Fun, what is it¿ where did it go? why did it leave¿ how can i find it again? Is this as good as it gets - slowly going blind amidst human beings that don’t seem to want to see. At one time in my life i could have a blast watching grass grow; scaring myself shitless going too fast in cars i wasn’t even driving; chasing broads that acted like they didn’t want to get laid. Anymore i believe them - been married too many times not to · I am not that same boy; i still take great pleasure in admiring the arch in a woman’s back, but more enjoy the radiant smile that comes from deep within - the sort of smile that has to crawl past the pain to find light enough by which to grow. My greatest hope for companionship is developing the compensatory skill from fading sight such that i can point the way for those with smiles not so damaged from grief that they can still take root given ample light and loving care.
Talk about your blind leading the blind, but if you have to believe in something i pick happiness that is mostly found in helping joy to flourish in a miserable climate, be that too much hate, too much heat, or not enough good dirt to grow in. The lotus it is said requires the remnants of its dying brethren for nutrients that come from decay. Do you think if i cogitate properly it is possible to leave nutritious rotting memories where once stood a vibrant man? I do not foresee fruit of my loins arriving anytime soon, but i am willing as fuck to work at it under the right guidance - not that of a vain spirit evaluating her sperm donor by his wealth or standing but one who gauges value on the purity of heart. Even based on that dicey criteria, the best i have to offer is a fairly thorough self-awareness of just how depraved i have been.
Not from intention, but from paying heed to the wrong spirits seeking my protection, more from their demons of greed and conceit than the kind encouragement of how much of a love farmer i could actually be. I have yet to find "her," which does not mean she doesn’t exist, only that i haven’t found her amongst the 1,000s of women i have loved for a minute, a day or a marriage - a woman that would see as deeply into my heart as i must without running home to mama. I know she exists, because my own mother did not smother me when she had the chance, not that she ever let me forget that tender mercy - only that it was seemingly the only thing in her life that wasn’t my fault. What she has bequeathed me is a wit as dry as “Death Valley” and a fury hot as “Furnace Creek," which may be why the only thing Pop was able to help me understand about women - be cool ·
He was right, but it gets awful fucking lonely loving from a distance. I can only imagine how hard it must be for “her” holding all the cards and having no idea what to do with them except take all the chips and go home. I guess i’d be okay if i could find out what home means; the way Ma explained it when i asked, “Home is where you go and they can’t turn you away,” still being the magnificent broad she be to this day and to add emFaSis on the siLaBul, when i was 15, she changed the locks to the home i grew up in and would not give me a key. It must have had a bigger impact on my siblings, wondering why they got keys and i did not. Still The Wizened One she was, based mostly on the subsequent behavior of my kin, forced me to peer more deeply into the meaning of Home than my siblings. I do not say this with rancor, but with pity for what they clutch at as substitutes for sanctuary seem more like coffins than loving abodes from which to welcome guests.
I have my skin including all that is within - and sometimes when there is a knock at the door, i will open it and share as much as i have with whomever wishes to visit · Sometimes there is no answer and no entrance allowed regardless of rank or privilege. Of course i’d prefer to be that unconditionally loving spirit who discriminates not and whose home is simply a way station for travelers lacking anyplace to rest; if access is denied, i try to leave refreshments close by, like this essay for those addicted to entertainment or art that i have created that was beautiful to me and so may quench the thirst of those whose eyes tire from the endless ribbon of highway from “Woody’s Lore.” Warmth is a dicier comfort that is best found within, for to rely on others to heat up coldness within leaves you at the mercy of a seemingly cold-hearted world; i learned this commiserating about the chill in the air one early morning long ago from a wise friend “Rander” Bulla, whose laconic reply was useful then, useful now - “think warm thoughts”· as to staying kewl · that’s easier, FOCK FUSSIL FUEL . .. ···
jts 27/12/2020
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