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Tag: expectations

The Point On

If you and I aren’t really seeking, there’s just not much point in speaking. If the boat is truly sinking, it won’t matter what we’re thinking. If the means dictate the end’s taste, does a life’s toil feed life’s waste?

In the end what does it matter, what the rung is on the ladder? What are we, mad as a hatter, praising most the loudest chatter? Does the way we look at things change them or the change they bring, or in any other way make a difference to the day?

How important do we think we are? Honestly, that won’t get us too far. After all, there’s more of us than more useful plans discuss. In a while will all this talking help us? If not, we could skip it and both focus.

When the two of us are honest, be assured we can get over it. It only takes a minute to change your life, after all. In that so small a speck of time almost anything is liable to happen. Hell, the quintessential post-apocalyptic society of decadence and moral decay set against a quaint background colored by a racist, ignorant, and television audience friendly social pecking order, serves as the perfect setting.

What more do you need? An invitation?

15 Aug 2025

© 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.

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No More Martyrs

I don’t want to be your obsession.
I don’t want to be your life lesson.
I don’t want to be your physician.
I can’t be your last condition.

I don’t want to be your sole reason.
I don’t want to be your best season.
I don’t want to be your solution.
I won’t be your whole revolution.

I don’t want to be your creation.
I don’t want to be your sedation.
I don’t want to be your reflection.
I can’t be your friendly suggestion.

I don’t want to be your only choice.
I don’t want to be your master’s voice.
I don’t want to be your rival.
I can’t be your hope for survival.

I don’t want to be your obsession.
I don’t want to be your life lesson.
I don’t want to be your sweet nothing.
I won’t be your last chance at something.

24 Jul 2025

© 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.

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Too Fast, Too Young

When people talk about all the celebrity deaths at age 28, it’s always to ask, “Why did they die so young?”. But as these folks occur among your own peer group, your perspective changes.

In my own case, I find myself asking, whenever reflecting back on it, “What did I do to live so much longer?”

What would [great deceased artist] sound or look like or talk about if they were still alive today? Imagine what you could do at 28 and pretend you could still do it the same way today. What would THAT look like? Wouldn’t you start to figure at that point that you’d given a lot already, and didn’t feel it absolutely necessary to pull it out of mothballs and get a few dollars for it?

You say, well, there’s all kinds of folks out there who are your age and older who still seem to be living an authentic experience and sharing it in some way with millions of other people. Lots of artists who influenced you growing up that are still around and making it happen.

And I say, well, they all lived past 28 too. Everybody’s got to live their own life or someone else’s. And everyone one of them is different. Except for one thing: we all survived our Saturn return. And we survived by changing something in ourselves. Not the same thing, of course, but something.

If we can get past that, then we can think on what I actually wanted to talk about.

When I ask the question, “What did I do to live so much longer?”, what I really mean is something completely different. What I should have said, and what I was really thinking at the time, was “How did I actually live longer?”

Did I just give up sooner? Did I not have the inner drive to make a bigger or better impression? Was it just never in the cards? Or was I really just afraid: scared of producing the frequencies that would destroy the record player? Does any of that really matter? Then, or Now?

The answer is, “I don’t know.“

The path is where you have your feet. You don’t have a map, because you are the territory. All you do is keep moving forward. Many years ago I wrote the line, “The path I’m on doesn’t have a name. It’s not done yet.”

I haven’t wasted 38 years since just worrying about that. There are too many much more important minutes to consider and live in right here and now.

You can’t worry about how you’ll get through the next five minutes. You already have.

And here we are. Still standing. Still here. With most of ourselves left.

What now?

20 Apr 2025

© 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.

