrong Places






Let's see here, what to take seriously? Sometimes my mind plays a random shuffle that mixes nuclear annihilation, loneliness and home intrusion. You begin in horror, panic. A stranger whacks you on the bottom so that you'll learn to breathe. Heck, everybody's a stranger. You're the smallest one in the room and you will be for a long time. Oh yeah, you're wet and you're naked, too.

Your consolation? A tit. Don't get too fond of it. They will ceremoniously remove your symbol of love and comfort and nourishment and call it weaning. Now that you can get used to. 

You will eventually be pried from your caregivers and placed in school where folks your size will attempt to socialize you with the supervision of teachers who are grown up strangers with a will to help you conform.

Biology will bring sexual awareness and ideas of romance. Those teachers will be ready to instill guilt and the objects of your lust will play roles in rejection and loss.

Of course I could go on with tales of loss through adolescence and middle age and finish 'er off with old age. Why bother? After "tit" it just all starts over.








Friday, April 28, 2017

Quitters and Others






Life's short. All lessons are about loss. You first hear that nothing is permanent as a young person. You don't understand but you don't forget. All you've got is love. That's okay. All you need is love.




Thursday, April 27, 2017

War Surplus






You make your own significance I suppose. When the curtain comes down I won't have a full house. It's not likely that there will be a fortune for the heirs to fight over. In fact there won't be any real heirs.

Memories of joy and love are my treasures. It seems funny to me that both of these are so readily available and yet we chase so many other shiny objects.

You like a good mystery? Study biology. Psychology. Anthropology.







Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Walk Me Up To The Door And Kiss Me On The Mouth






Maybe I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Not the brightest bulb in the box. So I'm a few threads short of a sweater, a few bricks short of a load. I may not have all my dogs on one leash and perhaps I'm a few Brady's short of a bunch.

What's your point?

I'll settle for luck and love. You're welcome to some of mine. I seem to be loaded.







Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Paper Cuts and Tears






Two concepts. One is real. Solid. You can hold it in your hand. I don't much believe in that one. The other is ethereal. Lots of folks would argue that it doesn't exist at all. I believe in that one. I've invested everything I have in that one.

There are smarter folks all over the world who bank on money. Presidents, sheikhs, movie stars and evangelists.

My clubhouse based on love over here is painted bright pink and is full of artists and hippies, poets and scientists. That other bunch refers to us as losers and ne'er do wells.

Those others won't give you any of their money. I'll give you all of my love.



                                    




Monday, April 24, 2017

On The Table






Too many memories. Age doesn't smooth the brain wrinkles. They just fill up. The ones based on the joy are welcome. Any time. The sad ones? They glow in tones of blue. Time doesn't heal anything, does it? Over time they just share space with more recollections.

We need each other. 

Be free with your love.




Sunday, April 23, 2017

Old Stuff






Its a proven fact that attorneys of a certain age will pay three time the value of a Fender stratocaster if it has been scuffed up. "Distressed," the marketing folks at Fender would prefer. Most of the stuff around here is now "distressed."

Me? I don't know much. I know more than I did before and I know enough to know that I don't know much.

I bought a pink stratocaster. Maybe I'll scuff it up myself. I didn't even go to law school.