Wrote this while my best friend since childhood and I drove 1300 miles to South Florida on a whim for Spring Break. It's epic, so get comfortable.

"Approachable but you wouldn't know it.  Proclamations of the Romantically Challenged"

Day one.

We meet, old friends...watch old friends...become old friends again.
We find our lost grins, ones only shared with our closer than kin.
Thin shagrins of lasting cynicism and sinister pasts are masks to the blasts we got away with and lived to tell the tale.
Alas, we are sons and friends first, not last.
We cling to our good old glory stories past,
But at last the time is new, our trip begins.
Wheels burn, stomachs churn.
Our aspired souls yearn,
to fire the liars and unconcerned.
We head for the East coast.
With temperatures rising,
approaching unseen horizons,
rejecting the superficially tantalizing,
we begin to feel our tattered souls wisen.
Talking a new talk, calculating the steps to walk a new walk.
Testifying our pains, devilishly dodging heavenly rains, the bitter bites but invites change.
Watching yourself in a friend, a cynical kidder gone bitter.
Your mirror becomes your babysitter.
We search our hearts and back again down I-10.
We find strength and talk about things friends for life can only talk about on a walk about.
We lift some Spirits to lift our spirits.
Night falls,
we arrive alive… our walk about calls 1,365 miles in 18 hours.

Day two begins.

Meet and greet with the beach.
Get a handle on some handy sandals,
some nicotine candy and butane candles.
A fifth of Daniels.
Jack and Jose will duel this day.
"You know it's know your fault, pass the lime and salt," ends most answers before noon.
Let's take some dares with the local fare, shadowing the glare of our wear and tear.
The sun fries,
windy sands fly,
waves pacify,
dropped bikini tops glimpsed from the corner of our eye, testify.
The Sun sets.

Shuffing off the nightlife status-quo of Clematis Row, we turn our walkabout into a Palm Beach Safari...Club.
Whoa! Rows and rows of walking, talking shows barely clothed from head to tanned toes.
Making funnies about hunting honies preying on money.
The unattainable passes. We tap our glasses.
"Point in case, what a waste, such tragedies as these, a lot of money and a little cheese meets a little ****** in high cut sleeves, low-cut cleaves & cuts way above the knees.
Our cuts are deep. Bartender, two Yagers please."

Low and behold…on those stools sit no fools.
Breaking all rules.
with Coronas as fuel,
we inflate our jewels.
As we coach our approach, mentioning "I-10 and back again" prompts grins,
hides our cynicism and sins,
then, moving in to win friends.
Names and places put to faces, careful glancing, winks and dancing.
Alright, the trips to the bathroom are getting old.
Warm smiles once cold, honest questions and truths told…no souls sold…we fold? Hmmmm.
We leave and arrive alive.
Caffine and nicotine stay the scene until the wee hours overpower us.

Day three unfolds

The sun rises and the ocean calls.
Old molds broken
No lies spoken.
No need to peddle your life away settling on the day-to-day following peers falsely content and full of contempt.
Eyes turn bright,
the Sun pours over night,
dolphin, lime and salt,
golfing talk,
day approaches night.
Less tense and more pensive,
more apprehensive and less expensive,
even so we head out to even the evening,
to end our grieving and start achieving....something.
Latitude changes have rearranged our attitude gauges.
So we choose West Palm's Clematis Row to show us how a little rude,
lude and tattooed could clue us in on the anew.
Fools with jewels.
Girls with rules.
Uncool tools abound.
We walk this street of sleekish freaks,
the falsely meek,
lions that squeak.
"Club Respectables" is dubbed rejectables as the objectionable scene is seen as a scheme by vampires with recessive genes.
Next is Spanky's…Best described as "A frat boy fishing pole contest to tackle box in bait shack." One bucket of beer away from "I got your back Jack in case of attack."
We move along.
Colombia Supreme brewed proceeding it's fine grind and American Online becomes the sign of the times swaying us to stay and play at an Internet Cafe.

"I could live here," proclaims a cynical kidder once bitter now soothed by the sea spray and salty air.

Enlightenment heightened by a magic man,
near night's end, inspires an O'Shea's Black and Tan.
The crowd mocks and baulks the sidewalk scene from the patio Pub Dubbed Irish.
We greet the ground,
not the masses' frown,
seat our ***** down,
toast our glasses of black and brown,
our bitters with bite wash down the bitter frowns we normally wear out in our hometown.
"That's a sharp Harp's and sinister Guinness; can I get a witness?"

