Sometimes I find myself stricken with what I’ve written. It’s an admission. And now I’ve put myself in a position of wishin’ I could be content just fishin’ for praise and compliments instead of having the confidence to raise hell on this mission of trying to sell words for a livin’.
Dang! After that intro maybe I had better sling my pants low and go for a roll in my six-four. Remind all peeps on the street that the nine in my mind is always cocked and ready to bust nouns, verbs and other words into the ears and eyes of punks, gangsta’s, regular type folks, nuns, racecar drivers and nerds. I am now officially absurd.
How much can be said without saying much of anything at all? Write speeches for insincere leeches, soul-sucking devils stealing gullibility while careening down the campaign trail. Make snappy sounding bites that talk away our rights. And at night when you turn out the lights, sleep tight in the knowledge that what you do for money ain’t right honey. Ain’t a damn thing funny ‘bout that.
Twisting, rolling, turning, diving. Plagiarizing from a collage of my own life experiences, a memory album of flashes, dashes, eyelashes, booze, drugs, sunshine and sadness. Memories of being mostly cashless and mad. Short flares of opulence here and there, traded for joy and pissed away faster than you can blink. And the many times I was too ignorant not to ruin for future regret. But one shot at time is all we get. Experiences can be attempted again, but never for the first time. Make the most of the unknown and go home glad you had the courage to go all-in even though you knew you might not win, and you’ll win every time.
How much does a smile cost? A frown costs possibilities we’ll never have, because anger and unhappiness scare away everyone’s dreams. Kill joy with that mad mug and never see what feeling better could have found. Raise sad spirits and together float upward into limitlessness. No limits to those whose expressions shine like lights. Flights of fancy turning full days to fancy nights. No “no” ever got to the top of the tower. Power isn’t the ability to create darkness but the desire to lift the willing. Killing isn’t what kings do, it’s the mighty illusion of fools.
Happiness comes from golden rays of sunshine that come down when you’re feelin’ blue. Touché Bobby Boucher, you and your crazy mamma might not be the sharpest tools in the shed, but what she said.
Another crossroads, one more in a long life of lost yesterdays. This one leads to tomorrow though, so where it goes I won’t know until the future passes into the past. I hope it’s a gas. Wherever it leads I won’t be locked in the back of the bus; a prisoner to poor choices, habitual failure, and apathetic defeat. Hands on the wheel, steering an ungainly baggage-hauler along an unknown road in the dark, overjoyed to be alive again and speeding like a blazing comet through the sky. Some might say it sounds like a good way to die, but me, I’m thinking it sounds like the best way to live.