The drinks were in abundance.

The ice was cold and cubed.

The songs and myths were in a loop.

The tongues were loosely lubed.

Last call came at closing.

There was screaming in their throats.

With no one left to take them home.

And they were really feeling their oats.

The sun came out at midday.

The rays were bright and warm.

There were rumblings of a brouhaha.

Along with rumors of a storm.

Such sadness at the opera.

Tears fall down-long face.

Dining drinks eases the pain.

Entertainment lens and double takes.

Fears like that are no place special.

Just more or less adieu…

There was something about the final act…

Left me cold for something new.

I watched her rise and fall over our sleepy little town. That dead rock in the sky, that shines over us all… Who knows the secrets here? Where? Where everyone pretends that nothing happens.

The warm salt waters of the Gulf Stream flow north from Mexico, along the eastern continental shelf, passed Cape Breton and beyond. Cold arctic air sweeps down over frozen tundra and bristles raised hairs on hunched backs, along Labrador and into the Northumberland Strait. Where these 2 meet is a spit of land that rises out of the Atlantic, just north of New York City, and is formerly known as New Scotland. It’s because of this; the north winds and the south currents that the conversations here are usually always about the weather…

To an outsider, it would appear as if nothing else goes on here but the weather. However, appearances are deceiving. Nothing is as it seems…

Reminds me of the old joke… A man from the city asks a fisherman, “What do you do around here for excitement.”

The fisherman smiles, ” In the summertime we fish and we fuck. In the winter, we don’t fish. “

The cold is blue and choppy.

White is coming from the north.

My friends are all with someone else.

We take it back and forth.

They are planning for big futures.

Where big dreams can come true.

But there’s a lineup at the checkout.

Where impatience quickly grew.

There is haze on that horizon.

And the sun is getting high.

I think I’ll have myself a nap.

Before I say goodbye.

The greatest wisdom of man is less than the smallest wisdom of God.

Ruminating or deep thinking and incessant talking about a problem makes that problem worsen.

Democracy is broken.

Vincent Van Gogh did NOT cut off his ear and give it to a prostitute. Paul Gaughan cut off Vincent’s ear and told police the bullshit story to save his ass from going to jail. There is an actual police report.

The customer is rarely right.

It’s a difficult realization for certain people to realize. However, blood is not always thicker than water.