Wednesday, February 08, 2017


Trying to recall what I was feeling back in 1978.  Maybe it's best to leave it all alone, lest something unmanageable or unexplainable gets dredged up, but that's not my way.

I pick scabs.

I look closely.

To the best of my recollection it was all about looking for a big, big answer to a question that remained uncertain.  It was a search for some kind of relief but from what isn't really clear.



Anguish that weed, beer and big, fake grins couldn't take care of.

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