"Early greydarkness shadowing silver pools...Sky rumblings and wind screamings cause me to wonder. Puffed necked pigeons as if on strings caught as me in strong nothings...dancing alone on their rooftops."

every one else was chasing girls/women/woymn/whatever and I was dodging thru back yards trying to find a place in which i fit... no one cared then and the world is too busy now to wonder at the nitch i fell/worked myself into

who knew then what was coming certainly no one suspected the dark hours betrayals tears and savagely toryn beliefs...no one. ah, yes but jill dear jill she knew with kerouac and patchen and that host of others buoyed by cunningham a leader that there would be no rhyme nor reason and that all the inherited charts would be useless as i stepped into the wind.

our world has forgotten these names that now mean nothing. almost forgot jeffers dear robinson know him...tis sad great poets all forgotton in the time of utnereadersharpersfarrakhanandtearsofleonard so much to cover in this world and so little of it relevant? i suppose the best to do is simply to continue doing, not losing sight of that possible dream that there might be a key a purpose a THING of consequence inherited from who...from who despite no faith no core no thing to support.

doesnt it get hard to do it all yourself? no sleep no respite no vacation always, always pushing pushing pushing to what, doesnt matter the push the need to do so remains and who bought that ticket in the first place? why driven why me who dipped me in that vat of coloring that has set me and the world so far apart...who.

seems to me this is a journey unsought...instead am wrapped in confusionwonderdesperation inherited. are these the linksbridgescrossedthreadsconnections that in truth are guiding? is this a blind blunder ridden railless through a kharmic net? what possible god has dreamed this for me? does he realize the enmity incurred.

believing is what i want i need a peace i need...where is the one to give that to me? if all is fabrication who provides the thread to me to you who ever decided to pass an end to me and off i went running running into life until that thread was wrapped so tight around my feet that there was only falling and no more a place to run. who pulls that thread now as if i were inna cave and it was the only path from darkness dipped in silence and the black. who pulls? who pulls or should i drop the thread and jump...but where to jump. now that i am not as brave as once young prompted no...can't jump no more. for such comes before the thinking before consideration before those prideful thoughts that some little bit of something is worth saving...once on a mountain top montana drunk i cried to nothing full of despair and thought of death but had no courage, was not that stupid no terror is worth that. but oh, oh how i wish to find that thing that love that issue that seed that could provide the answer to what ever it is that drives me even now while children play in their cul de sac not knowing the wonder of themselves the worlds to come or worse who looks down and envies them their ignorance.