Burn It All Down

George’s guitar gently weeps and I wander down back roads and dark alleys in search of lost things and moments that might be better left forgotten.

Unsure and uncertain I don’t bother to look for a path because it doesn’t exist so I am forced to blaze a trail that may not lead to brighter days and better things, but than again it might.

Burn It All Down

It took almost six months for the finger I dislocated in January to end its mutiny and resume its place on the team.

Can’t say it is perfect but I don’t wake up each morning and notice it is still swollen and wonder if maybe I tore a ligament or be careful to try not to reinjure it.

It is still not perfect, but very little on me is. There are a million different aches and pains that appear and disappear without rhyme or reason.

Most of the time I power through those things but there are moments that make me wonder if there will be a time when I can’t do it anymore.

Clearly that concerns me because I write about it often, but most days I just don’t care because I keep finding ways to make things happen.

Call that code for being good at tearing down walls and demolishing obstacles that impinge my ability to move forward as wanted or needed.

Sometimes the best choice isn’t to go over, under or around. It is to burn it all down.

Burn every bridge and connection so that you must go forward.

Salt the earth and move towards an uncertain and unclear future.

Somewhere inside my head I hear “The roof, the roof is on fire” and though memory pushes through to crowded dance floors chanting the rest of the the lyrics something else grabs me.

Maybe we really don’t need any water, maybe we should just let it burn.

The Words We Share

In a different time and place I am driving a couple from Fort Worth into Dallas and trying not to get sucked into a conversation that defines vapid and might put be a better option than Ambien.

They don’t care what I do and treat me like the help which is ok with me because I don’t want them to suck out any more of my brain cells because I need the few I have.

I flip on Sirius and decide I don’t feel like listening to the Beatles channel and surf to another station. Bruce is singing Brilliant Disguise and wait for Bruce go reach those last perfect lines.

God have mercy on the man
Who doubts what he’s sure of

Hell if I can’t say with complete certainty that I know certain things and that I haven’t got a clue if the reason I feel like I do it because I suffered a major head injury.

That would serve as a suitable and reasonable explanation for why things are…off.

I’d make like the Tin man and walk down the yellow brick road to see the wizard but he is just a man and if I can’t make my own magic work it is not going to happen.

So we burn it all down, sweep up the ashes and start again pretending the whole while that we have never experienced anything like this before.

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