Sunday, January 13, 2008

Advice from a Good Friend

The Global Outrage of an Educated Man........Vol.64

Good morning ladies and gentlemen on this grey Sunday morning, the 13th of January 2008. It's been a long time coming since my words have reached this outlet of the 21st century.

Ladies and gentlemen, I am writing this from the advice of a good friend. I am writing this because sometimes it takes others to tell you what you need to do, because you can't see the forest from the trees.

This is all original material that I've been compiling since the last time. So hopefully it will have been well worth the wait.

If some of you are confused, at least it is minus the hate.

I am writing this morning to push the blankets of the bed and the dirty sheets aside with the kindling of a fire stoked within my belly, amid the outside temperature of the barely hovering above freezing.

I am writing to inform the uninformed of the bitter sweet pain of being unable to grab the wrist and to draw her to you, as she sits indian style right in front of you, reading a book much too young for her age, as you imagine a young Audrey Hepburn reading "Harry Potter", giggling as she's whispering to her father.

She has the bare shoulders of a woman who has needed to be restrained in the past. The tilt of her neck gives an attitude of indifference and underlying anger. She is a beautiful woman that has had ugly things happen to her and she's been fed up for far too long. She is the fanaticism generated by the accumulation of wealth within the stock market that may be nearing a collapse. Sucking like an ocean's wave everybody in, and then crash. Lying stranded ashore. Alone on a barren beach. She is the opening of the window on the morning bus ride into work that helps cool my feverish mind of the having the obligation of attending the mid week Wednesday, but being reminded that it's all down hill from there.
I have an invisible shield around me that silently forces the oncoming passengers to never sit in the same seat next to me for I am protected from their negativity.

Meanwhile a woman, no more older older than 26 drives a $40k BMW SUV through a neighborhood where her vehicle or symbol of worth is more than people's yearly salary, or at least mine. Where are the children of Darfur on her mind?
It is the joy of the first time. Sitting atop of a neighbor's white suburban garage under the moonlight of a weekend and the parents are out of town.

It is every morning's bus ride with her that is another first date.
It is the street musician serenading the passers by with "Walk the Line" being played upon a flute. It is daring the audience to find the song within their absence of attention.
It is the bus ride through Northeast Minneapolis as we would talk about castles and Loch Ness. It is traveling through England and touring the Guinness brewery. It is if we are getting to know each other better, than someday we'll go together.

As if possibly we've already been and with each other would like to go again.
It is a woman that smells of grape bubble gum with an engagement ring, as she talks of hope for the future and things that will come. It is a tortuous soul, a woman in the coat the color of my car, showing enough leg and nylon to the dangerous men who are no longer boys, and I am reading of coincidences and Beethoven, the influence of novelties and fortuities grace.

She looks my way. It is the idea that her name should be Sunny Rosewater. Cursed to meet a woman I cannot get inside of without having to deal with an itch that can never be cured by a scratch.
It is being blessed by a morning of rainbows, the first of 2008 from across an ocean with a smile and a warm cup or coffee.

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