Could have been famous, so I’ve always said;
those Hollywood notions still mess with my head.
Should be free of them by now, I suppose –
just takes accepting the life that I chose.
Paths come together, and then they diverge.
Drought always leads to some great demiurge.
Crossed wires connecting one thing to the next,
building new circuits where no one suspects.
Could have made money, or more than I do;
but then I wouldn’t have what I’ve been through.
Could start all over, and trust all to chance,
despite Thoreau’s quip about new pairs of pants.
Paths run together, and then they part ways;
hard to judge where they lead there through the haze.
One trail seems easy, deceptively so;
each single step leads to what you don’t know.
Could have made much wiser use of my brain –
sounds like my mother’s recurring refrain.
Gone to Columbia, Juilliard, Yale;
available options, now beyond the pale.
Roads intersect, and they head off apart:
North and East intellect, South and West, heart.
Could have done better, but no, never mind;
here is where I am, and right here is fine.
10 SEP 2003
Call it bad timing, a season of doubt
Days turn to months while you figure it out
Some expectations are better as dreams
Reality’s never as clear as it seems
Call it poor judgement from weak evidence
You’ll find a witness for any defense
Motives and motions get twisted and skewed
So much depends on your own attitude
Call it misfortune, with payment in kind
We each spent most of what coin we could find
Payment and purchase both steps in the dance
That zero balance is not there by chance
Call it unlucky, but what’s in a name
Mere circumstances aren’t solely to blame
Actions, reactions, and the science thereof
Fall by the wayside in questions of love
Call it a wrong move that both of us made
Now the dealing is over, the cards have been played
Rules can be broken, despots overthrown
But sometimes it’s better to leave them, alone
Call it a breakdown, a cross in the wire
Each of us honest, and each one a liar
Friendship and folly are split by a hair
I’m here on this side, and you’re over there
Call it unlucky, but that’s just a word
Raking these ashes seems a bit absurd
It’s all semantic, when push comes to shove
There are no quick answers in questions of love.
10 SEP 2003
Today’s random thought — making modification to the title of an existing work of literature and using that as the basis for writing my own novel.
For example, the novel Incense and Insensibility could be the Fictional account of how a group of hippies attempted to change the world, but wound up with second mortgages, stock in Microsoft and SUVs. The heroine would be of course named Emma or something like that.