Category: PROSE

So exactly what the fuck am I supposed to do.

Sitting here listening to Warren belt out “I’m looking for the next best thing…” Knowing the next best thing for him will be heaven, hell or nothing at all. Inoperable lung cancer. And Snoop Dog thought he had problems when, “murder was the case that they gave me.” How about looking down the double barrel of no way out you prick? It’s all balls to the wall when you’re a gambling gangster, not knowing when the bullets are going to fly and send you away forever.

It’s another monster entirely…to know. To sit across a desk and hear that you WILL be dead in a year, six months, two months, two weeks no matter what you do. No escape. No fire exit. You’re burnt as forgotten toast in a diner’s toaster oven. I wonder where the courage and braggadocio would be then. Or would you whimper and wonder why like a snot nosed little kid? Hell if I know. I have my suspicions.

Courage has many facets, my own thought is that indifferent arrogance or bravado in the face of a random or intended act of violence is not real courage. Real courage comes from staring down the barrel of eventuality, satisfying the premature sentence that birth implies. Knowing and still living. Retreating with family, reflecting, recording music. A real musician does that, what these other “men” would/will do, I have no idea. Again, I have my suspicions.

Godspeed Warren…save me a seat in Hell you wise assed son of a bitch…

spk