My fingers are all cut up. It was visceral, last night. A full load of emotions all built up to singing, screaming and playing to the maximum intensity as I was capable. I recall almost passing out at the microphone. And if I fell, who might catch me?
Sunday Morning Thoughts: 6.3.18
To be honest would be to say that something feels ill inside of me. Somewhere in what the poets call a soul. The desire to be positive in all this exists. But to tell truths requires straying away from the sunshine and such themes.
Sunday Morning Thoughts: 10.8.17
I see it there. Swaying before my eyes. As it was the day before, and before that. Always there. A different carrot sometimes, but a carrot just the same. And always the same stick. They never mention actually reaching happiness, at least not with grand admiration. The pursuit, however, is quite the big deal. Right…