i've been living in the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress for 7 years.
it still needs to be painted,
there are still boxes of books in the back bedroom,
and the home-improvement projects i began back then
are largely still unfinished.
y'know what they say about seven years of bad luck?
what if it's for sounding like a broken record,
instead of breaking a mirror.
i repeat myself,
over and over and over.
i have to admit, my whole life echoes back and forth
in a decreasingly fidelitous copy of a copy.
hell, for half of those long years,
i've been so busy, every damned day,
and working so much, and so often,
that i can't really even remember why.
all to amass seven unlucky cycles around the sun,
right here in the woodsly goodness.
so what's different?
what's the same?
i've got a needy, greedy, unheeding beast, just like seven years ago;
i've got a girl who isn't staying, just like seven years ago;
i've got days chock full of all work, and no play, just like seven years ago;
i've got the same five year plan that's not going to reach fruition for a bit......
just like seven years ago.
when you really lay it out there,
all the sexxxy food and folksy art and flowery words in the world
aren't going to dress up the naked facts so that they look better.
the truth is much much uglier than a lie,
but damn does it sure feel a whole lot more real.
there are some differences between then and now:
i AM balder, and older, and waaay more broken, busted, and beat up-
so there's that.
is that change or attrition or decay?
or all of that at once?
seven years on,
i can safely say i'm feeling a whole lot like this:
stay ugly, stay dope?
i dunno. neighbors.
after being buried for what feels like forever,
followed by the quickest glimpse of daylight bright enough to
provide for a wild scrambling search for an acceptable partner?
...it's all over.
i had a better run than ^^this^^ A*hole.
poor dummy picked the scorchingly hot pavement to play out his drama upon.
and i'm pretty sure that's the worst-set stage to act on.
let's just hope that's not part of the parallel between it and i, then.
i'm just sayin',
if this is the worst place,
and i'm still here?
you get the idea.
maybe the time limit is up?
maybe the statute of limitations is lifted?
maybe there's room for more good things,
and maybe even time to work a little less.
i honestly can't see it,
i was up every hour on the hour,
letting a sick puppy spray some sour sauce from both ends,
over and over and over.
the thing of it is:
i've got the same problem,
but i think mine is from goodbye-related stress.
what is there to say?
strong men have strong feelings, kids.
and a strong kick in the guts will get you a strong response.
i would've loved to hook up a mexican monday,
or a meal worthy of a rabbit-rabbity celebration,
but my heart wasn't in it.
my cooking is a reflection of my being-
and maybe that's the mirror that's a little bit cracked.
nobody who knows anything likes ugly food,
and nobody thinks that food made to fulfill an obligation,
instead of being made with love, tastes any good.
y'gotta go all in, or get all out.
it's ALL really happening,
it's the same, but different,
it's a low-budget remake of an unbeloved box-office bomb.
we know the ending, we know the score, we know the rules.
we let it choke us;
never quiet, never soft.......