A Rousing Game of Chance and Thievery

Lazy red eyed beauties
Empty heads with hollow cheeks
Somewhere west of yesterday
Empty pockets, one more - one more

Fatherless and empty souled
White shoed dancers / beggar kings
Them with yellow teeth and fading memories
On streets of shiny polished tin

Winners losers in between
Timeless place of light
Darkness hiding in the alleys
Beneath her nails, one more - one more

M. Monroe / Coal miners daughter
Silver slippers shining
Jesters in periphery
Dance a spinning twirling jig

Round and round, Red 34
21 to ride
While in that land where children cry
God remains that lonely pooh-bear

Speaking of Nothing.....Left with Nothing to Say

I used to think of myself as some sort of martyr. It seemed I was doomed to failure before I even began to think of what it was that I wanted to do. I used to think of my self as some sort of saint, carrying some unmentionable burden, a message to the world.

All of this was a lie. Most of the things that I wanted to say had no grounding in the truth. I suppose the main problem was that I had confused the man and the legend. My own story that I had been trying to weave as I went along was falling apart without the proper pieces in place, those key pieces grounded in reality that make it believable, make it true, or at least true enough.

( I have seen many things, saw many things. There are still many things left to see. )

The problem with it all, was that I couldn't grasp - couldn't get my mind wrapped around - the possibility I could achieve everything I ever wanted, help others along the way, and still have the time to tell everything to everybody that was willing to listen.

(Is there anybody willing to listen?
Was there anybody willing to hear?)

It's hard to understand, when looking at it from a step back, how things could have become so fucked, so twisted as to not even collect into anything close to cohesive. My mind was racing - one million miles or more at one sitting - and showed no signs of slowing. To this day it hasn't stopped.

( I once tried suicide -- thought about it at least -- but then all would be lost, my prophecy of failure becoming self-fulfilling. This was unacceptable. )

I tried writing it all down. Hell, I'm still trying. The words just don't seem to come out right any better on paper than they do in the air. The only problem with paper is permanence. Now, when things don't come out correctly they don't simply float away into the distance the way that utterances do. Now, with all these things placed neatly into the notebooks etc., they will be there for everyone/anyone to find when all is said and done.
Maybe no one will look for them.

Maybe that's the point of this whole thing.......