The mind and it's changes

   Hey, you know what? I don't want to finish that part one story on here. It is just about true enough that upon reflection, I am going to stop it there until I can find out if anyone in it besides me is dead or not. If they aren't but they go before me, I'll think about finishing it up. I don't know what those guys are up to at all, I have nothing but respect and kind wishes for each of them, they were, maybe still are, fine fine friends to have and I wouldn't fuck with them. Neither one of them did anything wrong that nite, no shit and we were not using drugs like that and they never did, just me. Those two guys are alright.

It is actually like this, many times when I was down and out those guys fed me and bought me shit when I was floundering around strung out on barbs, hundreds of free rides and sandwiches, a few bucks if I asked them so, no. Lots of guys who used like me froze to death in those days. I didn't because of my friends.

Look, though, don't worry, I am so full of shit I won't be able to not write more on here. I like it.

I think I hope you do too. I got some strokes for being able to do this and that feels pretty cool, but I don't want to get nudged down into anything cheesy like I need them or anything like that, I ain't anyone or a thing that could have that matter on it. I'm not.

I am not ashamed of anything I ever did yet I have regrets. If I had been born and raised in Boston on my father's side of the family, with other wild assed Irish kids I would have just been a normal boy. My mother's people were more genteel. My grandmother on her side was from an old mining family that disowned her for marrying Joe, my grandfather. There's a story, his.

 He would have been able to protect me from the complicated she-devils that arose in his daughter's breast now and then but he died when I was 2 and I couldn't and consequently went off to learn crime. Fate will be, you know?

Those two guys didn't know any of that. I don't think anyone knew that shit and wouldn't have cared anyway.... but for me? 

 I ain't doin' it.

I want to write about different stuff anyway, switch into my Peter Mathiessen hat out from under Al Capones.

It is my blog anyway, right? I can do whatever I want. 

I think I am beginning to feel a writer's dilemma, do I write for me or do I write for strokes?

My central nervous system is so fucked up I can't feel strokes good anyway....it'll be me

                                              Spring at Lake Wapatoo, 900acres of wetlands to be restored and is a wildlife sanctuary. If you make it, is it still wild? Often full of giant honking geese. 

 Hawks, my fat little neighbor dog is in here now, licking my toes, he wants a biscuit. He sees the light go on over here and heads over, 

 I have to go.