Sunday, March 29, 2015

2151 : End of the road

I have been away. Not for the first time in the last 24 months. "On the going away" is no longer just the name of a song, it is also a state of being.

As I type, I realize that a big part of me - does not want to write. Its not a writer's block, but instead it is the faint voice in my ears that is going "Why?" "Why?" "Why?"

Unfortunately I was weak schooled in Chinese Confucianism, else another more real part of me would have asked "Why Not?".

The question, any question like that is the bane of the storyteller. That rational question causes diarrhea, and the stories get flushed.

If there is never a reason to tell a story, then there is never a reason to wax poetic about life, and there is never a reason to sing aloud....and there never a reason to be here.

29 Palms. I can hear Robert Plant crooning.

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