Some times I think I’m a writer because I’m cursed as a human being.  Like everything in my life that hurts, hurts more than it should and everything that is good… feels lighter and more blessed.

And the shore tastes so good.  Broken are the rains that come down even in the sunshine in the middle of your eyes.

Its hard for someone like me to be alone on certain days.  Even with a faithful sidekick (pet), even with the light of a new path ahead…

You’d wonder if I think too much… but that isn’t true.  People don’t have enough imagination to think too much.  We are still Apes.

No but there is a spiritual component to thought.

I press too hard on the thoughts that I have, I bleed just to bleed and a little extra for the world and for that which I do not understand.

In a world without saints full of sinners, wealthy, are those that spend hundreds over cocktails at brunch wealthy? or is wealth a man that gets to the bottom of what he feels?

I wonder about how my personality could have, can maybe still change the world.

I wonder about why not having her hurts and deeply, why my heart feels like the roots of a tree exposed to a brisk and offensive afternoon rain.

And maybe there is no point to where you are going.

Maybe you do love her, maybe you can’t get enough of him, or maybe your marriage is a lie and its your son and his choices that still hold the torch out beyond judgement.

You never choose misery but maybe there’s a way to slight it and push it up slightly by the moss and pink flowers of the green.

There’s a part of me that wants to be cool.

And there’s a part of me synonymous with outer body rapture.

Why that movie couldn’t be better, why lust follows me down both alleys, why I’m not more ahead, why I simply can’t be optimistic about the rest of my day!

After all, a day is gold, and a day in the sun with good weather and decent health is pure gold.

And a day in the sun, with good weather, decent health, a little rum and sad music…

Is silver.


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