We head back down our beaten path, writing our epitaphs and usual eulogies...But you know that the "place" or your "space" will change your face, one makes the case."If you sound bitter and you look bitter, chances are you are bitter."
I begin to smile during our final mile of token jokes,
Corona smokes,
shiny Harley spokes.
We leave and arrive alive at the realization,
we have things to strive for in our lives.  
We smoke and joke and poke fun at the run down broken blokes we were before our fun in the sun had begun.
  
Day four begins.
  
We embark for the Ozarks. Our souls at ease.
Save the scene...the last palm tree's waving leaves,  
we wave our palms and leave.
1300 miles more,  
Pushing the morning hour of four,  
empty coffee cups galore,  
moonings a score,  
pedal to the floor,  
memories and more,  
we knew we would be back for more.  
Suddenly learning how insane our inane claims of waning fame should hold no shame,
we reframe our game.
Upon our return…
the strength to strive, take back our broken banks and breaking backs.
Less taxing, more relaxing..."it could happen"... eliquinent waxing.
As we search our hearts and back again, down I-10,we find the strength in things you can only talk about on a walk about,
but that's what it was all about.
By R.Craig David-copyrighted 1995

Here's a little story I tink you'll like.
It's not bout' two shmucks looking for amour.
It's all bout' me, my life, and my big fat bluntz.
Imma bout' to tell ya what Reggae's for.

Reggae stands for peace and the luv in yaself.
It's bout' them spankable honies and big fat beatz.
It's bout' sweet **** chicken and otha tasty stuff.
It's bout' that dank smell of ***** fillin' da streetz.

Reggae's da warm sensation from a fresh beef patty.
It's the chill rub-a-dub sound of dat Marley noize.
It's the Jamaican sun spreadin light on ya gurl's curves.
It's the dutty jammin ya get in to witcha dazy rond-boys.

*My life is Reggae. Reggae is my life

He was busy as a bee.
Looking at all the pretty honies that he could see.
Whistling at all the ones that came his way.
Made it such a beautiful day.
He knew that he had it made.
Seeing all the honies on parade.

standing the foot’s placement,
standing firm upon ground –
inner part of the firmament.
lasting two days, feet free’d in
levitating affects. mind, the
utter blank canvas. color
me complacent, color me adjacent,
color me a complete loss. irreparable.
two feet in place of a once four.
foundation, strength to build tall
some structure of love for my
blonde-hair’d beauty of the Midwest.
saw in ‘er somethin’, more nothin’
than anything. and this foundation’s
anchor stripped. two feet in place
of once four. irreconcilable, color me
a complete loss wanting all the
little honies, in the raw. healthier
that way, what with the better part
wanting no part. wise men, the one’s
seekin’ their own wisdom. their words
are ‘high-holy’, their ears catching err
syllables. feign deaf if their syllables
are not the ones being annunciated.
pushing past yesterday,
hoping this force can turn perpetual
motion, to the county line. away from
prying eyes with hundred reasons
to ****. don’t stop till the cops come
in, and don’t stop till the cops come
in.
–if you’re Jesus Christ, man,
  i’ll be the ******* anti-Christ.
then coffee nulling images of shotgun
splatter. trying to rise. blasting now to
obviate noise of the morning coming,
–came here looking to be a pastor.
  kinda fell off the deep end since.
right, right.
–zombies back into the picture.
  better by the side.
back into the picture with life, with love,
with an eighteen car garage. lonesome,
something like that. to be awake when
the sun rises again. rising to explain a
hipster’s crystal sky. the eyes never
lye, don’t forget what’s been done.
don’t defend the trailing fallacies or
absences. and we’ve become un-
welcome, become destined, being
unfriend’d. but even these cats may
look at a King, though they’re in
some disgusting race to the end.
cops comin’ in, cops ******’ on
everything adjoin’d the scene. truly,
they’re some different form of hipster.
hip sir?  nah, sir.  nothin’ at all, and
don’t get got. smash those erry day
low prices with a strange fascination
for fascism. play it, play from the
******* heart, play to tear the *******
sky apart. to set out in tearing to destroy
the welfare ghettos. true Americana,
this welfare culture. with powder’d
nose and quivering lungs. reflections in
the pupil, a vain mirror for the souls
of others. a feel of miles, a feel of being
lost as its own adventure. nothing more than
a kid from Califax, a kid pushing onlys,
a kid smoking Marlboros to cure
hangovers, a kid with enough life for
years worth of days.

