I suppose war is really just the absence of love. Furthermore, love remains the one thing that money can't buy. Cable news footage of the babies and the elderly and the dogs and cats play on a loop that will remain with me for what's left of this life.
Our hearts ache for the people of Ukraine while one madman, again, murders masses with the detachment of a naughty boy pulling the legs off a beetle.
It's difficult to avoid hate, close to impossible to muster pity.
We're all looking for something, aren't we? Trying to fill a void. Scratch an itch. Get back home. Prove something to somebody.
Einstein managed to explain to us gravity and time and space. He knew that if he lived long enough, he would give us that theorem that connects us all. He knew he wouldn't.
Now, sir, I'm no Einstein. I'm guessing you knew that.
I can tell you, however, that the piece of the puzzle that they all search for is love. Look at it from the rooftop or with an electron microscope. Outer space or with Grandma's magnifying glass.
Oh, I could go on. The poets and the scientists do. I suggest you do your own research.
My most productive time, in my estimation, has been what might be perceived as time wasted. I was born for pandemic times.
Over the years, I've been allowed into several groups, peripherally. Old money gave me a shot. Funny, because, by definition, it's a closed loop. Of course my socialist preaching got me kicked out of that one over time. I like to think that I would have abandoned them if they hadn't kicked me to the curb first.
What do you do with a journalist who can't type. an artist who can't paint, a poet who won't rhyme, a seeker who doesn't believe? In my defense, in some ways, I believe it all.
The notion of advanced placement came along just as I was coming of school age. Testing results had me in accelerated or advanced classes from the start. Those truly brainy kids always knew I didn't belong there. I seem to have puzzled and disappointed a long line of teachers along the way, too.
I suppose I could go on about my love life or my music career, business interests or investment history. I don't mean to brag.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.
Would you trade your memories for more time? Friend, I never even bargained with the devil to play guitar better. Inadequacy is my strong suit. Makes other folks feel good about themselves.
Knowing that I'm the end of this genetic road is, somehow, comforting.
Now I know that I was never meant to marry. Of course it took some marrying to figure it out and I apologize to those affected. All I ever really wanted, I suppose, was a blood brother or sister. Can't stand the sight of blood, though.
Some of us do more with borrowed stardust than others. On some days I strive to be kind, and on some, I strive to be me. On my best days I don't think about it. I hope I'm kind.
Wind and rain take care of the ashes, but what about the memories?
These guitars still have some melodies in them. If only these stories rhymed.
Is there any such thing as an empath? Is limerence a real thing? Earlier in my life, I knew folks who were schizophrenic. Diagnosed. Official.
Seems to be a rarer breed these days. Bipolar disorder is a lot more fashionable, at least in my circles- if, in fact, I traveled in circles.
Forget plastics, Ben. If you wanna sleep with Mrs. Robinson or her daughter; if you long to be a movie star or launch a cult- study linguistics. You just need to know what to call yourself.
