I start this journey,
A two year old boy.
I learn my dad's stereo system
Having watched him do it before.
Some day love will find me,
As the opening synths sends me on
My new life's road.

Then, driving through the woods
And over the river,
To grandmother's house I go.
About to slip down, 
I'm so excited to swim.
Life is about fun, and I'm too tired for work;
Play is everything at this time in my life.
We listen to the oldies radio, the whole car ride,
Sitting in another traffic jam.

Seventeen, sweet emotion fills me,
Pleasure filled fantasies of sex
To Two Unlimited and Rock and Roll...
The beginning of my career as a writer,
With pornographic prose and an honest to truth love story.
I find my woman with a face like a gent.
Her daddy says I took it a little too far.

My car, I ramble about for years,
First with my androgynous mate,
And then with my friends;
Going here, there, the summer of fun
And violence. I try to make my living,
But, I'm a rambling man.
Rambling on and on, talking mostly nonsense.

My car is my pride and joy...
You don't know what I got;
I rev my Malibu beside the car
Of infernos---there my sister almost died.
My stereo bumps, overshadowed by woofers
In the hopped up Coupe.
Barrel Rolls, broken hips and brain tissue.

Recovering, Johnny comes to me
And makes a deal---
He's in a bind, and I take the dare.
Thus, he sings of the Devil's Kitchen
And I sing of the Snowy Abode.
He sings of a Welsh Prince,
And I sing of our LORD and King;
My mountain is taller.

I then meditate on the sweetest wisdom...
To be a man, simple and humble.
To search for love, and not be lonely in this world.
It was always my song, my very first song,
But straying from it all these years,
I realize the fantasy was not enough.

Then the trial of every Christian comes;
The fornication with the worldly device.
My captivity, my mission,
They scream what I spoke to her in the closet
On the rooftops. They know my every secret thought,
They turn my life into a spectacle.
It happens. Everybody's been there;---
Information's inebriation.

Then the music dies.
Censorship grows...
My movie begins...
This will be the day that I die---
I wrote the book of love,
I have faith in God above
And what the Bible tells me,---so,
I believe my music can save the soul.

Now I go, walking down the street.
I get funny looks from everyone I meet.
For my youthful offense
I am stained with distrust, and dirty looks.
Everywhere I go, a look of shame appears
On the faces of all around me...
All know my sin,
All know my shame...

I look for work in the city,
But can find none.
I ride the Pride of the Susquehanna.
People on the river are happy to give me their time,
To listen. I wander here, there, looking for an answer
To my disgrace and poverty.
I have no money,
Wandering the streets, shamefully.

In my music, I drift away...
Writing my odes of blaspheming kings,
Doppelgangers, witches,
Dragons and satyrs,
True Love and advanced civilizations.
I get lost in my creativity...
I get lost in the rhythms of my
Playlist, waiting for when I fall in love.

Then I see her face.
I started thinking love was simply a story I wrote...
A beautiful thing I kept on my keys.
A fairytale like my kings and queens.
But, I saw her face once more,
And there was no trace of doubt.
My first I gave all, and got nothing.
Now, the face of sunshine makes me believe in love again.

I, the loser of losers,
Fell in love with the Homecoming Queen;
And she loved me.
I believed in my dreams.

She said to me,
"Do you, you, feel like I do?"
And for life's longest season,
We made time for loves.

Life returned to the simplicity of childhood.
The pure, exalted joy of youth prevailed;
Life was good again...
It was like sitting at the Kokomo,
Listening to a steel drum band.
She and I reclined, filled and old as the songs
I listened to as a child.

At the end of life,
I blessed Jesus, and said,
"This life was just alright with me."
And I drifted off to sleep one day,
And woke up someplace else;
Someplace better.

The law of Chemical Reaction, is that no new atom is lost, nor gained. If we, hypothetically, can find chemical reactions which break down into new parts, and the new chemicals react with those of the other chemical reactions, we can harvest the energy emitted from these reactions indefinitely, It's not perpetual motion. Simply using a multiplicity of fuels, and reusing them, and the energy created by the chemical reactions. We might even be able to harvest all of the chemicals from the ocean. 

