3352. YOU HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO SAY WHAT YOU FEEL

YOU HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO

SAY WHAT YOU FEEL

I have stood firm. I have run out of time and

life, both beckoning their ends to me as would

some drug-addled minstrel on the other shore:

the rock-star kind, the asshole with the guitar

strap wedged in his thigh, harmonica-frame

bent 'round his head, noodling some stupid

electric trill in a fading e-string lead. And, to

speak truthfully here, the fact of the matter is,

sensation-wise, I'm bored to tears by it all and

not even sure of what I speak. The insects

are flying the air; their Summer days have

waned as well, and now they slow and die.

-

I me a girl once, deep in the underground

bowels of a Paris hotel. I'll never forget the

moment  -  we rode that little crested wave

in place, right there, until it crashed and

burned around us. I've never experienced

such momentary passion like that again.

The fiery burn of quite truthful lust both

staining and soiling our lives and clothes.

With goodness. With cheer. With all of

that there. We gathered things up, and

simply left. I've never seen her again.

-

Sometimes, it seems, Life runs its own

days, and courses its little river wherever

it wishes to go. The only obstacle is

you, yourself : watching the warp and

weave, thinking you somehow have

every right to say what you feel.