The future comes roaring forward like an 18 wheeler-Mack-truck barreling down the interstate. Stepping through adulthood and responsibilities like a tap dancer with guns aimed toward his head. There is no moment but this one
There is also this one.
But birds don’t sing and cause flowers to bloom because some man-child jumped the line and got back on the ride leading to adulthood. Music doesn’t play for a crazed dreamer who aims to conquer the world but can’t seem to get out of bed.
Nobody cares about tomorrow
Wild men with sunflower scepter knew the secret of everlasting youth. Women with minds like diamonds knew how to crack open this puzzle called life. Wizened old masters can conjure the words to satisfy us all.
The rest of us can take a hammer to the puzzle and examine the pieces. The rest of us are old locomotives. The rest of us never have the words to answer the questions that we’re afraid to ask.
So we stare at the ceiling, take up drugs or church or something else to tell ourselves that we’re important or conjure meaning.
The future charges forward like an 18 wheeler Mack truck. The driver has long since fallen asleep. Inertia and a stuck gas pedal mean that it’s not stopping.
We must blindly leap on-board or dive out-of-the-way.
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