I'm so virtuous, it's practically a sin,
I'm pure of heart, better than all men.
I make Mother Theresa look like a Kuze,
I make Martin Luther look like Adolf ******
I'm so good, I might as well be King,
make 'em bow, make 'em kiss the ring.
But that's the thing about it, man,
I'm such a saint that I don't mind.
I made the angels fall before me in envy,
'Cause they jealous a mere mortal could be so more-than
Lucy himself had to bow his holy head
'cause he knew he weren't the most-loved.
Just look at me, man, you know I got it all,
I'm handsome and smart, and tall as tall.

I make good men look like murderers,
I make murderers look even worse than,
my light shines brighter than bright,
like a light lighter than light.
I make that saint, Peter, look so bad
he be more fit to judge who goes to hell.
Virgil and Dante alike would declare
I was the one true paradiso.
From my crown to my soles,
I'm built like a grand king, and this
earth be my gilded, golden throne.
Ever humble, though, I remain,
not one to doubt where I came from.
or what made me what I be.

I got a girl for every finger on my hand,
and y'all can best believe they know who the man.
Before you say I'm lusting, though, don't judge
I'm such a lover, I can't stick to one honey.
I don't beat 'em or hurt 'em or fuss 'em,
you know I don't yell 'em or cuss' em.
But let's be real, you know I be lovin'
them honies every day of the week.
They know they can't get no better,
cause I'm the greatest man they ever met.

Now some of them haters, they tell you
I got dat gluttony weighing me down,
but the hell do they know, it's not a crime
to enjoy a nice roasted turkey, downed with wine,
then capped with the finest chilled gelato,
along with caviar and baked alaska.
I won't lie to ya, I like to stuff my face,
but you know I always do it with grace.
I use the rarest silver, the flyest china.

And then I hear 'em say, oh man,
that guy is such a miser, oh so greedy,
but they just ain't true, I give to the needy.
Why, just last week, I gave 22 cents to a ***,
but not no more, cause I don't want to hold his hand,
dudes like him gotta stand on they own two feet.
And hey, I donated 5 dollars when the teller,
at the store asked me to, and felt like a saint.
How greedy can a guy like that really be,
even if he owns three benz, four boats, and a mountain goat?
Being wealthy ain't no crime, don't let 'em tell you
otherwise.
They just jealous cause they know I'm the
greatest man they ever gonna meet.

And don't you dare say, brother, that I'm lazy,
that I'm a sloth, cause that just ain't true.
Sure, I like to sit back, and relax, and think
about all those fat stacks I make back-to-back.
So what if I like to sleep in, when you fly like me,
time bows to you, not the other way around.
And hell, I go to work on time, and pay my bills,
and do what I gotta, even if I don't like it.
I get bored, I get listless, restless,
and wonder what the point of it all is,
but really, who among us doesn't?

When I think about those haters, it makes my
**** blood boil, but I ain't wrathful, or spiteful.
No, not one bit. If you want proof consider this.
When this idiot passed me in traffic, I was so
tempted to get a barbed wire bat and brain him,
but I didn't, cause I'm on that run, pacifist.
I'm like a monk, but more peaceful, if that were
possible. I make Gandhi look like Genghis.
Even nuns look at me, and think,
"That brother is one chill dude."

When I take that time to sit and meditate,
I often think about what others got that I ain't.
Like my friend, Charles, and his shinier benz,
it's red and newer, and somehow runs better.
When I think and I think, and I sit, and I
fester, I just want it so bad, that I want
to beat him down, and take it from him, cause
he don't deserve it anyway. A car like that
belongs to a king like me, not that drooling fool.
What was I saying? Oh, yeah, I never envy or
covet other's stuff, because I know it ain't right.
Cause, like I said, I'm the greatest man that ever lived.

Some say that pride comes before a fall,
but hey, Narcissus didn't fall off a cliff.
He turned into a flower, cause he was so ****
pretty. But compared to me, he might as well be
manure. Don't go saying I'mma be falling.
Cause my feet are secure, and my earth grounded.
I'm watching for every crack in the 'walk,
for every bump in that winding road.
I ain't ever gonna fall, ever going down.
I'mma keep on rising, till I'm shoulder-to-shoulder
with the angels on high, and don't say I can't,
cause all y'all know by now who you're talking to,
The greatest man that ever lived, and will ever live.