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The Old College Try

You can’t make this shit up. But somebody has to, right? It doesn’t just pop up out of nowhere in full bloom without first starting as a seed before it germinates, breaks through its shell, sends out roots and tendrils, shoves it’s way through the surface into the sunlight, soaks up the sights, sensations, and a couple bowls of soup on the way. It got here, this shit, like everything else does. One piece at a time. And time may be an illusion masking the fact that past and future are both shadows that only exist in the here and now, but sometimes it certainly feels like a minute. So you’ve seen this shit before. You can’t pretend you didn’t see it coming.

So if you didn’t make it happen, how are you part of it? Because you are, you know. We’re all connected; there’s no real or permanent separation between you and me and us and them. You have a role and you play it. Just like everything else. It’s like a round table though, because there is no head. In true egalitarian fashion, the one with the skill required for the issue at hand takes point for a little while, to address what they can direct better than anyone else around. And then when somebody else’s strong suit needs playing, that person takes the wheel. Until the next one.

Does that leave anything behind, any scraps, money on the table, cards unplayed, debts owed, or grudges unpaid. Sometimes. But it beats the alternative. Because there really isn’t an alternative, is there?

19 APR 2025

© 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.

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Let go, let go, let go

Cast your fears into the wind;
let go, let go, let go.
Release them and start again;
let go, let go, let go.

There is nothing out of reach,
nothing that will fail to teach,
nothing hidden in the speech;
let go, let go, let go.

Leave your troubles where you stand;
let go, let go, let go.
You don’t need them anymore;
let go, let go, let go.

There is something else for you,
something worth the doing, too,
hurry now, before you’re through;
let go, let go, let go.

Loose those demons from your dreams;
let go, let go, let go.
Nothing is quite what it seems;
let go, let go, let go.

Anything you want is yours,
if you let some love endure;
let what ails you seek its cure:
let go, let go, let go.

08 FEB 2017

© 2017 – 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.

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Put Away Those Foolish Thoughts

Put away those foolish thoughts, and
hide from sight your vain ideals!
Instead, seek what the world enjoys:
love what beseems a proper role,
or find yourself a friendless fool.
Survive! Just learn to subliminate;
one must pretend, or play-act, at least,
defining both pursuit and its happy goal
using someone else’s dictionary.

© 2017 – 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.

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Burn That Bridge

Dwelling on the future
never seemed to make much sense:
splitting our infinitives
just wastes the present tense.
Why worry on what might be
and dwell on hopes and dreams,
when what counts of past and future
is what comes in between?

Yeah, maybe we’ll be famous;
Maybe we’ll strike it rich;
Maybe the car will leave the road
and leave us in the ditch;
Maybe we’ll stay together,
maybe we’ll drift away;
you can’t predict the future;
all you have is here, today.

We’re on this road together
until we both call it quits;
whatever happens further on,
let’s burn that bridge when we get to it.

Dwelling on what might be
never gets us anywhere;
imagining some great misfortune
waiting for us there
distracts us from the present,
robs us of our savoir faire.
We have each other right now;
let tomorrow meet us there.

Yeah, maybe we’ll be homeless;
Maybe we’ll go back to school;
Maybe the weak will tame the strong,
and wise men act like fools.
Maybe we’ll live forever,
maybe we’ll fade away;
you can’t predict the future;
all you have is here, today.

We’re on this road together
until we both call it quits;
you never know what’s coming
don’t burn that bridge ’til we get to it.

29 DEC 2006

One of my pet sayings is “Let’s not stress over that right now; we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.” It’s very much akin, in my mind, to the Sufi saying, “Never name the well from which you will not drink.” In other words, don’t say you’re never gonna have a chicken sandwich while you’re still waiting for the hen to lay eggs. Until the time is right, until there is that perfectly auspicious alignment of the planets that triggers the cataclysmic cosmic chain reaction that results in the events that form your tomorrow, you really have no idea what it’s gonna look like. Sure, you have plans and visions and hopes and dreams, but until the proof becomes pudding you don’t really know what it is — and you certainly don’t know the flavor until you take that first bite. Wow. A lot of mixed metaphors here. But you get idea. Live for today.

© 2006 – 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.

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