Losing My Way

He rode around on the train until the moon rose high into the night sky, when he got off in the Midway and walked down Snelling Avenue until he reached a church. Nearby was a golf course. He walked across and then, on the other side, there were some trees, where he decided to stop.

The fever! I feel it in the sound of the distant drumms/ for the natives are restless and soon will come/ to reclaim what has always been theirs./ My portion of the bounty I will gladly surrender./ All I ask is to be killed last/ so I may see my neighbors squirm/ and hear their pitiful cries. It was only a dream...sorrow.../ o if only it had been real,/ but instead I am just a poor man/ and the drumms are not beating/ and the natives are cozy and fat./ Curling up in front of the TV/ to watch their favorite shows,/ there are some things no one wants to know.

The tears were inappropriate, but we expected that from Johnny. He was a madman. He rolled on the floor when I told him my mother died, laughed even harder when I kicked him in the ribs. Since then, we all knew better than to share any bad news with him. Too bad we could never share a joke with him...once I showed him an old Phil Silvers Show, and he acted like a man who had been told his family died in a fire.

It was a foggy night. Visibility nil, the air motionless, trees barely seen in the distance, then came a human, seemingly from every direction. The sound grew louder as the mist contracted, until it began to take on form. Soon the fog was gone, and from the mist came a man. His hair was long and he he had a scraggly beard, and on his short, thin body were ragged clothes. The humming now came from his lips, no longer deafening and droning, but it became 'Humoresque' by Antonin Dvorak. He limped through the woods, his steps becoming surer as he made his way towards a road. Once beneath the streetlights, he began to sing. Why and how and who and where/ I don't have to care/ Only details, lines to fill in/ as truth becomes a major sin./ Where do I go?/ What will I do?/ Good thing I know/ how to sing the blues./ He repeated the last two lines several times as he walked on. Soon he reached a train station, and another verse entered his feverish mind. Wick

The last thing I wrote was a week ago. I just published it yesterday. Time just races by, and I just enjoy the feel of it, like the wind blowing through my my hair. Next thing you know, another week has gone by, then a month, then a...and on and on. My philosophy makes it so I don't think much about it. I know I should be fanatical about doing more, more, more, but in the cosmic scheme what does it matter? I suppose to a cockroach everything is important.In that respect, intelligence is an obstacle.

No one can hear me scream In a sea of faces I remain unseen Universe within with no one nowhere Endless torment but I am not afraid in a vacuum there's no need to be afraid

Perhaps I have mentioned this before, bu< when I see some of the crap coming out that's supposedly entertainment, I get nauseous. That's the curse of having so much room for content: stuff that would end up in a trashcan now gets beamed into living rooms across the land. I should view this problem as an opportunity for me.

Being right isn't everything. If you have to create new terminology to explain things, you run the risk of alienating people.

I was told today that the shelter gets $2000 for everyone at the shelter. That's disgusting that I don't get a share of that.

Why aren't things spelled phonetically? It's time to retire ph and gh, and put the f in there instead like it should be.

Faster, faster, no stopping now... nobody's getting off. Full speed ahead, aroung the bend... here comes the beginning of the end. Tear my heart out... I'll eat it here.. soon no more pain only mindless fear...

I have a fervent hatred for the two-party system. Both parties who unjustly benefit from the current arrangement are unworthy of the trust and respect of the American people. The fact is that we the people don't need them, because they don't solve problems as much as create new ones that assure that we remain dependent on their expertise in handling the problem that the politicians created. What a racket. What's worse is that we seem to have no way out of it, due to the inability of our society to loudly proclaim to our betters "Get the hell out of here'.