The Expectations were on fire.

Virtues had grown thin.

Love was hanging… worn wire.

There was this need to win.

The penalties were not known.

The lines drawn in the sand.

Emotions were hot and blown.

And nothing much seemed planned.

You took the gold and money.

I have this heart and soul.

I’m not laughing, but you are funny.

I have the kid: that’s how we roll.

My father was very careful and thorough: Only now, I can see and appreciate the brilliance in the absence of his efforts. To not have to unlearn anything is proving to be invaluable.

To have a lifetime of trial and errors without the bothersome interference of elders teaching and paving the way can now be reflected upon in a rich tapestry of original experience.

Thanks, Dad!

Everyone is guilty.

We all fall short of the glory of God.

We all want confession.

A cathartic release.

Clarity.

This is mine…

The savages we descended from; we pretend they weren’t us…

We think we are different.

This thing we call civility is questionable, at least.

Why are we so offended at our heritage?

Look how far we’ve grown.

“How tall we are, we’ve learned so much!”

Why the shame? Why pretend?

Given what they were dealing with, I can’t say that I’d have done anything better or different…

I used to visit friends of my father at a small East Coast fishing village when I was a boy…

Because I was so small and insignificant, they were very open to being themselves. I noticed that whenever someone was present that they didn’t know, they behaved differently; they were more polite and proper. The following will illustrate how they were around me.

There was a man in their village whose wife died suddenly of cancer. The man grieved a very short while and soon thereafter met another woman whom he married mere months after his first wife died. The man’s second wife died of cancer within 1 year of their wedding…

After that, they referred to this man as rotten cock.

It’s rare anymore for me to be up this early on a Sunday sunrise, and many of the party crowds of Saturday somehow now seem like bad fashion.

I am on my way to work and glad of it as the crowds down at the salt mines is still on strike.

The migrant workers crowd onto the street car with me on their way to the early morning shifts at the hotels. There are no factories left in the city.

The train is now leaving the city core, and the crowds are behind me. Nothing but the day ahead.

When I was a kid in the 1960s, the farmers could be heard lamenting about a changing world that they feared.

Beautiful stone cobbled streets of small towns were replaced with “The Shopping Mall Generation!” AND cities grew. “Who would grow the food?” The farmers asked.

But did anyone see this coming down the pike? A generation so smart that they make money while they sleep?

A generation who became so important that not having children became for them, the best option. Which is probably the best thing since we can no longer determine genders…

I am not afraid. I am not in control. I am embarrassed… or am I entertained?

They look soft, seated on public transit. Staring into their phones on the way to the ballgames, pretending not to notice the children and elderly standing…

I was definitely an ultracrepidariam during my formative years, often expressing opinions and insights on subjects that I knew nothing about.

This was before the internet and social media. Now, after getting acquainted with the views of a wide range of individuals on the world wide web… I’m beginning to think that mine was very normal behavior or I was just ahead of the curve!

I’m writing this here novel. There isn’t much to lose.

Except for my peace of mind and friendships.

Sent to these File Manager Blues.

I’m trying to tell a story. If you read it. This you choose.

However, first, I have to find my myself.

Send to File Manager Blues.

The world of nothing certain. I’m staying off the booze.

So much love and hurtin…

In these File Manager Blues.

I can’t find the sender. I guess that won’t make the news.

Lost in bells and whispers.

In the File Manager Blues.