Don't Need to Be King of the World

Junior year, high school. Believe the moment held the ultimate truth. Because beyond that there was nothing. Coul hardly imagine the future. Unshaped, malformed and complicated. Looking round the sunken adult faces it looked like no fun.

Junior year, College. Why it has a capital “c” I’ll never know. Watching the remainders of nights and days and people’s joy keep itself as we did whatever we did. After that it got futile.
Oh there’s Barrettstock and a newsletter about what we left behind, but the spirits have long faded.
The fountain has been drained.

Not a junior any more. And the mantra of “Fossil, you’re 30-years-old.” is runs itself through my new loom of thought. Why was there no fear in younger year?? Perhaps threats and chasms, openly reflecting pockets of my soul.

They tore down the first house Jiveland that I lived in. The second one is still there and like clockwork the 1978 orange-gold El Dorado comes racing by, 10 o’clock. The third one is situated next to the aunt of Christopher from the “Sopranos”.

But then again I watch myself, seeing myself do what I do but excluding what I don’t do. Subconscious glaucoma.

Whose life is it??
Whose realm is it??
Whose universe is it??
Jealousy has no place amongst the enlightened. The day arrives with new challenge and me, somewhat yawning goes willingly.