i long for better days

it's like playing Gran Turismo with the driver's seat view. It's like viewing one slide on a 12 slide page with the iPad. It's like being stuck at the Ashcombe maze. It's like being in a room of a 4-bedroom house, in a 9.3km square town, in a 227416 km square state, in a 7617930 km square nation, and so on.



The big picture is hard to see.



The radio station was taking callers:

"What would you do if you were given $30mil, and you need not work any more?"

I couldn't answer the question. As I sat in my little Hoover, switching on the headlights as it turned dark. What WOULD I do?

In all bluntness, it was a question I'm afraid to answer.

Everything now seems to be a blur. The childhood dream of better days are diluting, as each day goes through the titration of life, and neutrality is the new state of mind. You think you're gonna be, yet you are in the days of being.

So what now? A linked carriage, in a locomotion of conundrum. These few days have been more humbling than anything. Sitting there while the man in the tie writes every possible reason that could have led to your faux pas, when the knot on his tie isn't even triangle. Square, the shape was.

"..this is the most humble day of my life," ol' Rupert says. Success is frail, so where should I stand?

Is my cherubical drawing of a house going to have a chimney, or is it going to sit on where history once stood tall, exploited by the rich?

The could have's and what if's assume shelter once again, in the mesh of loose ends and intellect.



"Hello? I don't know. Put it in a bank and pretend nothing happened?"