Spirit vs. Flesh

All life's beautiful mysteries converge in  psychedelic array for me at this particular time of my life. I suppose that our past is always clearing the bush for a present, for a future. Every heartbreak and every loss leans in to remind me that nothing is permanent. Loss, in one form or another, awaits every celebration. You have only to browse the dusty family albums in the thrift store for evidence.

Maybe I have acted rashly, with abandon, regarding matters relating to others' well being. I regret having ever hurt anyone else in my pursuit of some precarious paradise.

For the last decade I have isolated myself from most social activity swirling around me. A pandemic sealed the deal. I was almost fashionable. Losing Jamaica and Angel left me alone to figure out who I am and why I am. Obviously that's not a task that you complete. I'm embarrassed to tell you that I've gotten good at lonely.

Oh, there are invitations. Some of them involve a touch of pity and charity. That's alright. It's always very sweet to have someone thinking of you. If I haven't been out and out happy, I've been tranquil. Peaceful.

Now, an angel shows up. I'm reminded of laughter and beauty and all other things holy.

My definition of angel and heaven and ghosts and magic won't match yours. I know that. I know what I believe, though, and I believe in luck.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.

 

No Safe Word

Seems to me, if you need a "safe word,"maybe you're rolling around with the wrong person. Me? I trust pretty much everyone and nothing bad ever seems to happen to me. Oh, I would probably make a fairly good victim- not too much work, but I seem to be lucky. Yeah, there are other words for it. I don't believe any of that stuff and, yet, I believe it all.

These are the best days of my life, literally. I'm pretty sure that better ones are in my future. 

I should probably go buy a lottery ticket but I can't be bothered. 

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.

 

Some People Never Learn

 

"The heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care."

Most folks learn from their elders. Teachers. Parents. Must I learn the same lessons over and over from long dead poets? Yeah, I guess so.

I knocked, probably too loud, too hard. Too early for company, but the door opened. I began rambling and didn't stop for nearly two weeks. Art, politics, epicureanism, hillbilly music, romance- stuff I know absolutely nothing about. Didn't even slow me down.

My desire to show my worst side puzzles me.

Reminded that I'm alive, I realize that I have to learn how to do it all again.

Those songs ain't gonna write themselves.

With The Cows

Living hasn't been on my agenda for a while. Oh, I've eaten. I've slept. I've written. I just don't bother to finish anything. The concept of joy faded over some time. 

Chaplin can make me laugh for forty minutes but I know that I'll be crying when the circus pulls out and he walks down the road alone.

I've stored little bits of joy all over the house. I don't get 'em out very often.

Every bit of music that I care about is right here. I don't listen to it. 

Happy is so overrated.