More of this

I was afraid. Less than an hour later I woke up. I needed a candy bar or something.

Doing this out of the love for what I was told to love I started writing, even though, life is so damn hard on me.

Critical assholes that drive nice cars as I walk on by tell me the things I already know.  The fundamental problem is they’ll never have to find the courage to get through what I’ve seen. Constant war and the counter still doubt the pain. I’ve read it and I don’t have time to lose it all. I’m a new philosophy, the evolution of philosophy, and it’s peaceful but angry. It’s about how it is. I’m not a pacifist but I’m not a fighter, and the projection of inner ideals is a tower of Taoist babble for slaves like me, and so being a journalist and not a philosophical freeman I went back to swimming in the mess. For a second though I was as happy as I’ve ever been. I was lost and talking and writing and wasting time focusing on the echo of the waking earth. It was like falling in love with a beautiful woman, I’ve done that maybe twice, and my eyes focused on the rainbow of lights reflecting off from everything. The tents and the violin sound of the hammocks bending. There was a slow rain and this was  good. I could hear the hooks swing from pins nailed into two trees looking like a sliver of the moon on a clear august night. It was as perfect of a cold summer morning in the northern jungle as there’s ever been… WAIT…!

There’s no time for any of this. I have a job to do. Like I said I’m not a damn poet. Luckily for the consumer of free existential news I snapped out of my beatific damn trance. Maybe I know that the job isn’t me but I have to do the damn job because this isn’t all about me. These words are as much for you as they are for the soul of my memory. It’s just that for one day I wanted to be me. The thing is there’s not enough time to be selfish. I’m expendable. These words are for the people who struggle, and for those who believe they’ll never be heard. I hope…

Forgetting about work and loving the nature of my words I started forgetting and forgetting and the whole time I was forgetting I was in many ways dancing alone. I jumped up and swung on a branch and fell into the day. I was transfixed on the end of the night that held together like tape a strange mix of fog and sun. The concentration of the wind was laughing in sorrow as you could feel the beginning of the rapidly aging leafs dying before the fall. This was the sound of a brand new day. In the distance there was the re-stringing of guitars and still, there I was. I was walking without shoes and loving the moment as feet didn’t care. My toes bent and slept as my mind was walking with sandals. I looked up and the blues were born, and as I sung alone and headed somewhere walking through the woods I said…

Settle down pal. You have a damn story to get.

The poetry ended like it usually does for men like me. That being the case it was time to get back to…


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