I think Jules Verne had this idea, but people don't understand it.

The Nomad peoples,
Slaves of Soleb,
Their God Yahweh,
The monument made in 1420bc...
Bounden with rope
Upon the temple stones
The men are there...
Proof the Egyptians enslaved we Jews.

Can't fertilize the ocean with iron.
Rust is poisonous to fish.

There is nothing more despicable than a fox.
A gnarly haired, weasely fox.
It goes from place to place, wandering
Until it finds a nice little grove
Where all the meeker animals are at rest.
There, the animals are at rest,
And frolic on the knolls, will linger
By the human legs which wander nigh.
Then, the fox sees this, with belly growling
And it decides to disturb the years of peace
By picking off the little ones.
Then the meek ones.
Then the plump ones.
Birds, rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks.
All the nice little animals which before,
Like the little chickadee which nearly perched on my sandal
It eats them. 
And the animals, restless, stir from their holes
And no longer linger by the travelers foot.
Never having known danger,
The meek little mild bunnies die
With wounds in their sides,
Half eaten. To be thrown into the garbage can.
And one Fox does this, and when the habitat is disturbed,
And restless, and scared, it is happy
So it moves to the next pleasant forest,
And there, does its murderous spree once again.

He joined the masons to find the truth.
He joined to find his selfish verity.
Around, around, around he went, bloody bib
And found a thousand fairy tales.
Myths were told, and some old Ghost Stories,
While they pondered on geometry.
What ended was his self made religion
A god of worlds, he created his mind...
A thousand neural pathways linked,
He filled his head with fairytales,
And at the end, he died not knowing 
What a Mason even was.

You are.
I write lyrical masterworks.
You mumble into a microphone.
How corrupt is this society?

You hold wads of cash.
I sit in a pair of pajamas with a hole in the crotch.
You paid alright.
Two step beats,
A couple of bells,
And a mumble with some talk of Glocks. 

You're free to do it.
But if the market pays you
And not me, 
Who's written epic poems...
It's pretty sad.

Two outs, the closer is pitching.
He comes out, in comes Alvarado.
He throws a 100mph fast ball;
Can't hit the zone though.
They go here, they go there.
An ERA above 7.
I'm next to cussing at the TV.
"Why?" I cry, as the game goes
Into extra innings. They keep him in.
He pinch hits. Nothing special
But the NL Pitchers don't have to hit anymore,
So add that factoid to an already bizarre game.

To get us there, Harper won my approval when he 
Scored clutch runs, pinch hitting, after a bogus strike.
My guy, Veirling hits a homer at the top of the 9th.
And bizarre rules got my other guy Hoskins to home plate in the 10th.
Thought it would go to New York for that one,
Getting the National's Manager ejected.

Alvarado throws a nail biter, gets another run scored on him.
But Rhys gave us a run to give. Game's not over in the bottom.
And, another nail biter, the ball grounds to third base,
Bohm throws a beauty to first;
This after our best fielder Didi gets his first error of the year
Sending us into extra innings.
The final out is in. I think to myself, "Well, a guy throws a 100mph fast ball
"I make 4,000 line epic poems;
"The pitch isn't that good, but it's at that elite level."

Mr. Bieber has Ramsey Hunt Syndrome.
He received it from a shingles outbreak.
Not from the Corona Virus Vaccine.

When I had shingles, my doctor told
Me to go straight to the Urgent Care Center, 
As it began as a sort of sore rash.
They prescribed me black pills
Which were an antiviral.

Poor Justin. And my doctor told me
One of the dangers of Shingles was RHS.
Let's not spread lies, people.

However, his eye is darkened
Like the False Shepherd's.
Let it be a warning about preaching sin.
God does not want His people
Preaching that Sin is okay.
No sexual sin, nor homosexuality,
Nor transexuality, nor idolatry,
Nor blasphemy, nor reproach nor bitterness,
Nor disobedience to parents,
Nor remark which is contrary to sound doctrine,
Nor drunkenness, lust or envy
Nor rebellion nor theft, nor adultery
Or any other manner of sin.

For, this is what God did to him
And stricken him in the right eye
Like the false shepherd's in Zechariah.