just sitting here shakin my head
at these generation ahead
**** they goin fed
all about they bread
they'll sell they sold riches
just for *******
temporary fame
but let me show ya game
lil youngin'
i been layin rhymes
since Duncan was in his prime
never took bank shots
always hit nothing but net
make sweat with no heat
hypothermia im swarmin ya
like bees get all the honies
while yall playin for money
im playin for keeps
cadillac and old school jeeps
peep my artillery my game is
sick sadistic
if you aint down with it
i suggest ya get with it
if not then listen to my shot gun
blast through ya soul
as i take back control
young revolutionaries standin guard
waiting for the plot
takin over defense spots
killin' all they evil knots
broke the chain now im free
regain my conscious
tired of the nonsense
yall gone make me turn a killer
back when i was doin dirt in the army


now that ya got a lil taste of the game
would ya do stuff ya not
use to mayne??
hell naww not me
i rather die a soldier than a *****
so dont push me
unless
ya ready to one on one
with my gat strapped
under my chest
and back pockets
i shoot flames like a rocket
headed for space lets make space
for my enemies near me
look at hillary
the next president
watch how high cost livin residents
gotta move out their houses
and the spouses
fighting over silly ****
they laughin even in the pulpits
churches of satan some say im blatant
i talk loud with out usin sounds
puff a cloud mushroom kaboom
all ya seen was gore in the room
am i sick or is it a dream?
turned reality in actuality
my locality be
anywhere that ya cant pinpoint on the map
slap
all these newjacks back
cuz they wack
**** the new slavery im all about bravery
got cheated out a c i b
doing ***** dirt from the army
but yall cant harm me
im back on top of thangs
**** swags and this dl ****
i hate to brag
so i tell it how it is
look at alll these ******* desperate kids
ill gather up a nation
with blood lines from haitian
to Jamaican no fakin' G
its time for the stand of the last revolutionaries
i aint scared to be buried
in the cemetery
wither cremated or layin in a casket
dont worry me because i know when i die
ill restore my spirit with sunshine eternity
ya know im sayin''''

now that ya got a lil taste of the game
would ya do stuff ya not
use to mayne??
hell naww not me
i rather die a soldier than a *****
so dont push me
unless
ya ready to one on one
with my gat strapped
under my chest
and back pockets
i shoot flames like a rocket
headed for space lets make space
for my enemies near me
look at hillary
the next president
watch how high cost livin residents
gotta move out their houses
and the spouses
fighting over silly ****
they laughin even in the pulpits
churches of satan some say im blatant
i talk loud with out usin sounds
puff a cloud mushroom kaboom
all ya seen was gore in the room
am i sick or is it a dream?
turned reality in actuality
my locality be
anywhere that ya cant pinpoint on the map
slap
all these newjacks back
cuz they wack
**** the new slavery im all about bravery
got cheated out a c i b
doing ***** dirt from the army
but yall cant harm me
im back on top of thangs
**** swags and this dl ****
i hate to brag
so i tell it how it is
look at alll these ******* desperate kids
ill gather up a nation
with blood lines from haitian
to Jamaican no fakin' G
its time for the stand of the last revolutionaries
i aint scared to be buried
in the cemetery
wither cremated or layin in a casket
dont worry me because i know when i die
ill restore my spirit with sunshine eternity
ya know im sayin''


just sitting here shakin my head
at these generation ahead
**** they goin fed
all about they bread
they'll sell they sold riches
just for *******
temporary fame
but let me show ya game
lil youngin'
i been layin rhymes
since Duncan was in his prime
never took bank shots
always hit nothing but net
make sweat with no heat
hypothermia im swarmin ya
like bees get all the honies
while yall playin for money
im playin for keeps
cadillac and old school jeeps
peep my artillery my game is
sick sadistic
if you aint down with it
i suggest ya get with it
if not then listen to my shot gun
blast through ya soul
as i take back control
young revolutionaries standin guard
waiting for the plot
takin over defense spots
killin' all they evil knots
broke the chain now im free
regain my conscious
tired of the nonsense
yall gone make me turn a killer
back when i was doin dirt in the army

Everything was great it seems.
Because he was living on potato chip dreams.
Sunday night football with glasses of beer.
Brought a whole lot of cheer.
Chasing honies on Saturday night at the local bar.
He was a potato chip eating star.

Sometimes i wish i could fly
Seeing the way everyday we dying like flies
Illusioned by freedom, chained by lies
What such has become of our lives
Trying to cover death with
smiles
Trying to cover death with
monies
Living like in land of milk and honies
Whilst the inside dies, we have immunity to cries
This is killing us softly inside, we can't trust outside
Life has become a jig-saw game, sides versus
Besides paying the price of sins and deeds
Indeed it is our lives trying for good deeds
However all we are acting and witnessing are
misdeeds
Sometimes i levitate
Trying to gravitate
For balance i strive to create
Contemplate, if i were to be summoned by the courts of the afterlife to be a witness,
Would i be ashamed or proud to testify
That is why
Sometimes i wish i could fly
With me, lift everyone's morals high and not fear to die