Poetry is the writer's drug of choice
For words light fires in uncalculated multitudes of minds across great virgin plains atop erect eternal mountains deep in claustrophobic oceans on the paradise of skin-hued sandy beaches
Do you write poetry?
The honest poor are like the surface of the earth the firm foundation on which cornerstones are lain, upon which roads and parks and schools and churches dwell, upon which life depends
The business of cheap alcohol is booming
Poverty is better with a drink, a smoke, a crutch, a pound of sugar, an erection, an orgasm, a full stomach, an ink pen, and a notebook, a tongue and a mouth, a sympathetic ear, a willing body, sunshine days, good music, clean clothes, hot meals, soft blankets, friendly faces and flesh-filled dreams
Pornography and television thrive
The easily abused must be protected, wounds repaired and minds directed to the inmost strength and light, that when tomorrow's fist is flying in their faces, an iron courage will provide them with a shield of confidence that turns attackers into weeping, guilty sods
Handgun sales have reached a record high
Yesterday is dead, today is alive, tomorrow will be born at midnight, and that morning, that morning of the future will bring new and better writers, better paintings, louder songs, the promise of tomorrow is that greater things will happen, more will rise and come of age, they will proclaim: "I am living! I'm alive! This is my chance to do what I am here to do! And I proclaim with all the power of my being that my life will be a glorious expression of the values in my heart! There is no consequence between me and my goal! I can only be that which I am, and what I am is real, and ultra-capable of anything I honestly pursue! My desire will be mine! And my success will be complete, and I will die when I am ready to explore beyond the wonders of this morphing, gorgeous world!"
THE END
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