But then again the lyrics in this particular piece make my lip curl and give me an idea that I would consider sharing with you but what fun would it be to tell you exactly what I am thinking.
Not much at all, especially when circumstances have flames shooting out of my nostrils and lasers out of my eyes.
Some have said it is because I am just another angry white man because they like simple explanations but they would be wrong…again.
Got more than a handful of people offering reasons and explanations that are variations of the one above and more than a few asking why I won’t back down.
Makes me want to tell my teen to look at what dear old dad has done and show how I painted myself into the corner because he has been known to do it too.
Except I did this knowing I am going to either jump from this space into the clear or use my fists to tear down the wall behind me.
Somewhere in the distance I hear the voices of the men who would tell me I know better go silent and we’re all ok with that.
Salt the earth and burn the bridges because sometimes the only way forward requires severing the past.
I am living in the space between frustration, rage and laughter but I can’t tell you where the lines are even with the help of the fancy new glasses.
It is a peculiar feeling this idea of giving up all semblance at control and just accepting that gut instinct is accurate.
Rational thought says a man with a dysfunctional digestive system is the last person to let his gut drive him but I can’t ignore these feelings and the ideas I won’t voice in anything but a silent whisper.
I have done the best I can and it will either be enough or it won’t.
I have walked through the garden and seen what Eden can be liked and I have lived outside of it with nothing but memories of what it was.
Someone told me they thought saying that was the saddest thing they had ever heard and I laughed.
Laughed because if you haven’t had your eyes opened to possibility you never think about the opportunity that might await you.
You never look up and see endless blue skies when the world is filled with storms because you never carried a passport to paradise.
So do I think about going back to the island and sometimes think about it?
Yeah, I certainly do. I say give me a weekend to confirm I am not crazy and my memory isn’t playing tricks 0n me, but I know better.
My memory is solid and what I recall was/is real.
Might not matter but maybe it does because when you have held the passport you understand that what was lost might be found again.
Doesn’t have to exactly as it was, it just has to be viewed in terms of living your dreams and not dreaming your life.
Don’t ask for details. Don’t ask for explanations. Don’t think, just be.
Had planned on doing far more writing tonight than I have done but adjusting to the new progressives is taking some of the steam out of me.
I am having a little bit of trouble focusing the way I want to, some of it because it takes a minute to adjust to the new shades and some of it for other reasons.
This gut feeling and sense of what is coming is weighing upon me but not necessarily in the proverbial sense of doom and dread.
I just feel it swinging back and forth and it has got a parade of thoughts and ideas flowing through the river.
Had played around with just ignoring it but there are 76 trombones in the marching band that are preventing me from doing so with the alacrity I wish to have.
So you can buy a ticket or take one and see if it gets you front row seats at the show. Or alternatively you can wait for the live performance to be taped and shared on cable/satellite television.
Anyway, I am out of here.
That is all that is left.