I know it's tough out there,
a good muse is hard to find.
Living one word to the next,
living one line at a time.
Now there more to life then whiskey,
there's more to words than rhyme,
Sometime nothing works,
sometimes nothing shines.
Sail away, sail away,
as the day grows dim.Live hard, die hard,
this ones for him.
warm and smooth and mean,
Even when it burns,
it will always finish clean.
He did not like it watered down,
he took it straight up an neat.
If it's bad enough for him,
you know it's bad enough for me.
- guy clark
The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break, it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially.
- ernest hemingway
The sounds of the talking heads vaguely reach my ears from the TV. Yet another study came out touting the benefits of alcohol on longevity. Countering that was a physician saying that he wished patients could instead use yoga or meditation to relax after work instead of lifting the bottle. Having pronounced my fair share of patients dead from the liver failure that resulted from hitting the bottle for too hard, for too long, I could see his point. But the pious, self righteousness of his tone couldn't help but accompany his words. If only the patient would do what I tell them to do.....What would he tell Papa? Would he pretend to know what is best for that brilliant wordsmith, that tortured soul, that broken man, that icon of icons?
My yoga mat is rolled out in front of and I stare at it, as if by gazing at it long enough, the pain will subside enough for me to even do yoga in the first place. Which I do to reduce the pain. But the pain is keeping me from doing it. A catch-22, if ever there was one. Next to my mat is a glass of my type of whiskey, a bourbon flavored with that nectar I have cherished since even as a young child - honey. If it's bad enough for Papa, it's bad enough for me.