Music Outloud

What do you want to say, and how do you want to say it.  Is it a line or word that inspires greatness in you or others, or is there a unique exquisite and well defined smallness to it, that holds the window on your soul, open for all to see.  And if you say it, or play it, and do it to the best of your ability, will anyone take notice or be accepting of it.  And if no one cares to be a part of your little life drama, do you have the will to continue on as if to say, ‘I’m doing it and it is what it is’.  And if you don’t do it, will it just well up inside and cause a festering sore in your soul, if you don’t at least try.

I want to be in the tribe, be a part of the gang of human hood, the mixing of the blood, the exchange of spirit.  I paid my dues, to the cloak and curved dagger, to the Vibratory Synod, to the clergy of road worn notes and inflections, to the poetry of sweat without discretion, paid in cash at the midnight truck stop of the million mile club.  Rugged individuals still need to have a socket to plug their lamp in.  Riding his way into history, The Marlboro Man, stops to reflect under the great Montana sky on a snowy chill morning, lights a smoke, checks his rugged look in his belt buckle shine, and muses, ‘yeah, I’m hanging on the Great Divide, and bend whichever way the wind blows’.

Texaco friend

And yes, you do have to bend to survive.  A straight line of flight from the hurricane will work, if the highway goes that way, but if you’re riding alongside the tornado, be ready, get ready for whatever gets thrown your way, as that big dark grey wall of wind and rain descends and picks up your rig like a discarded tissue rag, and decides your fate in that instant.  And if you’re lucky, you can check the map for the next road over to Little Rock, where a big heart and soft bed, and the sweetest creamy piece of pie is calling, to stop and rest and give in to the meaning of life.

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