Well it paid off to get the limbs picked up out of the yard, Mr. Brown just came and cut the grass. While the grass growing is still in it’s infancy around here, the grass seeds needed to be taken down before they choked me. Still for me the scent of fresh cut grass is intoxicating. Don’t ask me how I ever ended up like this. I mean decades ago I was a suburban kid growing up next to a port city. My goals in life had nothing to with gardening or taking it easy. My goals were to play music and tour the world.
But living somewhere between rock and roll and religious euphoria. I found myself stuck between living my dreams and righteous duty. Aimlessly wondering, I ended up in a hellfire of a first marriage. Then stuck my toe again in the electric fence of love, becoming the hot mess I am today. I’m amused at how people think I actually know shit. But just like when the Apostle Paul called himself the worst of sinners, I sure as hell know what he was talking about. But with semi-righteous indignation I’ve plowed the fields of my life the best I could.
So here I sit, 59 years from where it all began. But ain’t that all we’re trying to do? Using what intellect and intuition we have to carve us out a path in the right direction? Hell, I don’t know. All I know is that the grass smells really nice and there’s just enough wind to keep the gnats at bay. I often think of myself like that old Kris Kristofferson song. ” He’s a poet, he’s a picker, he’s a prophet, he’s a pusher. He’s a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he’s stoned. He’s a walkin’ contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction. Takin’ ev’ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home.” Amen.
But living somewhere between rock and roll and religious euphoria. I found myself stuck between living my dreams and righteous duty. Aimlessly wondering, I ended up in a hellfire of a first marriage. Then stuck my toe again in the electric fence of love, becoming the hot mess I am today. I’m amused at how people think I actually know shit. But just like when the Apostle Paul called himself the worst of sinners, I sure as hell know what he was talking about. But with semi-righteous indignation I’ve plowed the fields of my life the best I could.
So here I sit, 59 years from where it all began. But ain’t that all we’re trying to do? Using what intellect and intuition we have to carve us out a path in the right direction? Hell, I don’t know. All I know is that the grass smells really nice and there’s just enough wind to keep the gnats at bay. I often think of myself like that old Kris Kristofferson song. ” He’s a poet, he’s a picker, he’s a prophet, he’s a pusher. He’s a pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he’s stoned. He’s a walkin’ contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction. Takin’ ev’ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home.” Amen.
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