I was born to ramble; that’s for damn sure. I am a grain of salt in the sea of constant current – when I feel like I am lost I find that I am home. I trust the waters to show me every inch of ocean that I am supposed to see and to dissolve me when it’s time.

Like so many drifters before me, I understand the value in brevity. I fill my days with discovery, devouring the fresh and constantly becoming; I revel in my consciousness. I do not fret when I encounter the mysterious. Fear is like a guard dog protecting a treasure, defiance is like a treat to entertain the guard dog - the experience, the overcoming, that is the treasure.

Unlike me, a nomad is in search of a greener pasture; I, however, am happy with my harvest. When I search for nothing, that’s when I find everything. Fate can not be fooled, trying to bend destiny is like walking on water; If you can do one of them you can do the other, if you can do either of them you’re Jesus.

Stay content, you will be fine, trust the waters and float.

Henry Miller, a novelist and painter from Manhattan once said…

“The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.”

I agree.

This quote hit me hard today.  Although he passed a couple years before I entered, his words remain stiffly in place - more than a reminder and most likely bigger than he initially intended. It is one of my favorite sentences describing the power of now; presently.

I believe.

The greatest thoughts ever recorded grow out of a need. The reader needs to hear it and the writer needs to say it. Their interpretations may differ, but the effect can be alike. A writer can not write for other people, its impossible - there are too many people, too many variables, too many translations. The truest of poets never compromise and always write for themselves. The truest of poets find rapture in their purity and understand the worth of their sincerity.

It’s easy to fool people; it’s impossible to fool time.

BDE Poem #14

Birth

Once there lived a phony

In the prosperous part of town

In a home made of bologna

Where bulls shit on the ground

Death

He tells the devil he’s living

He fakes the sound of a pulse

He says he belongs in heaven

The devil knows he’s false

Eternity

He failed to use discretion

Now he’s naked on the shelf

He learned the burning lesson

He could never fool himself