Druish Princess

Perhaps this one is a down payment on the future spring and summer to follow. Or the new cruelty could continue but we adapt as a species. "We learn as we go," opined a dour Fred Gwynne in The Cotton Club, playing a character named Frenchy, no less. Our favorite Frenchy launched a majestic home run a few days ago in all the glory of spring training and it stoked the fires within me for the first time this season. Spring cometh, and there's not a thing anyone can do about it. Nor should they.


A knifey wind cut through the sunshine today, making a false front that kept me inside to mingle with my thoughts. In a day or so, typical stability will return and I'll find a way to resist. That's the pattern, anyway. Some times a man's own testicles got nowhere to be but in the way. It's the burden we bear. Some of us more than others.
It's almost time that I experiment with the outrageous once again and a cross country scramble, Cassady style, should stir the pot. Kick this ass for a man, all right?



Here I look west. Each day is sharper than the last. Soon I will cut myself on my own image. The kiss of youth has not faded from memory. I am still capable of tremendous emotion.