I knew a woman named Rose, she was no flower.

[KB.]

All, everything that I understand,

I understand only because I love.

~Leo Tolstoy

It ain’t that hard to do really; the loving. The hard part is getting it back, but that isn’t a reason to love in the first place now is it? To quote a man named Ronald, “Do me wrong, do me right, do me right baby. Tell me lies, but hold me tight, and save your goodbyes till the morning light. Just in case you were wondering, that wasn’t Ronald Reagan.

The world owes no one a thing. The world really doesn’t have much to do with it all.

I love a good fight, a worthy cause. I love the feeling that maybe; just maybe, I might break through and see the light. I have no idea what it is, but there you go. I love it even more when people tell me it ain’t worth fighting for; who are they to determine what or who I choose to fight for, and who are they to try and tell me my choice of strategic location lacks fortification? Leave me to my own bed, I made it and I will gladly lay in it. To borrow a line, choices ain’t free and clear; they cost a hell of a lot more. To everyone involved. No, I am not being specific here; no one is in my mind as I write this. A collage if you will.

I once hugged a black mamba.

People tell me change is good, and some folks tell me to be the same. I’ll do both, always have. I like the folks that think they know what is best for me, when even I have no clues to that little jig-saw puzzle. You see all the corner pieces are missing.

Did you ever play hide-and-go-seek when you were a child? Where you ever the one that people just didn’t look for? Kids can be so mean.

Ellipses irritate me¦

I’m happy for someone I have never met, because she is happy because of someone else I’ve never met. Just because.

Happy Birthday J Dubb.

I love that everyone, but maybe three people, read about me hugging a black mamba and thought, “What the hell is he talking about?

I was driving down an old gravel road in Louisiana one night. I saw an alligator in the middle of the road, and I stopped the car, got out, and grabbed it by its tail. I dragged the toothy reptile out into the woods, and just for the hell of it said out loud, “Go tell your friends I am having fried alligator tail for lunch tomorrow. Seriously.

I want to know why someone I have never met, but am happy for and a Flea do not show up on “My reader’s list. Just saying.

I bet almost five thousand dollars on a pair of threes years ago; I lost to a pair of fours. Someone always has to do me one better.

I picked up a guy hitchhiking on the far side of Jackson, Mississippi one day almost nine years ago. He was heading to Hammond, Louisiana. So was I, by way of Slidell. His name is Clyde, and after driving for almost two hundred miles I found out he had started walking in Atwood, TN. I spent the majority of my childhood in Atwood, TN. I picked Clyde up two years later this side of Tupelo, Mississippi; he was heading back to Atwood, and so was I, by way of Milan, TN. He had started walking in Mandeville. We stopped and bought two six packs of Budweiser, leaded, and told the stories of the last two years. I saw a man walking down the interstate in Missouri in the early morning hours this Mother’s Day; he had a familiar limp, and when I stopped he never looked at who I was, he just reached out and opened the door. Clyde said he knew it was me; he told me he had been walking for forty years and I was the only one who had ever stopped to offer him a ride. He told me he was heading back to Hammond, and I wanted to take him the whole way. I told a story about how the skies were blue in Tennessee and how the Sun was always bright and warm. He looked like he wanted to tell me something, but when I dropped him off around the exit to Jackson, Mississippi he just shook my hand and said, “I’ll see you around the next time; maybe you can take me the rest of they way then.

Some days I want to keep driving past that exit I take to get to work, and go towards Tupelo or maybe Corinth. Sometimes I think about driving to Rosedale. Clyde told me a story about a ham sandwich he had in a little café at a crossroads in that town; told me about the fresh cut fries that it was served with. I figure Clyde is out there somewhere in Louisiana or maybe Mississippi walking with that limp wondering why his ride is late.

“It rubs me the wrong way, a camera¦ It’s a frightening thing¦ Cameras make ghosts out of people.

~Bob Dylan

“When I was in Missouri

They would not let me be

I had to leave there in a hurry

I only saw what they let me see

Dylan – Tryin’ To Get To Heaven



I knew a woman named Rose once, she was no flower. Actually she was, but that just sounded like the right thing to say.

I used to read Hemingway and Faulkner to a blind man in his eighties. We would smoke a J, and talk about Truman Capote. He bought me a bottle of Johnny Walker Gold Label the year I turned 25. His favorite Faulkner line was, “The jury said, “Guilty and the Judge said “Life but he didn’t hear them. (LA Mansion go read it).

Icarus flew too close to the Sun, and fell to his death as it melted the wax holding his artificial wings together. The Greeks named an island after him.

KB

[Carl44]

almostfamous;667094 wrote: I actually envisioned you hugging the mamba :wah:



Very good story






who's mamba was that then :wah::wah:





i mean nice story i mean very good story:-6

[KB.]

That is just one nick name of many for a particular person, female by the way.