Acquired passion is manageable, has a schedule of your own making, and adds a new dimension to life.

Combustible passion takes over every part of you. Nerves exploding. Vision magnified. Touch is painfully exquisite.

Sometimes the line is fine, one melding into the other without your permission. Different colors. Ice and fire.

The fiery passion destroys.  Entry is one way only. Once scorched by the sun, no return but to the  beige life.

No kaleidoscope of colors, no tingly frissons. No flash of brilliance nor ******* heights. Just three meals a day.

Paying attention no more just wandering aimlessly as my car interpreted the road. And there he was.

A shock of blond hair and and torn jacket just standing in the road with a tragic feral aura that hit me.

A sign? A human talisman? This scruffy little urchin stared right through me with keening eyes half closed.

Winds and jarring rain arrived unannounced so the trees began to genuflect and birds became suddenly shy.

I felt rooted to place, my car some type of shelter. This child reminded me of old songs and distant memories.

A little waltz that comes to an end too soon. Music that makes me feel alive until it doesn’t. Too much.

I maneuvered around the obstacle picked up speed and never looked back, driving in dizzying circles for miles.

Home is a luxury I can’t afford so searching for my lost life through the cavalcade of memories sharpened now.

A youth looked for me. He watched me. I left him. Just another in the list of memories to haunt my days.

I have been searching for the perfect tree. It has to reach the sky with limbs that embrace the world.

Its frond-like leaves would protect its master and shade all those who need to hide from the law.

It would be a magnet for vacationing creatures large and small who have lost their way in the world.

My tree would have cunning instincts when it came to survival not of the fittest but of the kindest.

It would turn its magnificent trunk away from those nefarious beasts who have only cruelty in their blood.

My dream tree eludes me still to this day. But I will never stop searching. Mankind’s survival is at stake.

When did I become invisible? When did people almost walk right into me? When did I stop being acknowledged?

I don’t recall the year, the month, the day, or the time. It was as if I entered a different universe full of strangers.

They are young and bustling, a word that would never trip off their immortal tongues, these people of now.

I want to let them in on the secret, but they wouldn’t believe me. Because they don’t see me. See me no more.

It’s the old horizon trick. Spot a spot,  vanishes upon arrival. The plus is that you cannot be late. Get there not getting there.

The minus is you’re never there. You are stuck in a infinite loop not of your own making. No shaming here. Not here or there.

Better to stay rooted where you have planted your oaks, built your library, and cultivated the art of being here, right now.

Let’s dance through the maze and hope we never find the exit but dance swirly twirly with a fetish-like delight.

Let’s eat a quart of ice cream, one for you and one for me, adorned with chocolate-covered nuts and whipped cream.

Let’s run naked down to the sea in the middle of the night with our hair blowing in the wind and our voices at high pitch.

Let’s have one last warm and affectionate coupling on the sand at the beach before we hold hands and enter the sea.

Did you hear the one about? What’s up with [fill in the blank]? So I walked into this bar…  Holds the mic for dear life.

Sweat full of fear and loathing drizzles down the comic’s back as he takes a nip and tries once again to survive.

The cramped flights, the road tours, the buzzing barflys, the cheap Scotch, the dank rooms, the imitation food.

For one laugh. Even a guffaw. Hell, at least smile, you ******* hicks in your shitforsaken towns in Nowhere, USA.