… and your old men shall dream dreams …

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.. and your old men shall dream dreams ….
~Joel

101914_1729_Somedays1.jpgI haven’t been writing much lately.  I go through long spells where I just dontwanna.  Moreover, I don’t hafta.  Writing is a hobby to me.  I am a dilettante at it.  I wouldn’t mind being a world class writer with millions of spendable dollars, and being feted and pampered on world-wide tours and receiving accolades for my brilliance, but I don’t wish to work for it.  So, that pretty much leaves me with little coffee posts peppered with the occasional rant.

FrownAs many of you know, I have a muse that is cranky and old.  She dresses in a long ago style of a professional woman who has never updated her wardrobe.  She is all business, yet still manages to be a bit coquettish.  She would be a successful businesswoman if she were real.  She is brutally honest, yet supportive.  She is my foil, and will tell me what my supporters won’t.  She fits me like a well-worn shirt that your woman keeps trying to throw away, but you just like the way it feels.

Quite frequently in my dialogues with her, I discover myself.  I often don’t know what I believe until I have to defend it on the written page.

In this month of softening sunrises as autumn once again reminds us that there is a cycle of life, I don’t want truth.  So I haven’t been chatting with her all that much.  I want to sit out in the sun and build power plants in my head, or deftly maneuver a mega-yacht into its berth, or masterfully start a heavy-laden freight train on a steep grade, or even rescue a distressed damsel or two.  I don’t want the give and take of dialogue.  The Donald means nothing to me.  Hillary is just another hack.  Obama is a petty tyrant.  The press corps are just political activists wearing a mantle they did not earn nor deserve.

T1he world has passed me by, leaving me in its dust.  Like and old dog on the porch, I hardly raise an eyelid at the passing rumble of cars as a new generation of wage slaves try to extract meaning out of it all.  I am now an impediment to their ambitions, not a player.

And it suits me fine.

Good morning!

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