Always more gals. Always more wars. Only one writer.

And hey, let’s slow down a second, because time moves and the love dims and the gals they always move on; they always find love in those that will never be me, the writer. This fact, molded subjective pretense to my story. Sure. True. But always more gals. Only one writer. Ha. And you have to stick up for yourself once in a while. Try it, for it tends to keep me going. 

Alone in my room and shivering the winter thawed and I kept saying over and over, I’m never going home. I’m never going back to my hometown, and I’m going to go, go far away, and I don’t know where.

And damn, yeah, I went far out there, but also yeah, and now, I ended back in my hometown, but I’ll get to that at the very end of this story. In the meantime of la-la-la those days, the scars they healed, demons were laughed at, and depression twas’ lost.

Time gone and done got itself misplaced in those theories of science of brain matters and joy matters of fact matters were learned. And mother fuck, at the very same time when I was sobering up so was America. Nine eleven fading and America hoped and dreamed much like I did in isolation, but still this whole crazy country still managed to find new wars, new enemies to kill. I forgot about this girl and that girl and that girl, and America forgot about that war and that war, and friends died, friends buried, and parents long gone and pharmaceuticals made me happy as doctors told me that depression was just a stage of being a kid. Back on track and memory erased, nope, nope sir; I was no longer depressed. I started graduate school in cognitive science trying to articulate this problem in artificial intelligence called for some reason The Frame Problem. Classes and lectures and beers with the suits, and hot damn, America elects the first black man to the highest office of these ol’ lands. The Big O, an African-American president with such a similar background as my own, and next to Han Solo, Ernest Hemingway and Bill Clinton, now here we got us a proper role model, and people cheer, cry, and by the millions they pray and thank Jesus and Buddha and even the gods that they just made up from scratch, but they all thank each other, for the future of peace is here… and what…what now?